Killer Poker

Chapter 32





While The Kid kept his gun on her, Rose ripped strips from her shirt and wadded up a couple of them to make a pad that covered the wound on her side. She tied the pad tightly in place with more of the makeshift bandages.

“On your feet,” The Kid told her when she was finished. “We’re going to go see how far off your horse strayed.”

“You’re going after McKinney tonight?”

“No reason to wait. With it being dark, maybe he won’t see me coming.”

Rose shook her head. “He’s going to kill you, you know.”

“He’s been trying to. And I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“You’re as crazy as he is,” she spat out.

“Maybe.” Let her think that if she wanted to. “Let’s go.”

The horse Rose had taken from the Double Star hadn’t gone very far. They found it less than a hundred yards away in the main canyon, cropping contentedly at the grass. The Kid led the animal back to the side canyon. He wasn’t going to let Rose mount up until he was on the horse he had taken from the dead gunman.

A few minutes later, they were riding east toward the edge of the foothills. He knew there was a chance they could run into some of McKinney’s men who were still searching for him. If that happened, he would just have to fight his way through them and keep an eye on Rose at the same time. It would be quite a challenge.

As they rode, The Kid indulged his curiosity. “How in the world did a woman wind up being a hired killer?”

Rose laughed. “You think women can’t kill?”

He thought bitterly about the havoc Pamela had wreaked in his life. “They don’t usually get blood on their own hands. They prefer to have some man do their killing for them.”

“Some women are like that, but I always liked to handle my own problems. I started at a pretty early age.”

“Killing, you mean?”

“Realizing that some men deserved to die. From there it didn’t take me long to figure out that it could be profitable, too. Men are fools. A pretty face and a sweet smile is all it takes to make them believe whatever you want them to believe.”

Even though he didn’t know the details of Rose’s background, he had a hunch it was somewhat similar to that of his friend Lace McCall. She had had a bad time of it as a youngster, and had developed a tough hide and considerable skill with a gun. But she was a bounty hunter and used her talents on the side of the law, at least to a certain extent. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer like Rose.

He might have tried to find out more from her, but just then he noticed an orange glow in the sky up ahead. As he frowned, puzzled by the sight, he smelled smoke. Something was burning.

“Come on.” He heeled the horse to a faster pace.

A short time later they reached the cliffs The Kid had climbed earlier in the day. He moved close enough to the edge that he could look down and see a vehicle burning below. The flames had subsided a little, so he got a good look at the charred framework of what appeared to be a buckboard.

If he didn’t know better, The Kid thought, he would have taken it for the buckboard that Arturo had driven all the way across the Great Plains from Kansas City.

A cold finger traced an icy trail along his backbone. That was Arturo’s buckboard, he realized.

“Let’s get down there,” he grated. “You know where the trail is. Show me.”

“What if I don’t?”

The Kid turned in the saddle. The Colt sprang into his hand. “You can cooperate, or I’ll tie you up and leave you here.”

Rose thought for a moment. “All right. Follow me.”

She rode north. The Kid trailed behind her with his gun still drawn. After they had gone a mile or so, they came to a ledge that worked its way down the face of the cliff. She continued to lead the way with The Kid covering her as they descended.

They galloped to the burning buckboard. The fire was almost out, but the blackened wood still glowed cherry red in a few places. The team was gone, obviously unhitched and led away before the vehicle was set ablaze.

The Kid spotted something white flapping in the breeze a few yards away. It was a piece of paper weighted down by a rock. He dismounted, keeping his gun pointed toward Rose. Stooping quickly, he pulled the paper free.

The moon was rising, but there wasn’t enough light for him to read the words written on the paper. He holstered the Colt and reached into the shirt pocket where the dead gunman had kept his makings. A moment later a match flared as The Kid snapped it to life with his thumbnail.

The glare from the match revealed the words scrawled on the paper.



I HAVE MASTERSON AND THE ITALIAN.

COME TO DOUBLE STAR AT DAWN

OR THEY DIE.





The coldness he had felt earlier crept through his veins. The note wasn’t signed, but obviously the message was from Rance McKinney. Arturo and Bat Masterson were the rancher’s prisoners. The Kid wasn’t sure what they had been doing out there—looking for him, more than likely—but that didn’t matter. Their lives were in danger, and he was the only one who could save them.

“What is it?” Rose asked as The Kid crumpled the paper and threw it aside.

“McKinney has my friends.” The Kid told her about the demand that he come to the ranch headquarters at dawn.

She laughed. “I guess it’s a good thing you have me, then. Maybe you can trade me for them. In a case like that, McKinney might decide he wants me alive after all.”

“The hell with that.” The Kid drew his gun and lined the sights on Rose. “I’m not waiting that long.”





Arturo’s arm hurt like blazes. McKinney’s men had pulled it out of the sling and yanked it behind his back so they could tie his wrists together. Then they had tied him into the chair where he sat in the big parlor of the ranch house. Masterson was beside him, similarly trussed up.

“McKinney’s going to kill us, you know,” Arturo commented. He hoped talking would get his mind off the slow, warm trickle of blood he felt making its way down his arm from the reopened wound.

“Oh, sure,” Masterson agreed readily. “He can’t afford to turn us loose. I don’t believe in false modesty. I’m much too famous for him to get away with kidnapping us like this. It’ll be better for us if we just disappear. But there’s still one thing we have to remember.”

“Mr. Browning is still out there somewhere.”

Masterson grinned. “Exactly.”

They were carrying on the conversation in low voices because a guard was on the other side of the room, standing by the front windows with a rifle in his hand. Other guards were posted around the house.

The gunman glanced over at them and snapped, “You two shut up that mutterin’ over there. I don’t know what you’re sayin’, but you’re startin’ to get on my nerves.”

Masterson raised his voice. “We were just talking about how all of you who survive are going to wind up dancing at the end of a rope. I hope you’ve enjoyed the wages McKinney has paid you so far, because you won’t live to collect any more.”

The man pointed the rifle at the former lawman. “Why don’t I just go ahead and shoot you?” he snarled. “The famous Bat Masterson! You ain’t so high and mighty now, are you?”

“McKinney wouldn’t like that,” Masterson pointed out. “He wants us kept alive . . . for now.”

The hardcase snorted contemptuously. “For now is right. You two are dead ducks, you just don’t know it yet.”

“On the contrary,” Arturo said, “I believe we’re well aware of it.”

“Well, just shut your traps, or I’ll shut ’em for you. The boss may want you alive, but he didn’t say nothin’ about how I couldn’t take a rifle butt to you and bust your jaws.”

“You have a point, amigo,” Masterson drawled. He looked over at Arturo and shrugged.

They didn’t know where McKinney was. Maybe still looking for Rose Sullivan. The rancher had been upset when they got back and discovered that she was gone. It was impossible for Conrad to have taken her, Arturo knew, so that meant she had left on her own. From the way McKinney had gone raging around, he’d had some plans of his own for the beautiful killer.

Footsteps sounded on the porch. The guard turned his rifle toward the door as it burst open, but he lowered the weapon as another of McKinney’s men hurried in.

“Where’s the boss?” the newcomer asked.

“Upstairs, I think. Damn it, Carter, I came near to pluggin’ you! What’s so all-fired important?”

“There’s a horse comin’ in with somebody tied across the saddle. I think it’s that girl, and she looks dead!”

“Son of a bitch,” the guard said. He turned toward the stairs and raised his voice. “Boss! Mr. McKinney!”

“What the hell is it?” McKinney asked a moment later from the top of the stairs.

“The boys have found that Sullivan woman. Somethin’s happened to her!”

McKinney came clattering down the stairs in a hurry, gun in hand. “Show me,” he demanded. All three of them went outside, leaving the front door open.

Masterson looked over at Arturo. “Conrad wouldn’t have killed her, would he?” he asked quietly.

“Only if she was trying to kill him.”

Arturo’s head lifted as he heard something behind him, a stealthy sound like someone gliding across the thick rug on the floor. He tried to crane his head enough to look around.

A familiar voice said, “Just sit still, Arturo. I’ll have you and Bat loose in a minute.”

Before Arturo could even gasp in surprise, all hell broke loose outside.





The Kid got the knife under Arturo’s bonds and severed them with one swift, strong stroke. Then he moved over and cut Masterson free as well. The explosion from the barn hadn’t taken him by surprise, as it had McKinney and the other men in the yard between the house and the barn. He had known just about how long it would take for the fuse to burn down and had been expecting the blast.

Finding that crate of dynamite in the barn had been good luck. He’d planned to fire the place anyway, but blowing it up was a lot more spectacular and caused a lot more chaos. After tying up the hostler, he had dragged the old-timer a good long distance away from the barn so he’d be safe, then opened all the stalls and led the horses out as well. It had taken time to do all that without alerting any of McKinney’s men that something was going on, but The Kid had learned to be patient, as well as how to move as quietly as an Indian when he needed to.

Once the barn was empty, he’d planned to start a fire and lure McKinney’s men out of the house that way. Then he’d found the dynamite and grinned as he unrolled a long length of fuse and touched it off. After that, it had been simple to circle through the darkness to the rear of the house, overpower the guard he found there, and let himself in to look for Arturo and Masterson.

He’d been waiting for the explosion on the other side of the dining room door, but something else had happened to draw McKinney and his men outside. He heard the shouting about Rose, and his forehead furrowed in a frown. He had left her tied securely a long way from the ranch headquarters. Clearly she had gotten loose and come to warn McKinney. The Kid didn’t understand how, but it didn’t matter. The ball was already underway.

As Masterson came up out of the chair, flexing his fingers to get feeling back in them, The Kid thrust a revolver into his hand. He had taken it from the guard he had knocked out.

“You lie low in here, Arturo. Bat and I will deal with McKinney.”

Arturo gestured toward the rifle in The Kid’s other hand. “I’m already bleeding again. You might as well give me that Winchester.”

The Kid didn’t hesitate. He grinned and handed the rifle to Arturo. “Let’s go. It won’t take McKinney long to figure out I blew up his barn.”

The three men headed for the front door. The thud of footsteps on the stairs made them stop and swing around. A couple of McKinney’s hardcases were on their way down. The men stopped short at the sight of The Kid and the two former prisoners. They spat curses and clawed at their guns.

The Kid and Masterson fired at the same time, their slugs punching into the hardcases and knocking them back against the stairs. One of the men lay there and writhed in his death throes. The other tried to get up but toppled down the stairs, coming to rest at the base with blood welling from the bullet hole in his chest.

The brief, one-sided gunfight had delayed them only a few seconds. They headed for the door again and burst onto the porch. The barn was fully engulfed in flames, casting a hellish red light over the ranch house and the area in front of it. McKinney and several gunmen were gathered around a horse. They had lifted Rose down from the animal and McKinney had an arm around her to support her. She looked past his shoulder, spotted The Kid, and screamed, “Browning!”

McKinney and his hired killers twisted around, but The Kid and Masterson already had their Colts leveled, spouting flame and lead. Behind them, as more gunmen came pounding around the corner of the house, Arturo lifted the rifle to his shoulder and opened fire, working the Winchester’s lever, cranking off round after round despite his injury.

McKinney’s men were tough. They stood their ground and put up a fight, even as bullets scythed into them. The Kid heard several slugs whine past his head. He placed his shots coolly and carefully, knowing he probably wouldn’t have time to reload. Every bullet had to count. Beside him, Bat Masterson was doing the same thing.

One by one, the killers crumpled. As his men fell, McKinney dashed to the side, dragging Rose with him. He emptied the gun in his hand to cover his retreat.

The Kid saw them fleeing and said to Masterson, “I’m going after McKinney!” He bounded off the porch before anyone could stop him and ran toward the corner of the house where McKinney and Rose had disappeared.

As The Kid hurried after his quarry, he had a chance to thumb fresh cartridges into his gun after all. He stopped at the corner of the house and pressed his back against the wall rather than rush blindly around it.

“Browning!” McKinney yelled from somewhere close by. “Browning, you hear me? I know what happened to your wife. Are you gonna stand by and let another woman die?”

“H-help me!” Rose cried. “He’s really going to kill me!”

The Kid didn’t believe that for a second. They were trying to trick him again.

But then a gun blasted and Rose screamed. It could still be a trick, The Kid told himself, but it had sure sounded like McKinney had shot her.

“C-Conrad . . . ?” The name was a hoarse whisper. She stumbled into view, blood welling from her mouth and soaking her shirt where she had both hands pressed to her midsection. The Kid’s eyes widened in horror.

He realized a split-second later that McKinney was behind her, holding her up and shoving her along. The rancher thrust his gun hand under Rose’s arm and opened fire. The Kid threw himself forward as bullets ripped through the air just above him.

The light from the blazing barn was uncertain, but he could see one of McKinney’s legs. He fired, drilling a slug through the rancher’s thigh. McKinney bellowed in pain and twisted around. The shock of being shot caused him to let go of Rose. As she toppled limply away from him, McKinney tried to line his sights on The Kid, but the revolver in The Kid’s hand was already roaring. He fired three times. All three bullets smashed into McKinney’s chest and drove the man backward in a macabre, jittering dance. McKinney dropped his gun and fell, landing on his back with his arms and legs flung out. He spasmed, his chest jerking as he tried to drag breaths into his body. His fingers clawed at the ground.

Then he went limp all over as death claimed him.

The Kid scrambled up and ran to Rose’s side. He rolled her onto her back. He was still watchful for tricks, but she was beyond that. Life was fading rapidly from her eyes.

“I . . . I don’t like to . . .”

That was all she got out before her last breath sighed from her throat. The Kid had a pretty good idea of what she had been trying to say.

She didn’t like to leave a job undone. For once, she had failed.

Kid Morgan was still alive.

“Sir?” Arturo said from behind him.

The Kid straightened and turned around. He saw Arturo and Masterson standing there with their guns in their hands.

“McKinney’s men who are still alive have scattered,” Masterson said. “They’re liable to come back, so it might be a good idea to find some horses and get out of here while we can.”

The Kid nodded in agreement. “I know where there are horses.”

Arturo looked past him at the bodies of Rose and McKinney. “She didn’t do her job this time, did she?” he asked, unknowingly echoing the same thought that had just gone through The Kid’s head.

“No, she didn’t,” The Kid said. “And McKinney lost the last hand . . . again.”

Aces were the best. Hot lead beats aces, every time.