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

suppose.”
    “A woman,” Conrad repeated. He couldn’t think of any woman who would have been visiting the grave. Rebel’s mother was dead, and she hadn’t had any sisters. “What did she look like?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. She wore a shawl around her head, and I never got a look at her face. But I’m sure it was the same woman. I saw her several times in the past couple of months.”
    Confusion filled Conrad’s mind. He had thought that the bastard who’d sent those kidnappers after Rebel might be watching the grave, but he hadn’t expected some mysterious woman to be involved.
    “Can you tell me anything about her?”
    “Well…I think she was young. At least, she didn’t move like an old woman.”
    “You never talked to her, never asked her what she was doing here?”
    Conrad heard the slightly accusatory tone in his voice. He didn’t really mean the question that way, but that was how it came out.
    “I told you, the cemetery is open day and night. People come to mourn, to talk to their loved ones who are gone, or just for the peace and quiet. All are welcome.”
    Conrad nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, Father.”
    “No apologies necessary, my son,” Father Francisco said with a smile and a shake of his head. He gestured toward the grave. “Would you like to be alone?”
    “I…I think so. For a few minutes.”
    Father Francisco nodded. “I’ll be in the church, if you need me.”
    He walked off, leaving Conrad in front of the grave. Conrad realized abruptly that he still had his hat on. He snatched it off and held it awkwardly in front of him. “Rebel,” he began, then paused, unsure what to say. She isn’t really here, he told himself. Her soul was out there somewhere in the wind, galloping across the heavens, her hair streaming out behind her as she laughed.
    Conrad took a deep breath. “I’ve told you a hundred times how sorry I am for what happened. I could say it a thousand times, and it wouldn’t change anything. So I’ll just say that I’m going to put things right, Rebel, at least as much as I can. Whoever’s to blame for this, I’ll see to it that he pays. That’s all I can do.”
    He closed his eyes and stood there a moment longer, then sighed and turned away. He didn’t put his hat on but continued to hold it as he went into the church through the side door Father Francisco had used.
    He found the priest in the sanctuary and said, “Thank you for your help, Father. If you happen to see that woman again, could you let me know? I’ll be staying at the hotel.”
    “If the woman comes to visit your wife’s grave, I’m sure she has her reasons, Mr. Browning, and the same holds true if she’s the one who brought the flowers. I’m not sure it’s my place to do anything to disturb her mourning.”
    Conrad reined in the surge of impatience he felt and said, “I don’t want to disturb her. I just want to know who she is and why she’s visiting Rebel’s grave.”
    “That would be her business, not yours,” Father Francisco said, his voice gentle but inflexible.
    Conrad drew in a deep breath through his nose. “All right, Father. You have to do what you think is best.” He put a hand in his pocket. “I suppose the church takes care of the widows and orphans around here?”
    “We do our best to take care of everyone in need.”
    Conrad took out a handful of double eagles. “Then I know you’ll put this to good use,” he said as he held out the coins.
    Father Francisco’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Browning…are you trying to bribe me?”
    “Not at all,” Conrad answered honestly. “It’s just that since Rebel died, money doesn’t mean a whole lot to me except for the good it can do.”
    “In that case…this money can do quite a bit of good, indeed.”
    The priest took the double eagles. Conrad nodded to him, turned, and walked out the front door of the church, not clapping his hat on his head until he was outside again. He headed for the hotel, pausing