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

roof a couple of blocks to his right. The street that dead-ended at the train station appeared to form a dividing line of sorts, with the respectable businesses and residences, along with the churchs and the school, to the north of it, and the saloons, cantinas, gambling dens, and whorehouses to the south.
    It was a common enough arrangement in frontier towns, The Kid knew. If there was no natural boundary to set the high-toned folks apart from their more rough-hewn fellow citizens, they would come up with an arbitrary one.
    The Kid turned in the saddle and waved the wagon on. It bumped roughly over the railroad tracks. As Annabelle drove up alongside The Kid, he pointed out a large emporium to her and said, “Take the wagon over there. We’ll stock up on supplies, then go down to the public well there at the end of the street and top off the water barrels.”
    She nodded. “All right. Then what?”
    “Well, we could push on toward the Jornada and make camp somewhere, but there’s only a couple of hours of daylight left. By the time we pick up those supplies, there’ll just be an hour or so. Doesn’t hardly seem worth it.”
    “Are you suggesting that we spend the night here in Las Cruces?”
    “I reckon it would make the most sense. You could get a good night’s sleep in a real bed for a change.”
    Judging by the look on her face, Annabelle didn’t like the idea very much. She turned to the priest and asked, “What do you think, Father?”
    “Mr. Morgan is right,” Father Jardine said, although he sounded like it pained him a mite to admit that. “We should make a fresh start in the morning.”
    “All right…but I think we should guard the wagon overnight.”
    The Kid pointed to a livery stable and wagon yard across the street. “The outfit will be fine over there,” he said.
    “You don’t understand. If Fortunato has agents here, they could sabotage the wagon and hold us up long enough for him to catch us.”
    If it hadn’t been for the things he’d seen so far, The Kid might be starting to think that Annabelle was a little loco on the subject of Fortunato. She seemed to believe that the count or his men were lurking behind every rock and bush, ready to jump them.
    But he recalled those men who’d been chasing the wagon and the long-range shot that had creased Annabelle’s arm, and he couldn’t guarantee that she was overstating the threat. Maybe she was right.
    “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll stay with the wagon. You and the padre can get rooms in one of the hotels and get a good night’s sleep.”
    “That hardly seems fair,” Annabelle protested.
    “I can bed down just fine in the wagon, so if anybody tries to bother it, they’ll get a mighty big surprise.”
    “Well…it would feel nice to sleep in an actual bed again.”
    The Kid smiled. “It’s a deal, then. Come on, let’s see about getting those supplies. That way, we’ll be ready to pull out first thing in the morning and won’t have to wait.”
    Annabelle had tucked her long red hair up under her hat, but there was no disguising the curves of her body. The sight of a woman wearing men’s clothing and packing a gun drew some curious looks from the people in the street as she drove the wagon over to the general store and parked it in front of the high front porch that served as a loading dock. The Kid saw the stiff set of her face and knew she was doing her best to ignore the stares.
    Annabelle and Father Jardine climbed down from the seat. “I’m going to walk over to the church,” the priest said, nodding toward a large adobe building topped by a bell tower.
    “All right, but be careful,” Annabelle said. “Don’t tell anyone who you are.”
    Father Jardine just smiled. “I agreed not to wear my cassock in an attempt to conceal my identity, Doctor, but obviously, that ruse failed. I see no need for further deception.”
    “Just humor me, Father, all right?”
    The priest sighed and then nodded. “Very well. It