Read Online The Loner: Inferno #12 by J.A. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

three rounds into the air. That brought Horace Dunlap at the gallop.
    The wagonmaster grimaced and shook his head as he saw the body on the ground. “One of them teamsters, I expect.”
    “Must be,” The Kid agreed, “but there’s not enough of him left to prove anything except that he went through hell dying. The women and the youngsters with the wagons don’t need to see this. If you’ll bring me a shovel, I’ll put him in the ground.”
    Dunlap nodded. “I’ll help you. Wait here.”
    An hour later, they had scraped a big enough hole out of the hard, rocky ground and lowered the dead man into it, wrapped in a blanket Dunlap had brought back from the wagon train along with the shovel. When the grave was covered up, Dunlap stood at the foot of it and took his hat off.
    “Lord, I don’t know this poor sinner’s name,” he said, “but if any fella deserved a nice, comfortable spot in Your bunkhouse, I reckon it’s him. Have mercy on him, and on the fellas who were with him that we may never find, and bring ’em all home to be with You. Amen.”
    When The Kid didn’t repeat that benediction, Dunlap glanced over at him. “You ain’t a religious man?”
    “Didn’t say that. But I’ve done some things in my life ... Well, let’s just say I’m not sure the Lord wants anything to do with me anymore.”
    “I’d bet this ol’ hat of mine you’re wrong about that.” Dunlap put the hat on and continued. “I’ll take the wagons around this spot. Won’t have to go much out of our way.”
    “Probably a good idea,” The Kid said.
    They didn’t find the bodies of the other teamsters, and by nightfall there had been no other signs of the Apaches. The Kid wondered if they had staked out the corpse as a warning to the wagon train to turn back.
    If that had been the intention, it had failed. Dunlap was determined to push on, and The Kid didn’t blame him. According to the wagonmaster, by the time the sun went down again they would be in Raincrow Valley.
    The night passed without incident, and so did the next morning. At the midday stop, Dunlap gathered everyone around and pointed to the hills north of them.
    “We’re on the last leg of this trip now, folks. See that gap in the hills up yonder? On the other side of it is Raincrow Valley. The Injuns used to call it that because whenever it rains, the crows would flock to the valley. There are basins that hold the water and let it trickle out through some streams, and that lets the grass grow. It’s a mighty pretty place, and it’ll make a fine home for all of us.”
    Not for me, The Kid thought, but for the rest of these folks, sure. He was a long way from wanting to settle down. In fact, given the life he had chosen to lead, it was more likely he would die on some lonely trail with a bullet or a knife in him.
    When the wagons rolled again, they headed north. All during the long afternoon, the hills seemed to recede in front of them, so the destination seemed as far away as it had been when they started.
    Gradually, though, The Kid could tell they were getting closer. The grass wasn’t quite as sparse, and the ground had some slope to it as they climbed toward the pass. The oxen had to strain a little harder in their traces.
    As they started up the approach to the pass, The Kid, Harwood, and Farnum rode together. Harwood pulled his Winchester from its saddle boot and worked the rifle’s lever, throwing a round into the chamber. “If there’s going to be an ambush, right on the other side of the pass is the best place for it,” he warned.
    The Kid and Farnum followed his example. Gripping their rifles tightly, they rode through the wide pass until the landscape before them dropped down into a broad, surprisingly green valley that was every bit as beautiful as Dunlap had promised.
    And there were no Apaches in sight. No shots rang out. Nothing threatened.
    “Welcome to Raincrow Valley,” Harwood said.

Chapter 9
     
    The three scouts spread out to