The Devil's Badland: The Loner by J. A. Johnstone

wouldn’t be proper.”
    “Not to mention it might not be safe,” Conrad said. “But I’m not sure it would be proper for me to accompany you, either.”
    “Why, of course it would, Mr. Browning. You’re a gentleman, after all. And once we’re there, I think it would be perfectly charming if you spent a few days on the ranch. If your schedule would permit it. I know you must be a very busy man, what with all your business interests.”
    There had been a time when such blatant flirting by a beautiful young woman would have flattered and pleased Conrad. That time was in the past, though.
    “Miss Whitfield, perhaps you haven’t heard,” he said gently. “I was married.”
    Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Married?” she repeated. “No, I had no idea…Wait a minute. You said was?”
    “That’s right. My wife…passed away several months ago.”
    Angeline lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my Lord! I’m so sorry, Mr. Browning. I didn’t know about your loss. I didn’t mean to be so…so…You must forgive me!”
    “Of course. And I wish I could help you. But under the circumstances…” Conrad lifted a hand, as if to say that there was nothing he could do.
    Although, he thought with the shadow of a grim smile hovering around his mouth, it might have been interesting to see Dave Whitfield’s reaction if the man who had befriended the MacTavishes had ridden up to the Circle D with his daughter for a visit.
    “I understand,” Angeline said, still visibly embarrassed. “I won’t trouble you any longer.”
    “No trouble,” Conrad said. “I’m glad to meet you. I hope you enjoy your visit on your father’s ranch.”
    And I hope no more hell breaks loose while you’re there, he added to himself, for the MacTavishes’ sake.
    Conrad tugged on the brim of his hat, excused himself, and left the hotel. His steps turned toward the mission. He steeled himself for what lay before him.
    Then he walked up the street to the graveyard where his wife was buried.

Chapter 6

    Linus was right. Everything about the mission was neat and well cared for, including the cemetery. A black, wrought-iron fence surrounded it, and several flowerbeds provided some splashes of color. Someone had trimmed the grass. The gravestones appeared to be freshly polished.
    Conrad paused outside the stone pillars with a wrought-iron arch between them that formed the gate into the cemetery. He couldn’t bring himself to walk between them.
    As Conrad stood there, a side door in the big adobe church, which was more than a hundred years old, opened and a priest walked out into the sunshine. He smiled as he approached Conrad.
    “God’s peace be with you, my son,” the priest said. He was a slender man with soft dark eyes and skin the color of old saddle leather. Even though he appeared to be Mexican, he had no trace of an accent. “I saw you standing out here and thought perhaps something was wrong.”
    “Something is very wrong, Father.” Conrad nodded toward the graveyard. “My wife is buried in there. She wasn’t even twenty-five years old when she was killed.”
    A look of solemn sorrow replaced the priest’s smile. “I was afraid it was something like that. Usually when I see someone hesitating outside the gate, it’s because they have a loved one buried within.”
    “Does that happen often?”
    “More than you would think. More than I like to think about.”
    “You’re Father Francisco?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You take good care of the cemetery,” Conrad said.
    The smile, now tinged with sadness, reappeared on the priest’s face. “Just because some of the members of my flock have passed on doesn’t mean I can’t continue to care for them.”
    “My wife wasn’t one of your parishioners. She hadn’t lived here for several years.”
    Father Francisco shrugged. “Once they pass through these gates, they are in God’s hands, and I am God’s servant. Through my efforts on their behalf, I serve Him.”
    “Well,