The Loner: The Blood of Renegades (5 page)
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Chapter 8
Conrad dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and sent the animal lunging ahead in a gallop. He heard the high-pitched whine of the rifle bullet pass his ear. The wind caught the wide-brimmed hat, plucked it from his head, and sent it sailing behind him. The long tails of the duster flapped like the wings of a giant bird.
The second whipcrack of a rifle sounded before the first shot had a chance to echo across the desert. Conrad didn’t know where the slug went, but didn’t feel its smashing impact. He drew his Colt and felt the familiar buck of its recoil against his palm as he triggered two swift shots.
The first man spun off his feet as those bullets crashed into him. Kiley’s horse was practically on top of the second man, who leaped desperately out of the way to avoid being trampled and in the process dodged the shot Conrad sent toward him. The gunman dropped his rifle as he rolled, but he came up with his revolver in his fist, spitting fire. He threw three shots at Conrad as he made a dash for the shed.
Conrad didn’t want the man to get behind cover. He fired again, but just as he squeezed the trigger, one of the man’s wild shots burned across the dun’s rump and made the horse leap in the air. He wasn’t expecting that, and felt himself leaving the saddle. Quickly he kicked his feet free of the stirrups so the dun wouldn’t drag him if it bolted.
He hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but there was no time to rest and catch his breath. He forced his muscles to work and surged to his feet. A bullet kicked up grit and gravel just to his right. He snapped a shot at the remaining gunman, who was crouched at the corner of the shed.
Conrad was in a bad spot, and he knew it. He usually carried the Colt’s hammer on an empty chamber, but had slipped a sixth round into the cylinder before he approached the water tank. He had one shot left in the revolver, his rifle was in the saddle boot on the horse that was kicking around twenty yards away, still spooked by that bullet burn on its rump, and the man who wanted to kill him had the only good cover anywhere around.
Well, maybe not the
only
cover, Conrad realized. The legs of the water tank were better than nothing. If he could make it up the ladder to the platform on which the tank sat, he could take cover behind the massive container. He broke into a run toward the tank and flung his last shot at the gunman. The bullet smacked into the shed wall close enough to make the man jerk back, giving Conrad a couple seconds.
only
cover, Conrad realized. The legs of the water tank were better than nothing. If he could make it up the ladder to the platform on which the tank sat, he could take cover behind the massive container. He broke into a run toward the tank and flung his last shot at the gunman. The bullet smacked into the shed wall close enough to make the man jerk back, giving Conrad a couple seconds.
He took advantage of the respite and ran as hard as he could. The framework of the tank’s legs loomed in front of him, looking more spiderlike than ever in the dim light. A slug chewed splinters from one of the thick beams as Conrad ducked behind them. He pouched the empty iron and reached as high as he could on the ladder. Another bullet whistled past his head as he started to climb.
He almost lost his hold on the ladder as he felt the vibration of a bullet hitting one of the rungs he was grasping. A splinter stung his cheek—but he didn’t fall. He kept moving, and a second later he reached the top and hauled himself onto the platform. A fast roll and jump put him behind the tank itself. The thick wood, and the thousands of gallons of water they held, would shield him from any more bullets.
But a standoff wasn’t what he wanted. As he lay there he pulled fresh cartridges from the loops on his shell belt and thumbed them into the Colt, filling the cylinder again. He couldn’t afford to let the gunman pin him down. Arturo and Selena were waiting for him to return. He had to dispose of the last avenging angel so they could fill their canteens and water barrel, then wait for a train to come along or head west again, depending on what else happened.
The gunman had stopped shooting at him. In the echoing silence, the man shouted, “Hey! You hear me, mister?”
Conrad didn’t see what harm it would to answer. “I hear you!”
“Where’s Kiley? How’d you get his horse and clothes?”
“Think about it,” Conrad said. “Even a hardcase like you ought to be able to come up with the answer!”
“You—” The man bit off whatever he’d been about to say. Evidently he took his religion seriously enough that he wasn’t going to curse, no matter how angry he was. “You shouldn’t have done that, mister.”
“And you shouldn’t be trying to kidnap an innocent young woman!”
“You don’t know our ways! You got no right to interfere! Elder Hissop’s a prophet, same as Joseph Smith or Brigham Young! He’s one of the anointed of God! You can’t oppose his will!” A bark of harsh laughter came from the man. “Anyway, you can’t call that shameless jezebel an innocent young woman! If that’s what you think, you’re a fool!”
Conrad didn’t know and didn’t care what the man meant by that. He was trying to figure out some way of ending the standoff before it dragged on much longer.
The shed was fairly close to the structure supporting the water tank. Ten feet separated them, Conrad judged. He looked at the tank itself. The pipe supplying the water ran up the side of the tank, then turned at a ninety-degree angle to go through an opening near the top. He thought he might be able to climb up that pipe, crawl over the cover on top used to keep the fierce heat of the Utah sun from evaporating the water it held, and leap down to the shed roof, which was almost flat and had only a slight slope to it.
Would the roof hold him, or would he crash through it and break a leg . . . or his neck?
He was fairly certain the gunman wouldn’t expect him to try such a loco stunt. And that’s what it was, no mistake about that. But if it worked, he could take the man completely by surprise and put an end to the impasse.
Once Conrad came up with a plan, he didn’t spend a lot of time mulling it over or brooding about its chances of success. He didn’t see any other way out so he stood up and eased partway around the tank on the narrow platform until he came to the water pipe. There was just enough room between the pipe and the wall of the tank for him to get his fingers in there. He holstered the Colt, reached over his head, and grasped the pipe, hoping the braces attaching it to the tank were sturdy enough to support his weight.
He leaned back to test the pipe. It seemed strong, without any give to it. Conrad lifted his right leg and planted the sole of his boot against the side of the tank. The thick, curving planks were rough enough to give him a little purchase. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched as he hauled himself upward.
It was a hard climb, but the tank was only about ten feet tall, so it didn’t take too long. As Conrad reached the top and rolled onto the boards, the man behind the shed called out to him again.
“What’s it gonna be, mister? I can stay here all day and keep you up there. Pretty soon the sun will be up, and you won’t have any shade. It’ll fry you like an egg. Not only that, but Leatherwood and the rest of the men will be here before the day’s over. We’ll surround that water tank and pick you off. You might as well give up now.”
Conrad didn’t respond. He lay there a few minutes, letting the quivering muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back recover.
Without standing up, he peeled out of the duster and left it lying on top of the tank. Then he crawled to the other side. He couldn’t see the man who crouched at the edge of the shed. When he made his move, he wanted the gunman’s attention focused elsewhere, so he reached in his pocket and slid out a silver dollar. With a flick of his wrist he sent the coin sailing over the railroad tracks. When the silver dollar landed on a crosstie, it bounced and struck one of the rails with a loud ringing sound.
That was enough to make the tightly-stretched nerves of the gunman snap. He whirled toward the sound and triggered his gun. Three shots roared out.
And while that gun thunder rolled, Conrad surged to his feet, drew his Colt, and left the top of the water tank in a leap that carried him toward the shed.
Chapter 9
For a breathtaking instant, Conrad seemed to hang in midair. Then his boots slammed down on the shed roof, his momentum carrying him forward, off the little building. He tucked himself into a roll as his feet hit the sandy ground behind the gunman. Twisting he came back up on one knee. The gunman turned toward him, but Conrad’s gun was already level. Flame stabbed from the muzzle as he fired twice.
Both slugs slammed into the gunman’s body and drove him back against the shed wall. His gun went off as his finger clenched convulsively on the trigger, but the weapon was pointed down and the bullet went harmlessly into the ground. He dropped his revolver and pitched forward, sprawling on his face.
Conrad sprang up and kicked the fallen Colt out of reach while he covered the man he had just shot.
The avenging angel didn’t move. Working the toe of his boot under the man’s shoulder Conrad rolled him onto his back. Reddish-gold light of the dawn reflected back from the man’s sightless, staring eyes.
Just as Conrad reached down with his left hand to close the man’s eyes, another shot blasted out. The bullet whipped through the air above his head. He threw himself forward on his belly and lifted his gun.
The first man he’d shot wasn’t dead! The man’s shirt was crimson with blood under the duster he wore, but he had managed to climb to his feet and stagger to the shed. The revolver in his hand roared again. Conrad fired at the same instant, the two shots sounding like one.
The gunman’s bullet kicked up dirt inches from Conrad’s shoulder. The bullet from Conrad’s Colt, traveling upward at an angle, caught the man just under the chin and bored into the base of his brain. More blood poured out over the man’s chest as he staggered back a step, already dead even though his body hadn’t quite caught up to that fact. Slowly, he crumpled to the ground.
Conrad climbed to his feet. He was the only one left alive at the isolated water stop.
He reloaded the Colt and slipped it back into the holster. The horses belonging to the two dead men were spooked by the shooting and gunsmoke, but they were tied securely behind the shed and weren’t going anywhere. Kiley’s horse stood off down the tracks, seeming to have calmed down after being grazed by that bullet. Conrad figured he and his companions would take all three of the horses with them. In the rugged country, having extra mounts could turn out to be very important.
His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of dust moving along the tracks to the east where he had left Arturo and Selena. Figuring Leatherwood and the other avenging angels might have found them, Conrad hurried toward Kiley’s horse, talking softly in hopes the animal wouldn’t shy away. He wanted the Winchester in the saddle boot.
The horse gave him a wall-eyed stare but didn’t run. Conrad grabbed hold of the reins with his left hand and used his right to draw the rifle from its sheath. Moving quickly, he led the horse back to the shed and tied it with the other two. They knew Kiley’s horse and nickered softly in welcome.
Conrad stepped to the corner of the shed and levered a round into the Winchester’s firing chamber. Ready to bring the rifle to his shoulder and start shooting, he watched the cloud of dust come closer.
He began to make out the shape at the base of the cloud and grunted in surprise as he recognized the buggy. When the vehicle came closer he saw Arturo handling the team and Selena sitting beside him. Conrad didn’t see anyone chasing them.
He stepped out from behind the shed so they could see him. As the buggy got closer, Arturo slowed the team and brought it to a halt. Conrad was a little surprised to see Selena holding Arturo’s Winchester. He wondered if she would have used it if she’d needed to.
“Are you all right?” she called to him as she climbed down from the buggy.
“I’m fine,” Conrad told her.
She turned toward him, and exclaimed, “My God, you’re bleeding!”
Conrad reached up and touched his cheek. A single drop of blood was on his fingertip when he took it away.
“A flying splinter nicked me, that’s all. I’m all right. The question is, what are you two doing here? You were supposed to wait for me to come back and get you.”
“Tell that to the young lady,” Arturo said. “We heard shots—”
“And then a few minutes later we heard more,” Selena said. “I thought you might need our help.”
“Miss Webster can be very persistent when she wants something,” Arturo said, which Conrad thought was pretty ironic. Few people he had ever encountered could be more persistent—and annoying about it—than Arturo.
“Well, it’s all over now, and I’m fine. Let’s fill up those canteens and the water barrel while we’ve got the chance.”
“The men who were waiting here . . .” Selena began.
Conrad leaned his head toward the shed. “Around on the other side. You don’t want to go there.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve caused so much trouble. Three men are dead because of me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Those men are dead because they were willing to kill to do what that fellow Hissop wants. If you want to blame somebody, blame them, and him, not yourself.”
“I . . . I know you’re right. I just wish it had never come to this.”
“So do I,” Conrad said.
Arturo got the water barrel and the canteens out of the buggy while Conrad got hold of the chain attached to the spout leading from the tank.
“We’re going to get wet,” he warned Arturo. “These tanks are designed so locomotives can refill their boilers, not for putting water in smaller containers like these. If there was a station here, the railroad would’ve put in a hand pump and a spigot, but they figure something like that isn’t necessary at a water stop.”
Arturo tugged his derby down tighter on his head. “I’ll be fine, sir.” He stood on the tracks and held the barrel out in front of him. “Fill away.”
Conrad tugged the chain to lower the spout, and water began to gush from it. The flow splashed over Arturo’s head and splattered on Conrad. He called to Selena, “Come hold the chain while I help Arturo with the barrel!”
She was smiling as she came over to him, and he had to admit the sight of Arturo getting soaked was pretty amusing. A moment later he was in the same boat as he helped his friend hold the barrel under the pouring water. In moments they were both wet to the skin.
“Let it up!” Conrad told Selena when the barrel was almost full. After filling the canteens from the barrel, then refilling it to the top, he and Arturo carried it over to the buggy and placed it in the back. Arturo replaced the lid and tapped it down. Puddles of muddy water covered the ground, but it wouldn’t take long for the sandy soil to soak them up.
“Now there’s just one more thing to do,” Conrad said as he reached into the back of the buggy and got a short-handled shovel from their gear.
Selena’s smile disappeared when she saw what Conrad was holding. “You carry a shovel with you?”
“You’d be surprised how often we have to bury someone,” Arturo said.
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