Free The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold by J.A. Johnstone

me.”
    “When you were a boy?”
    “When I was younger than I am now,” The Kid said. As a matter of fact, he had been almost a grown man before he ever met Frank Morgan or knew that the notorious gunfighter called The Drifter was really his father. But Annabelle didn’t need to know that, and these days, The Kid made it a habit to keep private as much as he could about himself. The less folks knew about you, the more difficult it was for them to hurt you.
    “Is your father the one who taught you all these things you know about getting along in the wilderness?”
    “Pretty much,” The Kid admitted.
    “I suppose it’s good, that a father can pass along such things to his children.”
    He looked up at her from where he hunkered next to the fire, tending to the bacon. “What about your pa? He ever teach you anything?”
    Annabelle sniffed. “My father was too busy being a professor of antiquities and ancient languages. He didn’t have time for his children, especially his daughters. They couldn’t follow in his footsteps, you see.”
    “But you did, anyway.”
    “Yes.”
    “Didn’t make him change his mind about you, though, did it?” The Kid guessed.
    “I wouldn’t know. He passed away a month before I received my doctorate.”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    She shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”
    Couldn’t have been that long, he thought, since she was only about twenty-five or twenty-six. But despite the momentary lapse he’d just made, he tried not to pry in other people’s lives, just as he didn’t want them prying into his.
    He could be thankful, though, that Frank had always had faith in him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And probably the last thing in the world that Frank had wanted was for his son to follow in his footsteps.
    That was what had happened, though. The world was a funny old place.
    After the three of them had eaten, The Kid drank the last of the coffee in his tin cup and then said, “Why don’t we see just what you can do with that gun, Doctor?”
    Annabelle frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
    The Kid stood up and pointed. “See that little rock over there, sitting on that bigger rock? Let’s see how many shots it takes you to hit it.”
    Annabelle squinted. “What rock? That little-bitty one? It must be fifty feet away! Handguns aren’t that accurate.”
    The Colt flickered into The Kid’s hand in a draw so swift that the eye couldn’t follow it. The gun roared, and the rock he had pointed out to her flew into the air, splitting into two pieces under the impact of the bullet.
    “Just a matter of knowing your weapon,” The Kid drawled as he pouched the iron.
    For a moment, Annabelle stared at the spot where the small rock had been, then turned her head and glared at The Kid. “You’re just showing off,” she accused.
    “Showing you what can be done,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
    Father Jardine pursed his lips. “I’m not sure you should be doing this, Doctor. This isn’t just…target practice. Mr. Morgan wants to teach you how to be a more efficient killer.”
    “Again, no offense, padre,” The Kid said, “but getting your hands on that artifact you’re after might depend on how good Dr. Dare is with her gun. Both of your lives might depend on it, as well.”
    “Don’t worry, Father,” Annabelle said. “If it’s Mr. Morgan’s goal to turn me into a gunfighter, he’s going to be disappointed. When this is over and we have the Konigsberg Candlestick and the secret of the Twelve Pearls, I’m going straight back to Yale.”
    The priest sighed. “Very well. I suppose that if you’re going to carry a gun, it’s best to be proficient in its use.”
    “Amen, Father,” The Kid said. He held up both hands, palms out. “Didn’t mean anything by that.”
    Annabelle pointed to the spot where the smaller rock had been balanced on the bigger one and asked, “What am I supposed to shoot at now? You ruined the target.”
    “Hang on. I’ll