Read Online The Loner: The Blood of Renegades by J. A. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. A. Johnstone
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along high overhead in the silver-blue sky. A lizard scuttled out of their path and into some rocks. Those were the only signs of life as the threesome made their way toward the mountains.
They had too many horses to tie them to the buggy, so Conrad hazed the animals along like a remuda on a cattle drive. Not that he had ever actually been on a cattle drive. His father had, though, and Frank Morgan had told him stories about those days. After the Civil War, Frank had wanted nothing more than to return to the ranch in Texas where he’d worked as a cowboy and lived a peaceful life there. Fate had intervened when a bully who fancied himself a fast gun had forced him into a fight. That was when Frank—and the rest of the world—had found out just how fast and accurate he was with a six-gun. A reputation was born, and nothing had ever been the same for Frank Morgan after that.
Conrad knew the feeling. He had been through a number of life-altering events of his own in the past few years, starting with the day his mother had introduced him to Frank and broken the news that the famous gunfighter was Conrad’s real father.
Sometimes a fatalistic gloom gripped him and he believed everything had been predetermined from that moment: his marriage to Rebel, her tragic death, his transformation from a businessman into a deadly gunman who had literally killed more men than he could remember. Although he never lost any sleep over the lives he had ended—he never shot to kill except in self-defense or to save the life of someone else—it seemed like he ought to at least be able to recall the men he had killed. Their deaths tended to blend into a haze of powdersmoke and blood.
“Conrad, what’s wrong?” Selena asked from the buggy seat. “You look like your thoughts are a million miles away.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Not that far. I’m fine.” He glanced at the sky, where the sun was almost directly overhead and beating down with a fierce heat. “We need to find some shade and stop for a while to let the horses rest and cool off.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going to find any shade out here,” Arturo said. “The last place I saw land this flat and empty was down in New Mexico.”
“The Jornada del Muerto ,” Conrad said, recalling how he and Arturo had first met, back when Arturo still worked for one of Conrad’s enemies. Or rather, for one of Kid Morgan’s enemies, since at that time Conrad had considered his past life dead and buried. “Yes, this is almost as bad. Maybe we can find another trestle and stop under it for a while, or some rocks big enough to give us some shade.”
That hope appeared to be an empty one. Even though they stopped from time to time to rest the horses, the heat drained man and beast alike of their energy. Arturo and Selena had it better because at least they had the meager shade provided by the buggy’s canopy, but the sun was getting to them, too.
Arturo said, “I’ve never understood how it can be so hot during the day in this region and yet so cold at night.”
“That’s the way the desert is,” Conrad said. “I think it must have something to do with how dry the air is. There’s nothing to hold in the heat.”
“You’re probably right. That doesn’t, however, make me feel any better.”
It didn’t make any of them feel better. Another hour crept by. Weariness gripped Conrad and made him sway in the saddle. He fought to stay awake.
Suddenly he spotted something ahead of them and lifted his head. He raised himself in the stirrups to get a better look. A narrow pinnacle of rock jutted into the air. He pointed at it. “Look there.”
Selena said, “That must be what they call Finger Rock. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been here.”
“They could call it Thumb Rock or Toe Rock as far as I’m concerned,” Arturo said. “As long as it provides some shade, I’m glad to see it.”
With renewed energy, they kept moving toward the promised shelter.
They had too many horses to tie them to the buggy, so Conrad hazed the animals along like a remuda on a cattle drive. Not that he had ever actually been on a cattle drive. His father had, though, and Frank Morgan had told him stories about those days. After the Civil War, Frank had wanted nothing more than to return to the ranch in Texas where he’d worked as a cowboy and lived a peaceful life there. Fate had intervened when a bully who fancied himself a fast gun had forced him into a fight. That was when Frank—and the rest of the world—had found out just how fast and accurate he was with a six-gun. A reputation was born, and nothing had ever been the same for Frank Morgan after that.
Conrad knew the feeling. He had been through a number of life-altering events of his own in the past few years, starting with the day his mother had introduced him to Frank and broken the news that the famous gunfighter was Conrad’s real father.
Sometimes a fatalistic gloom gripped him and he believed everything had been predetermined from that moment: his marriage to Rebel, her tragic death, his transformation from a businessman into a deadly gunman who had literally killed more men than he could remember. Although he never lost any sleep over the lives he had ended—he never shot to kill except in self-defense or to save the life of someone else—it seemed like he ought to at least be able to recall the men he had killed. Their deaths tended to blend into a haze of powdersmoke and blood.
“Conrad, what’s wrong?” Selena asked from the buggy seat. “You look like your thoughts are a million miles away.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Not that far. I’m fine.” He glanced at the sky, where the sun was almost directly overhead and beating down with a fierce heat. “We need to find some shade and stop for a while to let the horses rest and cool off.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going to find any shade out here,” Arturo said. “The last place I saw land this flat and empty was down in New Mexico.”
“The Jornada del Muerto ,” Conrad said, recalling how he and Arturo had first met, back when Arturo still worked for one of Conrad’s enemies. Or rather, for one of Kid Morgan’s enemies, since at that time Conrad had considered his past life dead and buried. “Yes, this is almost as bad. Maybe we can find another trestle and stop under it for a while, or some rocks big enough to give us some shade.”
That hope appeared to be an empty one. Even though they stopped from time to time to rest the horses, the heat drained man and beast alike of their energy. Arturo and Selena had it better because at least they had the meager shade provided by the buggy’s canopy, but the sun was getting to them, too.
Arturo said, “I’ve never understood how it can be so hot during the day in this region and yet so cold at night.”
“That’s the way the desert is,” Conrad said. “I think it must have something to do with how dry the air is. There’s nothing to hold in the heat.”
“You’re probably right. That doesn’t, however, make me feel any better.”
It didn’t make any of them feel better. Another hour crept by. Weariness gripped Conrad and made him sway in the saddle. He fought to stay awake.
Suddenly he spotted something ahead of them and lifted his head. He raised himself in the stirrups to get a better look. A narrow pinnacle of rock jutted into the air. He pointed at it. “Look there.”
Selena said, “That must be what they call Finger Rock. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been here.”
“They could call it Thumb Rock or Toe Rock as far as I’m concerned,” Arturo said. “As long as it provides some shade, I’m glad to see it.”
With renewed energy, they kept moving toward the promised shelter.
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