Read Online The Loner: Seven Days to Die by J.A. Johnstone - Free Book Online
Authors: J.A. Johnstone
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was fast enough to get out of his chair and grab Fletcher’s arm before a blow could fall.
It would probably get him a good beating from the guards if he did.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to make that decision. With a visible effort, Fletcher brought his rage under control. “Get out,” he rasped at Jillian.
She left, scurrying out of the office, but not before casting a sympathetic glance toward The Kid.
She probably had good reason to be sympathetic, he thought. Fletcher was even angrier than he would have been if none of that had happened.
The Kid stayed put as the warden went behind the desk and lowered himself wearily into the chair. “Bledsoe,” Fletcher said as he looked across the desk. “Have you changed your mind?”
“About what?” The Kid asked. “The fact that I’m not Bloody Ben Bledsoe?”
Fletcher’s mouth quirked in a cold smile. “Still harping on that, are you? Give it up. With that beard, you look even more like your old self now than you did when Haggarty brought you here.” Fletcher leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk. “No, I was talking about the loot from all those robberies you pulled.”
The Kid shook his head. “I don’t know a thing about it.”
“You’re a damned fool. You know you’ll never get out of here again. That money can’t do you any good now. The only possible benefit you might get from it is if you reveal where it is. That might get you a little clemency somewhere along the way.”
“Or get me hanged,” The Kid shot back. “Like Haggarty said, those bankers won’t let me be convicted of murder and strung up as long as there’s a chance they might get their money back. But once they do, they won’t give a damn about me. Telling you where the money is would be the same thing as signing my death warrant.” He shook his head. “But it’s all moot anyway, because I don’t know where the money is. I’m not Bledsoe.”
Behind The Kid, one of the guards muttered to another, “What’s moot?”
Fletcher’s eyes narrowed. “Being stubborn’s not going to do you any good.”
“On the contrary, it’s all I have left,” The Kid said. “Except…”
He might as well go ahead and play the only card remaining in his hand, he decided, the one he had started to trot out when Jillian was in there.
“Did Ben Bledsoe know Latin?” he asked. “Cogito, ergo sum.”
“Did he say that’s Sioux?” the guard whispered to his companion. He fell silent as Fletcher glared at him.
Fletcher returned his attention to The Kid. “Well, now, that’s mighty fancy talk. Do you know what it means?”
“‘I think, therefore I am’,” The Kid quoted. “Or veni, vidi, vici… I came, I saw, I conquered.”
“So you think by throwing around a few Latin phrases, you’re going to convince me you’re not Ben Bledsoe?” Fletcher asked. He seemed amused, which didn’t make The Kid feel any better. “Is that the idea?”
“How many outlaws would know something like that?”
“Not many, I’ll grant you,” Fletcher replied. “But Bledsoe would, since before he took up the owlhoot trail, he was Professor Benjamin Bledsoe and taught law at William and Mary in Virginia.”
It was The Kid’s turn to be thunderstruck. It was impossible that he could have predicted such an unlikely turn of events.
Life was full of bizarre happenstances. Hadn’t he turned out to be the son of one of the most famous gunfighters in the West? After years as a businessman, hadn’t he taken up the gun himself and carved out a reputation as an hombre who was slick on the draw and deadly accurate with a Colt?
“I didn’t know that about Bledsoe,” he said softly.
“Here’s something else you don’t know,” Fletcher said as he came to his feet. “I’m tired of pussyfooting around with you, mister. We’re going to end this.” He jerked a hand at the guards. “Take him outside. Get his shirt off him and tie him to the whipping post.”
The
It would probably get him a good beating from the guards if he did.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to make that decision. With a visible effort, Fletcher brought his rage under control. “Get out,” he rasped at Jillian.
She left, scurrying out of the office, but not before casting a sympathetic glance toward The Kid.
She probably had good reason to be sympathetic, he thought. Fletcher was even angrier than he would have been if none of that had happened.
The Kid stayed put as the warden went behind the desk and lowered himself wearily into the chair. “Bledsoe,” Fletcher said as he looked across the desk. “Have you changed your mind?”
“About what?” The Kid asked. “The fact that I’m not Bloody Ben Bledsoe?”
Fletcher’s mouth quirked in a cold smile. “Still harping on that, are you? Give it up. With that beard, you look even more like your old self now than you did when Haggarty brought you here.” Fletcher leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk. “No, I was talking about the loot from all those robberies you pulled.”
The Kid shook his head. “I don’t know a thing about it.”
“You’re a damned fool. You know you’ll never get out of here again. That money can’t do you any good now. The only possible benefit you might get from it is if you reveal where it is. That might get you a little clemency somewhere along the way.”
“Or get me hanged,” The Kid shot back. “Like Haggarty said, those bankers won’t let me be convicted of murder and strung up as long as there’s a chance they might get their money back. But once they do, they won’t give a damn about me. Telling you where the money is would be the same thing as signing my death warrant.” He shook his head. “But it’s all moot anyway, because I don’t know where the money is. I’m not Bledsoe.”
Behind The Kid, one of the guards muttered to another, “What’s moot?”
Fletcher’s eyes narrowed. “Being stubborn’s not going to do you any good.”
“On the contrary, it’s all I have left,” The Kid said. “Except…”
He might as well go ahead and play the only card remaining in his hand, he decided, the one he had started to trot out when Jillian was in there.
“Did Ben Bledsoe know Latin?” he asked. “Cogito, ergo sum.”
“Did he say that’s Sioux?” the guard whispered to his companion. He fell silent as Fletcher glared at him.
Fletcher returned his attention to The Kid. “Well, now, that’s mighty fancy talk. Do you know what it means?”
“‘I think, therefore I am’,” The Kid quoted. “Or veni, vidi, vici… I came, I saw, I conquered.”
“So you think by throwing around a few Latin phrases, you’re going to convince me you’re not Ben Bledsoe?” Fletcher asked. He seemed amused, which didn’t make The Kid feel any better. “Is that the idea?”
“How many outlaws would know something like that?”
“Not many, I’ll grant you,” Fletcher replied. “But Bledsoe would, since before he took up the owlhoot trail, he was Professor Benjamin Bledsoe and taught law at William and Mary in Virginia.”
It was The Kid’s turn to be thunderstruck. It was impossible that he could have predicted such an unlikely turn of events.
Life was full of bizarre happenstances. Hadn’t he turned out to be the son of one of the most famous gunfighters in the West? After years as a businessman, hadn’t he taken up the gun himself and carved out a reputation as an hombre who was slick on the draw and deadly accurate with a Colt?
“I didn’t know that about Bledsoe,” he said softly.
“Here’s something else you don’t know,” Fletcher said as he came to his feet. “I’m tired of pussyfooting around with you, mister. We’re going to end this.” He jerked a hand at the guards. “Take him outside. Get his shirt off him and tie him to the whipping post.”
The
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