Killer Poker

Chapter 33





Masterson stood next to the new buckboard and grinned up at Arturo. “I wouldn’t have thought it, amigo, but you turned out to be a hell of a fighting man.”

“High praise indeed coming from the famous Bat Masterson. But it would be perfectly fine with me if I never again have to engage in any of these . . . ruckuses.”

Masterson laughed. “I wouldn’t count on that happening. Not as long as you’re traveling with Conrad Browning.”

Conrad, dressed in his usual black suit, black hat, boots, and string tie, finished tying his horse to the back of the buckboard. He would be handling the team until Arturo’s arm healed up, a process that had been unavoidably delayed by the battle at the Double Star ranch house.

Denver was still buzzing about what had happened out there several nights earlier. The official theory was that rustlers had raided the ranch. Most of the members of McKinney’s crew who had survived had taken off for greener pastures since he was no longer alive to pay them. Conrad had a pretty good idea they had run off most of the Double Star stock in the process, figuring that at least they would get something out of the deal that way. The few who were still there weren’t saying much. None of them wanted to implicate themselves in McKinney’s murderous schemes.

The presence of Rose Sullivan’s body was a mystery. Most folks figured she was McKinney’s ladyfriend who’d had the bad luck to be at the ranch when it was attacked.

Nothing tied Conrad, Arturo, or Masterson to the incident, and they were going to leave it that way. Ellery Hudson knew the truth, of course, but the lawyer wouldn’t say anything. Conrad was his client, after all, so he was honor bound to keep silent.

As Conrad climbed up to the buckboard seat beside Arturo, Masterson asked, “You’re still heading for San Francisco?”

Conrad nodded. “With stops to search along the way. There’s still no proof Pamela took the kids with her all the way to the coast. She left here with them, but that’s all we know.”

“There’s a lot of country between here and there,” Masterson mused. “I could come along and help you look.”

Conrad smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got a wife and a good life here, Bat. You don’t need to give that up. Besides, you said you wanted to try your hand at journalism. Maybe someday you’ll write about what happened.”

Masterson laughed. “I don’t think so. I believe we’ll just let this little scrape go unreported. What would be the point in it?”

“That’s true.” A wistful look came over Conrad’s face. “Nothing was really settled, was it? I still didn’t find my children.”

“It’s only a matter of time, my friend, only a matter of time.”

Conrad and Arturo lifted hands in farewell, and Conrad got the team moving. The buckboard rolled away, leaving Bat Masterson behind them.

“He’s right, you know,” Arturo said. “You’ll find them. Little Frank and Vivian. They’re out there somewhere, and they may not know it, but they’re just waiting for their father to find them.”

Conrad smiled. The hopeful words comforted him.

But he thought about everything Pamela Tarleton had had waiting for him so far, every bit of treachery and danger, and dark shadows shifted in his eyes.