The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold Read Online Free Page A

head to see how the old man was coming along with the chore he’d given him. Because of that, he didn’t see the young woman move. He sensed it, though, and a second later he felt the hard jab as she dug the muzzle of her pistol into his belly.
    “Don’t move,” she said, “or I’ll blow your guts out.”

Chapter 3

    “Annabelle, no!” the old man called from the wagon. “That’s the young man who’s helping us!”
    “I’ll kill you, Fortunato,” the redhead muttered. Green eyes filled with hatred glared up at The Kid when he looked at her.
    He shook his head and said, “I’m not Fortunato.” He hoped that gun didn’t have a hair trigger.
    “You’ll never get the Konigsberg Candlestick,” the young woman called Annabelle went on. “Or the secret of the Twelve Pearls, either. I’ll kill you…kill you…”
    Those striking green eyes suddenly rolled up in their sockets as she passed out again. Her arm fell to the side, and the gun slipped out of her fingers when the back of her hand hit the ground.
    The Kid heaved a sigh of relief.
    “You have to forgive her,” the old man said as he bustled back over to them from the wagon, carrying a piece of cloth he had soaked with water from a canteen. “She’s out of her head from being shot. Will she be all right?”
    “I think so,” The Kid replied as he took the wet cloth from the old man and began washing away the blood around the wound. “There’s a whiskey flask in my saddlebags. Reckon you can get it?”
    The old-timer frowned. “You need a drink at a time like this?”
    The Kid pointed to the bullet crease on the young woman’s arm. “It’s to clean the wound,” he said, even though he was a little annoyed by having to explain himself.
    “Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I’ll see if I can find it.”
    While the old man was digging through the saddlebags, The Kid asked, “What’s her name?”
    “Annabelle. Annabelle Dare.”
    The Kid grunted. “Pretty name. She your granddaughter?”
    “No. My, ah, daughter.”
    That struck The Kid as odd. He would have said there was too much differences in their ages for Annabelle to be the old-timer’s daughter. She must have come along late in life for the couple.
    “What about her mother?”
    “I’m not married.”
    “All right.” None of his business, The Kid told himself. Of course, he had tried to stick by that notion earlier, he recalled, and they could all see how that had worked out. “Have you found the whiskey yet?”
    “Right here,” the old man said as he brought the flask to The Kid, who took it and unscrewed the cap.
    The Kid nodded toward Annabelle Dare and suggested, “Why don’t you get up there by her head and hold her shoulders? She’s liable to jump a little when I pour this Who-hit-John over that wound.”
    “All right.” The old man got in position and put his hands on Annabelle’s shoulders. He might not be strong enough to hold her down completely, but at least his grip might help steady her a little.
    The Kid grasped Annabelle’s arm with his left hand and turned it slightly, so that he could get to the wound better. Then he poured the whiskey onto it, making sure to saturate the furrow thoroughly.
    Annabelle reacted instantly, letting out a small cry of pain. Her back arched, but the old man’s grip was strong enough to keep her from thrashing around. Her breath hissed between clenched teeth. Her eyelids fluttered.
    The Kid wiped away the mixture of blood and whiskey that ran out of the wound. With a long sigh, Annabelle relaxed slightly, and The Kid realized that the pain must have eased somewhat. After a moment, her eyes opened.
    “Should I move that gun out of your reach,” he asked her, “or do you know who I am now?”
    “I don’t…know who you are.”
    “But you know I’m not Fortunato.”
    “Of course…you’re not…Fortunato. What do you…mean by that?”
    The old man leaned in and said, “A few minutes ago, you mistook our young benefactor here