The Loner (6 page)

Which meant that the encounter probably wasn’t a coincidence. Those men had been following them, probably plotting their crime even then. Conrad suspected that they had wanted to get a good look at him and Rebel.

They must have decided it would be easy to steal her away from him, he thought bitterly.

“Mister?”

Conrad looked down at the boy and forced a solemn smile onto his face. He held out the double eagle.

“Here. You’ve earned this.”

The youngster snatched the coin and bit it to make sure it was real, obviously a habit with him. He grinned and said, “Thanks, mister.” He started to run away, then stopped and looked back at Conrad. “That note I brought you…was it bad news?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly.

He wouldn’t know—until midnight tonight.

Despite the vow he had made to himself earlier about not resting until Rebel was safe again, Conrad knew he couldn’t afford to be groggy tonight from lack of sleep. He would need to be alert, with all his senses functioning at top efficiency. For that reason, he went upstairs and forced himself to lie down on the bed in the guest room. He couldn’t bring himself to stretch out by himself on the bed he normally shared with Rebel.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep with surprising ease even though he hadn’t taken off his clothes. His dreams were haunted, though, by nightmares in which shadowy, faceless, evil figures were chasing Rebel through a dark, seemingly endless forest. More than once he jolted awake, only to fall back almost right away into a stupor that turned into yet another of the horrible dreams.

It was the middle of the day when he woke up and stayed awake. As he stumbled down the stairs, he spotted a Western Union envelope on the floor just inside the front door. He had sent instructions with the message to Claudius Turnbuckle that Western Union was to bring any reply to him right away, no matter what time it was, day or night. He supposed he had been sleeping so soundly that he hadn’t heard the messenger knocking on the front door.

Conrad practically pounced on the telegram. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a yellow flimsy like the one Sinclair had brought to the house the previous night. This one read:

Conrad heaved a sigh and suppressed the urge to crumple the telegram in his hand. That wouldn’t do any good. He couldn’t help but be disappointed, though. He had hoped that Frank was somewhere close by.

It looked like Conrad couldn’t count on his father’s help with this problem.

He took the telegram into his study and left it on the desk. Then he cleaned up a little, shaving and changing clothes. He had to pay a visit to the bank, and he didn’t want to look like he had slept in his clothes—which, of course, he had.

Conrad did business with the bank in the same building where his downtown office was located. He went there now, hitching up the buggy horse and driving the half mile. When he walked into the bank, he carried a good-sized carpetbag with him.

A clerk ushered him into the bank manager’s office without delay. The man stood up and shook hands with Conrad, smiling with the same eager affability that he used to greet any large depositor. “What can I do for you, Mr. Browning?” the man asked.

“I need fifty thousand dollars,” Conrad said.

The manager prided himself on being unflappable, but even he gaped at that unexpected statement. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he said, “But…but that’s a great deal of money, Mr. Browning!”

Conrad nodded. “I know that. I need it anyway.”

“But why?”

Conrad allowed his tone to grow chilly. “No offense, but that’s not really any of your business, is it?”

The bank manager clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. “Actually, it is,” he said. “I have a responsibility to the depositors to protect their money. You don’t have fifty thousand dollars in this bank, sir, so I’d be giving you other people’s money.”

“You know perfectly well I’m good for it,” Conrad snapped. “You can wire my banks in Boston and Denver and San Francisco if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” the manager said quickly. He had been taken by surprise, but he didn’t want to offend Conrad if he didn’t have to. “It’s just that there are procedures we normally follow—”

“I don’t have time for normal procedures.” Conrad placed the carpetbag on the manager’s desk. “When I leave here, I need to have fifty thousand dollars in this bag.”

The man ventured a nervous laugh. “You sound almost like a holdup man, Mr. Browning.”

Conrad’s face remained impassive as he said, “If that’s what it takes.”

The manager swallowed hard. “No…no, of course not. You’re well known to be a man of sterling reputation. Of course you’re good for the money. It won’t be necessary to wire any of your other banks.” He went to the door of his office, opened it, and called to the clerk who had announced Conrad a few minutes earlier. Quietly, the manager said, “Joseph, I want you to begin putting together a package of cash for Mr. Browning. Fifty thousand dollars. And be discreet about it.”

The clerk’s eyes widened. “Did you say—”

“You heard what I said,” the manager snapped. “Hop to it!”

“Yes, sir!”

The manager closed the door again and turned back to Conrad. “We’re more than happy to help you with this, Mr. Browning,” he said. “But if there’s anything else I can do…I mean, if you’re in some sort of trouble…”

“What makes you think that?”

The manager looked solemn as he said, “Whenever someone needs a great deal of money in a hurry, there’s always some sort of trouble.”

The chief of police had promised to keep the news of Rebel’s kidnapping quiet. Obviously, he had kept his word. If the story had leaked out, the bank manager would have heard about it by now.

Conrad smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but this is something I have to handle myself. I can promise you, I won’t forget about how you’re cooperating with me.”

“We’ll do anything we can to help, Mr. Browning. You know that.”

A short time later, the clerk came back to the office carrying a box that contained bundles of twenty-and fifty-dollar bills. He placed it on the manager’s desk and said, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

The manager looked at Conrad, who shook his head.

When the clerk was gone, Conrad and the manager both counted the money to be sure the amount was correct; then Conrad placed the bills in the carpetbag. The bag was fairly heavy when he was finished. He signed a receipt for the money, then said, “I’m sure that I can count on your discretion?”

“Of course,” the manager answered. “No one will hear about this from me.”

“I’ll replace these funds, one way or another, within forty-eight hours.” If the ransom payoff went off without a hitch and he got Rebel back safely, he would have fifty thousand sent to the Carson City bank from one of his other banks. If it didn’t…

Conrad wouldn’t allow himself to think about that.

As Conrad started to leave the office, the bank manager said, “Surely, you’d like one of our guards to go with you, Mr. Browning. That’s a great deal of money to be carrying around with you.”

“I’m aware of that,” Conrad said. He pulled back his coat so that the manager could see the butts of the Colt .45s tucked behind his belt on each hip. “That’s why I’m taking precautions of my own.”

The manager didn’t say anything to that. He just stared at the man in his office as if he had never seen Conrad before.

And it was true—he had never seen
this
Conrad Browning. This Conrad Browning had appeared only a few times in the past, when faced with danger to himself or someone he loved. This Conrad Browning was his father’s son.

Conrad carried the carpetbag with him when he stopped at a clothing store on his way home. He came out half an hour later with a paper-wrapped bundle under his other arm. One more stop, at a local gunsmith’s shop, and then he went back to his house to continue getting ready for that night.

Black Rock Canyon was northwest of the city, well off the road to Reno and not far from Lake Tahoe. Conrad had been there once, when he was investigating some land he was thinking about buying, just over the state line in California. One trail led through the canyon, which was steep-sided and covered with pines. No one lived there; it was dark and desolate, and above it loomed a huge bluff that gave the place its name. An appropriate lair for the sort of evil bastards who would abduct a man’s wife, he thought.

When he had awoken from his troubled sleep earlier in the day, the beginnings of a plan had been in the back of his mind. First and foremost was Rebel’s safety, of course, but once that was assured, he planned to go after the men who had taken her, with all the forces at his command. Also, he knew better than to assume that the gang would return her even if he paid the ransom. The chances that they would try to pull a double cross were high. If that happened, Conrad was going to be ready for them, or at least he was going to try to be. He would have felt a lot better about his chances if he’d had his father siding him.

But he had known for years that he wouldn’t always have Frank Morgan to help him. The time had come for him to grow up and handle his own problems. Stomp his own snakes, as Frank would put it.

He opened the bundle he had brought from the clothing store and laid out his purchases on the bed in the spare room. He had bought a pair of black whipcord trousers and a black bib-front shirt, as well as a flat-crowned black Stetson. He already owned a pair of black, high-topped boots. At the gunsmith’s shop, he had picked up a holster and cartridge belt of fine black leather. If it was necessary, he wanted to be able to blend into the shadows. The black outfit would make that easier. He planned to wear it underneath his regular clothes. The gunbelt would be in the buggy, along with a Winchester and his shotgun.

The kidnappers would be expecting a scared, inexperienced Easterner. That was what Conrad would give them—up to a point. But if they went back on the deal, or if Rebel was hurt in any way…

Then the man they would have to deal with would be someone else entirely.

Lasswell was beginning to wonder if the payoff would be worth it. He’d hardly had a moment’s peace since they’d snatched that crazy bitch out of her house the night before.

At the moment, she was tied and gagged, the first time she had been quiet for more than a minute or two. For a gal who was married to a rich businessman from back East, she could cuss like a Texas cowboy who’d been following a trail herd and eating dust all the way to Kansas. Lasswell knew that for a fact, because he had been a cowboy just like that, years earlier as a kid, before he’d decided that following the owlhoot trail was more to his liking.

It was dangerous to get too close to her, too. Clem Baggott had made that mistake. Mrs. Browning had gotten her teeth fastened on his left ear and damn near ripped it off his head before Carlson pulled her away from him. Carlson had taken advantage of the opportunity to run his hands over her breasts, and she had repaid him by twisting around and kicking him in the balls. Howling in pain, Carlson had backhanded her and knocked her a good ten feet. When Abel Dean and Spence Hooper rushed over to grab her and keep her from getting away, she’d hauled off and punched Spence in the face hard enough to break his nose. Gant and White Rock had had to pile on as well to bring her under control.

And that was just getting her out of the house and onto a horse.

By the time they were able to ride away from there, Lasswell had gotten pretty worried that the law would show up. That didn’t happen, though, and he started to think that maybe nobody had heard that shot after all.

Their camp was at the foot of the bluff that loomed over Black Rock Canyon. Finding the place in the dark was difficult, but Lasswell had been over the ground enough in the past few days so that he was able to do it. Once they got there, he had told Mrs. Browning that they would leave her legs untied and not gag her if she would promise to behave. Not only had she not made that promise, she had told him to go to hell and then do something physically impossible once he got there. Lasswell had never run into a woman quite like her.

Her hair had come loose from its upswept curls and hung in disarray around her face. Her eyes burned with anger and hatred, and Lasswell knew by looking at her that if she had been loose and had a gun in her hand, he’d be a dead man by now. They’d all be dead if she had her way.

If he had been thirty years younger, he thought, he could come damn near falling in love with a woman like Rebel Browning.

Sure made him sorry about what was going to happen. But he had his orders, and he intended to carry them out; otherwise, he might not get paid. A man didn’t have to be young to be in love with money.

All day long she had carried on, tied hand and foot and lying under a pine tree. Lasswell had finally gotten fed up and told a couple of men to gag her. Rattigan had almost lost a finger trying to follow that order.

Moss came over to Lasswell and said, “Duncan just died.”

Lasswell grimaced. “Damn. Ray was a good man. He hung on longer’n I expected him to really.”

“If he was a good man, he wouldn’t have let a girl shoot him.”

Lasswell felt a flash of anger toward Moss. “I rode with him for a long while, you didn’t,” he snapped. “I reckon I know how good he was. Anyway, that ain’t no regular gal. She’s a hellcat if ever I saw one.”

Moss shrugged and then lowered his voice. “Carlson’s gettin’ some of the boys stirred up. He wants to have a go at her, and the others think they ought to have a turn, too.”

“I never said anybody could do that.”

“You never said they couldn’t either.”

Moss had a point. But Moss didn’t know the rest of the plan. Nobody did except Lasswell. He was the only one who had actually talked to the boss. The orders he had were very specific, and they didn’t include molesting Mrs. Browning. But he had allowed the other men to believe they might get a chance to have some fun with their captive, thinking that might make them more inclined to go along with what he wanted. He saw now that might have been a mistake.

“All right,” he said with a weary sigh. “I reckon we’d better clear the air.”

The sun was low enough in the sky so that thick shadows were gathering under the trees. Lasswell strode through them to the center of the camp and called, “Everybody gather ’round. I got somethin’ to say.”

The men formed a rough circle around him. Lasswell looked at them and thumbed his hat back on his head. Then he lowered his hand and hooked his thumb behind his gunbelt, so that his fingers hung near the butt of his Colt.

“There’s been some complainin’ around the camp because you fellas ain’t had a chance to get more…friendly-like…with Mrs. Browning.”