The Loner: Inferno #12 by J.A. Johnstone Page B

valley where he intended to spend the night.
    It likely would take him a few days to get out of the valley and cross that mountain range Dunlap had mentioned. He and the dun would be worn out by the time they reached the basin on the other side. He was already looking forward to finding the settlement and taking it easy for a few days.
    A half moon rose in the east and scattered more silvery light across the valley. The creek’s meandering course quickly took The Kid out of sight of the wagon train camp, and when he looked back, he could no longer see the fires.
    He rode until he thought he was four or five miles north of the camp. When he came upon a pine-dotted knoll overlooking the creek, he decided it would make a decent place to stop for the night. He rode up the slope and found that the top of the knoll was fairly level. It would do to spread his bedroll, and there was enough grass to keep the dun happy.
    The Kid dismounted, unsaddled, and picketed the horse, then delved into the bag of supplies Dunlap had given him. He found some biscuits that felt fresh and a hunk of salt pork. Starting a fire and brewing some coffee seemed like too much trouble. He would make a cold camp for the night, then have coffee in the morning. He sat on a fallen pine to eat, washing down the food with water from his canteen.
    When he was finished with his meal, he piled up some pine boughs, spread his blankets on top of them, took off his boots, and stretched out with his gunbelt coiled on the ground beside him. His head rested on his saddle.
    It would be chilly before morning, he thought as he looked up at the stars. In fact, most of the day’s warmth had already faded away, and those stars with their silvery glitter had a distinctly cold look about them.
    That was because the stars didn’t give a damn, The Kid mused. They sat up there looking down on the earth, and the petty trials and tribulations of the puny humans who lived here were utterly meaningless to them.
    It didn’t pay to think too much about things like that, The Kid told himself. If a man realized how tiny and insignificant he was in the universe’s grand scheme of things, he might be too overwhelmed to go on.
    With that thought in his head, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes to go to sleep.
    He hadn’t been in that position for more than a second or two when he heard gunfire in the distance.
    The Kid stiffened, then flung his bedroll aside and reached for the revolver lying next to him. With the Colt in his hand, he got to his feet and walked over to the edge of the knoll. His pulse hammered in his head as he stared to the south, toward the wagon camp, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the shots that drifted through the night air.
    The gunfire wasn’t the only thing that alarmed him. As he looked in that direction, he saw an orange glow climbing into the sky, faint at first, then growing stronger with every passing second. Something was burning down there, and the flames were big enough to light up the heavens.
    The Kid turned sharply and started toward his horse. He might not be able to get there in time to help the immigrants, but he had to try.
    He had taken only a step when a dark shape suddenly flung itself out of the shadows under the pines and lunged at him as a savage war cry split the air.

Chapter 11
     
    The Apache never had a chance. The Kid’s gun was already in his hand, and it roared twice in less than a heartbeat, slamming a pair of slugs into the attacker’s chest.
    The bullets stopped the Apache like running into a wall. He crumpled, probably dead when he hit the ground.
    He wasn’t alone, though. A Winchester cracked, spitting flame and leaden death into the night. The Kid felt as much as heard the rifle bullet hum hotly past his ear. He triggered a shot at the muzzle flash as he went down in a rolling dive.
    His brain was working automatically, trying to figure out how many Indians he faced and where they were. He