The Loner: The Bounty Killers Read Online Free PDF Page A

supplies, ammunition, a spare Colt revolver, a roll of bills that added up to several hundred dollars . . . and an envelope. It was addressed to “L. McCall,” in care of a hotel in Tucson.
    The Kid turned the envelope over, saw a return address scrawled on the flap. The name on it was Hoskins, and the address was in Kansas City, Missouri.
    The Kid didn’t particularly want to read McCall’s mail, but he decided it would be better to see what was in the envelope. A letter might tell him more about the man he’d been forced to shoot.
    Maybe more than he really wanted to know, he thought warily.
    But he lifted the envelope’s flap, slid a couple fingers inside, and brought out a folded piece of paper. It was blank and had been wrapped around a photograph to protect it. The Kid lifted the picture, turning so the dawn light fell over it.
    The photograph was of a little girl, probably four or five years old. She wore a frilly dress, nothing real fancy or expensive, but nice. Long, pale hair fell over her shoulders. She had gazed into the camera with a solemn expression on her face. The Kid supposed she was pretty, although he wasn’t much of a judge of such things.
    He turned the photograph over, thinking there might be a name or something written on the back. Nothing was there except the name of a photography studio in Kansas City. No hint of who the girl was or how she was related to the bounty hunter named McCall.
    As far as The Kid could tell, if anybody had a rightful claim to the money McCall had saved up, it was the little girl. Whoever had sent the picture ought to have it back, too. McCall didn’t need it anymore.
    When he got to Las Vegas, The Kid decided, as soon as he had sent a wire to Claudius Turnbuckle, he would wrap up the photograph and the cash and send it to Hoskins, whoever that was, at the address in Kansas City. He didn’t need or want the money himself. Since it had belonged to a bounty hunter, it might well be blood money.
    But the little girl wouldn’t know that, and she might need it.
    Carefully, The Kid folded the photograph back into the piece of paper, slipped it into the envelope, and replaced it in the saddlebag, along with the roll of greenbacks.
    He gave the horses some water, pouring it into his hat from one of the canteens and letting them drink. Then he had a drink himself and splashed some of the water over his head, shaking the droplets away. In the cool morning air, it would help him stay awake and alert, since he hadn’t had the chance to get any rest the night before.
    That done, he mounted up again, riding the buckskin and leading the black. The big horse was even more impressive in the growing daylight than he had been in the silvery moonlight.
    The Kid wasn’t sure what to do with the black. People would remember a horse like that. Leading it could draw more attention than he wanted and somebody in Las Vegas might recognize it as McCall’s. He was already worried that somebody might recognize him as Kid Morgan from the description on those wanted posters.
    At the same time, he hated to let the black go. A man didn’t run into a horse like that every day. Sure, the black didn’t belong to him, but he thought the fact that McCall had done his damnedest to kill him ought to count for something.
    He would figure it out later, The Kid told himself, when he got closer to Las Vegas.
    For now he rode east, into the rising sun.

Chapter 6

    In the end, that afternoon he found a place to camp a couple miles outside the settlement and left the black there. It was a little canyon formed by a pair of sheer, rocky upthrusts. A tiny creek trickled through it, no doubt fed by springs higher in the ridges, and hardy grass grew alongside the stream to give the black something to graze on.
    The Kid unsaddled the horse and tied the reins to a scrubby bush growing out of one of the canyon walls, making sure they were loose enough so the black could pull away if The Kid didn’t ever come back.