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

“With Fortunato after us, I’d wager that there will be.”
    “You’d bet a hat.”
    “What?”
    “That’s what folks out here sometimes say when they’re sure of something. I’ll bet a hat.”
    “Well, I’m not betting this hat,” Annabelle said. “It’s the only one I have left, and I don’t like the sun on my head.”
    The Kid laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Want me to find you another rock to shoot at?”
    “Yes, please.”
    He glanced over at Father Jardine, who was sitting on the lowered tailgate of the wagon. The priest still wore a look of disapproval on his lined and weathered face. The Kid could tell that he was just aching to quote some Scripture, probably “Thou shalt not kill.”
    The Kid remembered some words from the Good Book, too, about the Lord helping those who helped themselves. Out there on the frontier, helping yourself usually involved gunsmoke.
    “Here you go,” he told Annabelle a moment later as he balanced a slightly smaller rock on top of the bigger one. “Take a shot at this.”

Chapter 10

    The rest of that day passed without incident. The Kid kept a close eye on their backtrail but saw no signs of pursuit. Annabelle was adamant that Count Fortunato was still behind them somewhere.
    “He won’t give up,” she said. “I’ve heard enough stories about him to know that. He’s like a bulldog once he gets his teeth into something.”
    That night was quiet. The Kid and Annabelle took turns standing guard again. The Kid couldn’t think of a good excuse to deny Father Jardine’s request to take one of the shifts, so he said bluntly, “I’m sorry, padre, but if there’s any trouble, I have a hunch you might hesitate before you pull the trigger. That could cost all of us our lives.”
    “Very well,” Father Jardine replied stiffly. “It’s true that my beliefs would never allow me to kill as swiftly and without remorse as you, Mr. Morgan.”
    The Kid felt a surge of anger. If the priest wanted to talk about remorse, The Kid was old friends with that emotion. But instead of saying anything, he just gave Father Jardine a stony nod and moved to the edge of the camp with the Winchester, where he could keep an eye on things.
    They arrived at Las Cruces late the next day, crossing a long wooden bridge over the Rio Grande just west of the settlement. Annabelle was still a little leery of going into a town.
    “Fortunato could have spies there, waiting for us,” she said as she drove the wagon toward the cluster of frame and adobe buildings.
    “He’s already dogging your trail,” The Kid pointed out. “It’s not like he doesn’t know where you’re going.”
    “But how could he know? That’s what’s puzzled me all along.”
    “How many people in Mexico City knew where you were headed?” The Kid asked.
    “Not many. A few church and government officials. We had to have their help while we were trying to track down Konigsberg.”
    “Well, there’s your answer. An hombre who has as much money as this fella Fortunato and doesn’t mind spending it to get what he wants can find out almost anything. He probably just started bribing folks in Mexico City until somebody told him where you and the padre had gone.”
    “You seem to think money is the answer to everything, Mr. Morgan.”
    “No, not everything,” The Kid said with a shake of his head as he thought about all the things money couldn’t buy. “It won’t stop a bullet, or bring back somebody you’ve lost.”
    He knew that all too well.
    Annabelle frowned at him and looked puzzled, as if she wanted to ask him what he meant by that. He heeled the buckskin to a faster pace and rode ahead. The last thing he wanted was to have to answer a bunch of nosy questions from some doggone curious female.
    Las Cruces was a good-sized settlement. The railroad tracks ran along the western edge of town, so The Kid came to them first. He crossed the tracks and looked toward the depot, a large adobe building with a red tile