The Loner: Inferno #12 Read Free Page A

honest truth. Come on.”
    Dunlap turned his horse, a big brown gelding, and The Kid moved alongside him on the dun. As they rode toward the front of the wagon train, Dunlap went on, “You must be wonderin’ what an outfit like this is doin’ out here.”
    “I didn’t know there were any more wagon trains,” The Kid admitted. “Everybody travels by regular train now.”
    “Not everybody. I’ve been leadin’ wagon trains west since ’67, and in all that time I’ve headed up at least one every year, sometimes three or four.” The wagonmaster paused. “The past few years, though, it’s only been one. And this one ... well, this is my last.”
    The Kid looked over at him and cocked an eyebrow.
    “I’m retirin’,” Dunlap said in answer to the unasked question. “I’ve had my fill of it. It’s time to settle down. So when these folks get where they’re goin’, I’ll be stayin’ there with ’em.”
    The Kid wasn’t sure why Dunlap was being so open with him. Some men were just talkative, he supposed, and didn’t mind sharing the story of their lives.
    The less The Kid had to talk or even think about his own past, the better.
    As they rode past the wagons, he got a good look at the people on the high seats of the vehicles. Most of the teams were being handled by men who appeared to be farmers, or good hardy working stock, anyway. Some had women with them, and kids peeked out from most of the wagons.
    Women were driving a few wagons. The Kid supposed they were widows or maybe the wives of some of the outriders. He noticed one in particular who had long, blond hair that had been pulled back and tied into a ponytail hanging far down her back from under her sunbonnet.
    When he and Dunlap reached the front of the wagon train, Dunlap introduced The Kid to the other man riding up there.
    “This is Scott Harwood, one of our scouts. Scott, meet Mr. Morgan.”
    Harwood, a lean, dark-faced man who could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, gave The Kid a nod. “Howdy.”
    The Kid had a hunch Harwood was as taciturn as Dunlap was garrulous, so that probably made them a good team.
    “Mr. Morgan’s never seen a wagon train before,” Dunlap continued. “Reckon he figured they didn’t exist anymore, that the locomotives run ’em all out of business.”
    “There are still places the railroad doesn’t go,” Harwood said. “Like Raincrow Valley.”
    “That’s the name of the place you’re headed?” The Kid asked. “Raincrow Valley?”
    “Yep,” Dunlap said. “Prettiest place you ever saw. And you can help us get there, Mr. Morgan.”
    That statement caused The Kid to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “Me? How can I help you?”
    Dunlap gave him a shrewd look. “Come on. You reckon I don’t know the famous gunslinger Kid Morgan when I see him?”

Chapter 3
     
    For a long moment, The Kid didn’t respond. When he spoke, he kept his voice flat and noncommittal. “I didn’t say anything about being a gunslinger.”
    “You didn’t have to,” Dunlap said. “A fella I know pointed you out to me in a saloon in Santa Fe a while back. Told me you were about as fast as that other fella named Morgan. What’s his name? Frank?”
    Frank Morgan, the gunfighter known as The Drifter, was The Kid’s father, but not very many people knew that. The Kid wanted to keep it that way.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
    “No point in denyin’ it. Lord knows I’m not lookin’ to prod you into a fight, Kid. Even when I was young I was never fast on the draw. No, I want to hire you.”
    “To do what?”
    “I figure we can always use another scout.” Dunlap gave The Kid a sly look. “Especially one who’s supposed to be mighty slick at handlin’ a gun.”
    Before The Kid could say anything else, Harwood spoke up.
    “We don’t need another scout, Horace. We’re only a few days away from the valley.”
    Dunlap nodded. “I know that. And I’d plumb hate for anything bad to happen