The Loner: The Bounty Killers by J. A. Johnstone Page B

curved in a cold smile. “Those posters said he was wanted dead or alive, after all.”

Chapter 13

    The Kid was dozing on his bunk when he heard Carly’s voice out in the office. He wondered why she had come back to the jail—supper had been several hours earlier. He hoped something wasn’t wrong.
    A few moments later, the front door of the office slammed like somebody had left in a hurry.
    The Kid sat up on the bunk and frowned. From the sound of it, Carly had come to the marshal’s office to bring her father some sort of urgent summons. Trouble must have cropped up somewhere in Las Vegas.
    The key rattled in the cell block door. It swung open, and The Kid saw Carly’s slender figure silhouetted against the light in the office. She went quickly into the cell block.
    The Kid came to his feet, grasped the bars, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
    Carly clutched the marshal’s big key ring in her hand. She pushed a key into the lock on The Kid’s cell and said, “I’m letting you out of here.”
    “Hold on a minute.” The Kid couldn’t quite believe he was saying that, but the words came out of his mouth. “What’s going on here?”
    “I sent some telegrams of my own,” Carly said. “I wired Turnbuckle & Stafford in San Francisco and asked if a man named Browning was one of their clients. I also sent a message to a friend of mine in Denver and asked her to check with the newspapers there and see if she could find out anything about Conrad Browning.”
    “I guess you must have gotten some replies,” The Kid said. His mouth was set in grim lines.
    “That’s right. My God, what terrible things have happened to you! To lose your wife like that, and then to have everyone believe that you were dead—”
    “That was my choice,” The Kid broke in. “I wanted people to think that Conrad Browning was dead.” He paused. “Especially the men who murdered my wife.”
    “Anyway, I’m convinced those wanted posters are just another terrible mistake, like you said. I knew you . . . you couldn’t be a bad man.”
    The Kid grunted. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. You don’t know all the things I’ve done. But I never murdered any prison guards, in New Mexico or anywhere else, and the only reason I broke out of Hell Gate was to try to clear my name.”
    Carly turned the key. “That’s why I’m turning you loose. So you can clear your name. I told my father some story about being up at the store when I saw a fight about to break out between some cowboys, and he went to see about it. You have to hurry. He’ll be back soon.”
    She swung the door open, but The Kid didn’t step out. “What happened to just waiting here until Turnbuckle proves I’m innocent?”
    “That was before I knew about everything you’ve gone through. I-I wasn’t sure you could stand being locked up.”
    The Kid put a hand on the barred door. “I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. But I don’t want to get you in trouble with your father. I can stand staying here.” He smiled. “As long as you keep providing the meals, that is.”
    She stared at him and asked, “You’re not going to escape?”
    “I will,” the bank robber said from the other cell. “You can unlock this door, and I’ll thank you mighty kindly, ma’am.”
    “Forget it,” The Kid told him. “You go back out in the office, Carly. Take the keys with you. We’ll forget this happened, and the marshal doesn’t have to know about it.”
    “But, Kid . . .” she pleaded, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that the outlaw in the other cell was right. Carly had fallen for him, or at least she had convinced herself that she had. She was trying to make this big dramatic gesture in order to prove how she felt about him.
    He shook his head. “This isn’t right, and you know it.”
    He could tell she wanted to argue some more, but the sudden opening of the front door in the marshal’s office made her jerk around with a sharply indrawn breath.
    The Kid