J.A. Johnstone - The Loner - Crossfire

Another doubled over as one of Conrad’s bullets struck him. He managed to stay mounted, but his horse veered off wildly. That left two men on horseback. They pulled back behind the racing carriage.

The vehicle was almost on top of Conrad and Frank. They had failed to stop it, and they had to leap aside to avoid being trampled by the charging team. As the carriage rolled through the gate, a large, dark shape soared into the air from the top of the wall, swooping down almost like a giant bird. Ling Yuan’s daring leap carried him to the roof of the carriage. He crashed down on it and caught hold of the brass railing around the edge to keep from falling off.

Conrad lunged for the carriage, too, hoping to grab hold of the back and climb onto it, but a horse of a gunman struck him a glancing blow with its shoulder and knocked him off his feet. Bullets kicked up the crushed rock of the drive as they landed only inches away from him. He rolled away from the bullets and came up in a crouch, firing his Colt at the rider who had just tried to ventilate him. The man’s arms went wide and he let out a gurgling scream as Conrad’s bullet tore into his throat and blew out the back of his neck.

Frank had traded shots with the remaining rider, but none of the bullets had found their mark. The man left his saddle in a diving tackle that sent him and Frank crashing to the ground. They rolled over and over, wrestling with each other.

Despite no longer being a young man, the rugged life Frank Morgan had led meant he was still strong and fit. He got hold of his opponent’s shirtfront and flung him to the side, then landed on top of him. Frank drove a knee into the man’s belly and hooked a hard right fist into his face. The man tried to put up a fight, but he was no match for The Drifter. Frank hammered several punches into the man’s face and body, and with a defeated sigh, the man went limp.

Frank came to his feet and followed as Conrad ran out through the open gate to stare along the street. He hoped to see the carriage a block or so away where Ling Yuan had stopped it, but the vehicle was gone.

“They got away,” Conrad said in an agonized voice. “They’re gone!”

Frank grabbed his arm. “Somebody’s coming. Is that the Chinaman?”

Ling Yuan trotted up the street toward them. He held his upper left arm with his right hand. Dark worms crawled between his fingers. Conrad knew they were trails of blood.

“How bad are you hurt?” he asked as he and Frank hurried to meet the big hatchet man.

“It is nothing,” Ling Yuan replied. “A bullet straight through my arm, and it did not strike the bone. But when Lannigan shot me while I was trying to get the reins away from the driver, it was enough to make me fall off the carriage.”

“So they got away.” Conrad tasted sour defeat in his mouth.

“But we know where they’re headed, more than likely,” Frank said. “That hunting lodge in the mountains. How do they get there?”

Ling Yuan’s head came up. “The ferry across the bay. That would be the fastest route.”

“Then let’s get to that ferry. Maybe we can still stop them.”

The three men ran toward the spot where they had left Claudius Turnbuckle and Arturo. Turnbuckle had come to the rendezvous in a buggy, and Conrad and Frank would use it.

Turnbuckle and Arturo emerged from the shadows under the trees. “Good Lord, what happened up there?” Turnbuckle asked anxiously. “We heard all the shooting and didn’t know if you three were dead or alive!”

“We’re alive,” Conrad said, “but Lannigan got away with his wife and the twins.”

“Blast it! What now?”

Conrad and Frank exchanged a glance. “Frank and I are going after them. We think they’re going to take the ferry over to the other side of the bay. Lannigan’s bound to be headed for that lodge of his.”

“How do we get to the ferry landing from here?” Frank asked.

Quickly, Turnbuckle gave them directions. Conrad remembered enough about San Francisco to be fairly certain he could follow them without any trouble.

“Ling Yuan’s wounded. Take care of that while Frank and I go after Lannigan.”

“It is nothing,” Ling Yuan insisted, but Conrad and Frank were already running toward the parked buggy half a block away. Conrad called over his shoulder, “We’ll meet you at your office later, Claudius.”

It was a wild ride up and down the hilly streets and across town toward the bay. Conrad handled the reins, and Frank hung on for dear life.

Through the fog, Conrad saw the lights on the clock tower of the Ferry Building at the Embarcadero and steered toward them. The wharf used by the big ferryboats that plied the waters of San Francisco Bay was lit up, too. During the day, several ferries steamed back and forth almost constantly between San Francisco and Oakland, but at night there was only one boat in use.

“I don’t see the carriage,” Conrad said as he wheeled the buggy onto the wharf.

“Maybe they didn’t come here after all,” Frank suggested.

“Where else could they go? Lannigan’s on the run. He’s not going to stay here in San Francisco.”

Conrad brought the buggy to a lurching halt in front of a small building on the wharf where a light was burning. He jumped down and ran to the door. Frank was right behind him.

The building housed the small office of the wharfmaster. The main offices of the ferry company were in the big building behind them. The man on duty was middle-aged and had a drooping mustache. He looked up from the paperwork spread out on his desk as Conrad and Frank burst into the little office.

“When’s the next ferry?” Conrad demanded.

“Forty-five minutes from now.”

Conrad couldn’t suppress a groan of despair. “One just left, didn’t it?”

“Ten minutes ago,” the man confirmed. “You and your friend want tickets on the next one?”

“Was there a fancy carriage on board the one that just left?”

The man frowned. “Say, how’d you know that? Friends of yours? Sorry you missed ’em, if they were.”

“No, not friends,” Conrad choked out. “Family. Some of them, anyway.” He slumped into an empty chair just inside the door, trying not to give in to the feelings that gripped him. If the ferry wouldn’t be back for its next run for forty-five minutes, that meant it would be well over an hour before he and Frank could reach Oakland to pick up the trail, giving Lannigan plenty of time to make his getaway.

A glimmer of hope came to Conrad. He stood up and said to Frank, “Let’s go.”

“You don’t want them tickets?” the mustachioed man asked.

Conrad stalked out without answering.

“Where are we headed?” Frank asked once they were outside.

“Back to Claudius’s office. We have preparations to make.”

A grin stretched across Frank’s rugged face. “That fella Diamond Jack knows where Lannigan’s lodge is, I’ll bet. I reckon we’re going hunting, aren’t we?”

Conrad nodded as he took up the reins. “Yes. We’re about to do some hunting.”

Chapter 29

The Diablo Mountains, one of the Coastal Ranges, rose on the eastern side of San Francisco Bay, behind the settlements of Oakland and Berkeley. As mountains go, they weren’t particularly tall or rugged, but their wooded slopes provided a haven for some of San Francisco’s wealthiest citizens who wanted a place to get away from the city.

It was certainly appropriate they were named after the Devil, Conrad thought the next morning as he watched the far side of the bay come closer from the railing of the boat Claudius Turnbuckle had chartered. Dex Lannigan might not be the Devil himself, but he had made a diabolical deal with Pamela Tarleton.

Since they were leaving the city, Conrad was dressed for more rugged surroundings. He wore boots, jeans, and a buckskin shirt without any fancy fringe on it. A broad-brimmed brown Stetson was on his head. He had the Colt on his right hip, and the Smith & Wesson .38 tucked away in a holster at the small of his back. He had a Bowie knife sheathed on his left hip, and cradled a Winchester in his left arm.