“Got it,” Frank whispered back. He had been good about letting the younger, less experienced man call the shots, Conrad thought. At the same time, he knew if he was about to do anything really stupid, Frank would stop him.
Maybe it was just a matter of great minds thinking alike, Conrad told himself with a faint smile as he catfooted through the darkness.
As he made his way through the trees toward the lodge, he paused every few feet to listen. After several minutes he heard the soft rustle of feet on pine needles. Standing stock-still, he waited until he was sure which direction the roaming guard was moving, then he slipped to the side so his path would intercept that of the gunman.
Drawing his Bowie knife from its sheath, Conrad stopped and pressed his back against the trunk of a tree. A moment later the guard walked past him, unaware that he was there.
That was bad luck for the guard. Conrad struck without warning, looping his left arm around the man’s neck and jerking him backward. At the same time he drove the big knife into the guard’s back. The deadly keen blade slid easily through flesh, slipped between the ribs, and into the guard’s heart. Conrad’s arm was clamped across the man’s throat like a bar of iron. No sound could escape from the dying man’s mouth. He crossed the divide in silence except for the thud of his shotgun hitting the ground when he dropped it, and that was muffled by the carpet of pine needles.
Once again he had killed a man in cold blood, Conrad thought as he lowered the limp corpse to the ground. A part of him regretted it, but the steel at his core knew it was necessary. Lannigan’s hired gun would have killed him without blinking, blasting him to bits with that shotgun.
He damned Pamela Tarleton for setting the tragic events in motion. He damned her for making him the man he was. Then he grimaced and wiped the blade on the dead man’s shirt. Pamela might bear some of the responsibility, but not all of it. Not by a long shot.
He supposed there had always been a killer inside him. He just hadn’t known it, and it had taken a great tragedy to bring that killer out. Once it was over ... once his children were with him ... he had to put that part of himself away. He had to bury Kid Morgan once and for all.
Conrad shook off his reverie and moved toward the house. Frank should have taken care of the other roaming sentry, and they had to deal with the men guarding the door.
Trees around the back of the house had been cleared away for a distance of thirty or forty feet, and a couple lanterns hanging on each side of the door cast a yellow half circle of light over that area. Conrad couldn’t get close enough to strike with the Bowie without being spotted, and he doubted his ability to throw the knife with enough power and accuracy to kill one of the guards. Even if he did, that would leave another guard to sound the alarm.
Suddenly, from the woods a man called, “Hey, Toby! Lunsford! Get out here! I caught somebody tryin’ to sneak up on the place!”
That was the other patrolling guard, Conrad realized as a shock went through him.
From the sound of it, he had taken Frank prisoner.
Chapter 30
The guards by the door reacted instantly, running toward the trees, shotguns at the ready. Conrad moved fast, too, circling swiftly through the pines toward them. He had to help Frank, and it was a chance to deal with those two guards without having to approach them across the open ground.
The hired guns ran into the trees. Conrad heard one of them exclaim, “What the hell!” Then a heavy thump sounded just ahead of him. He darted around a tree and saw one of the guards trying to swing his scattergun around to aim it at a shadowy figure. Knowing the guard was an enemy, Conrad lifted his knife and brought the brass ball on the end of the handle down hard against the back of the guard’s head.
The man grunted in pain and stumbled forward as the shotgun’s twin barrels drooped toward the ground. The shadowy figure leaped forward, grabbed the barrels, and forced the muzzles into the dirt. His other fist smashed into the guard’s face and knocked him loose from the weapon. The guard toppled to the ground, out cold.
“Good teamwork,” Frank said.
Conrad frowned in surprise at his father. “I thought you’d been captured!”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I wanted those fellas by the house to think. The idea came to me when I jumped the one who was patrolling out here. Instead of killing him, I put my Bowie to his throat and made him call out to those two and lure them out here. I walloped one with my gun. I thought maybe you’d show up to give me a hand, and sure enough—”
“Where’s the other guard, the one you used as bait?”
Frank gestured toward a shape on the ground nearby. “Knocked out, tied up, and gagged. He won’t give us any trouble. We’d better do the same with these two.”
Working quickly, they cut strips from the guards’ shirts and used them to bind the men securely, as well as for gags to keep them quiet. That left the back door of Lannigan’s lodge unguarded.
Conrad and Frank took the pistols worn by the unconscious guards. Having extra shots without needing to reload might come in handy. They trotted through the lantern light to the door and pressed their backs to the wall as they listened for any sounds of alarm. Everything was quiet. Evidently their approach hadn’t been noticed.
Conrad reached over and tried the latch. He swallowed a frustrated curse as it refused to budge. Looking over at Frank, he mouthed the word
Frank leaned back and looked up. Conrad followed suit. The roof overhung the door and slanted up to darkened windows on the second floor. Frank pointed up with his thumb, then bent over and formed a stirrup with his hands. Conrad nodded. He weighed less, so it made sense for him to go first.
Putting a booted foot in Frank’s hands, Conrad stepped up and reached for the overhang. Frank heaved him up. Conrad’s hands closed over the edge, the rough shingles providing a good grip. He hauled himself up, and Frank pushed from below. Conrad cleared the edge and rolled onto the sloping roof.
Once he was there, he unbuckled his belt and slipped it out of the loops on his jeans. After wrapping the tongue end around his hand a couple times, he lowered the buckle end to Frank, who grasped it with both hands and started climbing up the wall. In a few seconds, Conrad was able to reach down with his other hand and catch hold of his father’s arm. With grunts of effort, he pulled Frank onto the roof.
They sprawled on the shingles for a few moments to catch their breath, then Conrad sat up, put his belt back on, and moved on hands and knees up to the nearest window. The room on the other side of the glass was dark and he hoped unoccupied. He tried to raise the window, but it wouldn’t move. It was fastened shut.
Frank went to one of the other second-floor windows and tried it, then looked over at Conrad and shook his head. Chances were, they were all that way. Conrad took off his hat and drew his gun. Using the hat to muffle the sound, he rapped the gun butt sharply against one of the panes, just hard enough to crack the glass without shattering it. He pouched the iron, put his hat back on, and took out his knife. He got the tip of the blade into the crack and started working it back and forth gently.
The work was tedious, but it was important to be as quiet as possible. After several minutes, he managed to loosen a big piece of glass enough that he could get his fingers into the crack around it. Being careful not to slice his flesh open on the sharp edges, he worked the piece of glass back and forth some more and finally pried it loose from the window.
Conrad set the glass aside and reached into the room through the opening he had created. He felt around at the bottom of the window until he found the catch that held it closed. Thankfully, the window hadn’t been nailed shut. He slid the catch over, pulled his arm out, and eased the window up.
Conrad went through the window first, with Frank following him.
Once inside the house, it was a matter of finding the children and making sure they were safe before dealing with Lannigan and the rest of the man’s hired guns. The odds were still steep against them, but that was nothing new for Conrad Browning and Frank Morgan.
Walking softly in hopes the floor wouldn’t creak under their weight, they went to the door, which they could see dimly in the faint lantern light filtering into the room from outside. It appeared to be a bedroom, but no one was
