The Devil's Badland: The Loner by J. A. Johnstone Page A

found this in the church a short time ago,” he said as he held out an envelope.
    Conrad’s eyes widened—which caused a fresh jolt of pain to shoot through the bruised place on his forehead—as he saw his name written on the envelope. The letters were in what appeared to be a woman’s handwriting.
    The envelope wasn’t sealed. He opened it and took out the paper inside, unfolding it and spreading it out on the table next to his plate. The message was simple and unsigned.
    I saw you today. If you want the truth, come to the cemetery.

    Conrad looked up at Father Francisco. “You didn’t see who left this?”
    “No. I don’t mean to pry in your affairs, Mr. Browning, but I couldn’t help but read the note when you spread it out like that. I didn’t see anyone in the cemetery when I came up here.”
    Conrad came to his feet. “That doesn’t matter.” He slipped the paper back in the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. “I have to go down there.”
    Father Francisco put out a hand. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said. “You don’t know who sent this note, or why.”
    “Like you said, Father,” Conrad smiled, “the cemetery’s always open. I don’t think you can stop me.”
    The priest’s lips tightened for a second. Then he shrugged. “You’re right, of course. But I’m coming with you.”
    “Now that might not be a good idea.”
    “ You can’t stop me , Mr. Browning.”
    “No,” Conrad admitted as he picked up his hat. “I don’t suppose I can.”
    The two men left the hotel. Conrad didn’t give a second thought to the food he hadn’t finished. He didn’t really have much of an appetite these days, anyway. He just ate to keep going.
    Bright light and tinny piano music came from a saloon down the street, and the general store was still open. Other than that, Val Verde was quiet and peaceful, pretty much shut down for the night. Conrad looked toward the church. He couldn’t see much of the cemetery. Darkness hid it.
    In a soft, nervous voice, Father Francisco said, “You know this could be a trap, don’t you?”
    “I know,” Conrad said. “That’s why I didn’t think you should come with me, Father.”
    “Anyone who would use hallowed ground for such a purpose…” The priest’s voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t conceive of such a thing.
    “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that some people will do… anything. ”
    Like murder a beautiful young woman who never harmed anyone in her life.
    They reached the gate, and suddenly, without any warning, Father Francisco stepped ahead of Conrad and called, “Hello? Is anyone—”
    Conrad opened his mouth to warn the priest to be careful, but he was too late. Gun flame stabbed through the shadows as a shot blasted. Father Francisco grunted in pain and rocked back under the impact of a slug.
    Conrad didn’t know how bad the priest was hit. Lunging forward, he hit Father Francisco with his left shoulder and knocked him to the ground to get him out of the line of fire. Conrad’s right hand palmed out the Colt on his hip and brought it up. He triggered twice, aiming at the spot where he had seen the muzzle flash.
    Whoever was out there in the darkness returned the fire. The slugs ripped through the air near Conrad’s head. “Stay down, Father!” Conrad called as he angled to his right, toward one of the cottonwoods. “Get behind a headstone and stay there!”
    He didn’t believe for a second that Father Francisco was the bushwhacker’s intended target. That first shot had been aimed at him, and Father Francisco was just unlucky enough to have stepped into the way of the bullet at exactly the wrong time. He hoped the priest wasn’t hurt too badly.
    Conrad pressed his back against the trunk of the cottonwood. A bullet rustled through the tree’s branches. The trunk wasn’t thick enough to shield him completely from the bushwhacker’s fire, so he couldn’t stay there. Crouching low, he came out