The Loner: The Bounty Killers by J. A. Johnstone

here. He’s supposed to send a boy with the reply if it comes in.”
    Fairmont waved a hand and nodded. “Sure, sure, that’s fine,” he said. “Still plan on riding out as soon as you hear back from whoever you sent that wire to?”
    “Well, not this late. I suppose I’ll spend the night at the hotel.”
    “It’s a comfortable place, or so I’m told.”
    The Kid sensed the air of awkwardness in the room. He knew that Marshal Fairmont didn’t like him much. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered The Kid at all. Since he had adopted the identity of Kid Morgan and gone on the drift, the opinions of other people didn’t concern him much.
    The difference was that Fairmont was a lawman, and there were wanted posters out on The Kid. It was an unsettling situation.
    “I’ve been thinking that I’ve seen you before,” the marshal went on.
    “Before today, you mean?”
    “Yeah.”
    It was certainly possible. The Kid had ridden through Las Vegas several days earlier, stopping briefly to pick up some supplies in one of the smaller stores. He hadn’t talked to anyone except the proprietor, but Fairmont could have seen him riding past and taken note of him because he was a stranger.
    That thought flashed through The Kid’s mind, but he didn’t show it on his face. He just shrugged and said, “It’s possible. I’ve been a lot of places.”
    “Yeah, but I’ve got a good memory for faces. It’ll come to me.”
    Before either of them could say anything else, Carly appeared in the doorway of the parlor, untying the belt of the apron she wore.
    “The food’s ready,” she told them with a smile. “Come to supper.”

Chapter 9

    The food tasted as good as it smelled. Roast beef, potatoes, greens, some of the lightest and best-tasting biscuits The Kid had ever eaten, followed by peach cobbler for dessert. It was a simple meal, but as fine as any Conrad Browning had ever had in those fancy restaurants back east.
    The company was a damned sight better, that was for sure, at least where Carly was concerned. She kept up a lively string of conversation. Her father had been a lawman in a number of different towns, so she had seen a lot of sights.
    The Kid had too, so they were able to talk about the places they had been.
    Fairmont was much more taciturn, and when he spoke up, his questions had an edge to them.
    “How come you never stayed in one place very long, Browning?”
    “I guess I was always just a little too restless by nature. Fiddle-footed, some men call it.”
    Then, a little later, “What sort of things have you worked at? You don’t strike me as a cowboy.”
    “It’s true, I never got the hang of punching cows,” The Kid replied. “But I’ve worked on railroads and done some mining.”
    Technically, that was true. As Conrad Browning, he held an interest in several railroads and had overseen the construction of more than one spur line. The Browning financial holdings also included gold and silver mines scattered across the West, including some in Nevada.
    “Interesting you use the word ‘hang,’” Fairmont commented.
    Carly frowned at him. “What do you mean by that, Dad?”
    “Oh, nothing,” the marshal said.
    But The Kid got the message plainly enough. Fairmont was suspicious of him. He was enjoying the marshal’s hospitality only because that was Carly’s wish.
    When the meal was over, Fairmont suggested, “Why don’t you step out on the porch with me, Browning, so we can get some air? I can light up this pipe of mine. Carly doesn’t like for me to smoke it in the house.”
    “If you’d burn something in it besides that foul-smelling tobacco, I might not mind,” she said with a smile.
    The Kid didn’t want to add to Fairmont’s suspicions of him, so he nodded and said, “Sure, Marshal.”
    The two men moved to the porch while Carly cleaned up after supper. Fairmont struck a lucifer and cupped the flame in the bowl of his pipe, puffing until it was burning well. He shook out the