Dead Before Sundown

by William W. Johnstone

  Frank took a can of liniment from one of their packs and massaged the thick, foul-smelling stuff into the tight muscle on the bad leg of Salty’s horse.

  “That’ll help,” he said. “In the meantime, we might as well take it easy.”

  Salty looked as if that was going to be a difficult task for him. He was still muttering to himself as he sat down, leaned against a large rock, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

  Frank grinned and shook his head at the old-timer’s chagrin. He understood why Salty felt the way he did, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

  “I think I’ll take a walk up the creek,” he said as he pulled his Winchester from its sheath. “Might find some game. We could have elk steaks tonight.”

  Meg said, “We won’t need a fire tonight, but I suppose I’ll go ahead and start gathering some wood.”

  “Keep your eyes open,” Frank advised. “You wouldn’t want to run into a bear.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a smile.

  With the repeater tucked under his arm, Frank walked along the stream. Between the twists and turns it took and the way the trees closed in, he was soon out of sight of the camp.

  In fact, as far as he could tell by looking, he might as well have been the only human being in five hundred miles.

  Frank didn’t mind the solitude. In fact, he liked it.

  He’d had no choice but to get used to being alone, since so many of his long years had been spent that way. Too many days and nights had been spent far from anywhere and anyone, trying to avoid trouble.

  Many times he had been on the run from a posse led by some overzealous lawman who blamed him for crimes he hadn’t committed, simply because he had a reputation as a fast gun. When that happened, he sometimes asked himself … if he was going to be damned anyway, why not go ahead and become the sort of man they thought he was?

  But he couldn’t, of course. It wasn’t in him to be an owlhoot. He hadn’t been raised that way.

  Folks could think what they wanted. In his heart, he knew who Frank Morgan was, knew what Frank Morgan was … and was not.

  And in recent years, things had begun to change a little, slowly but surely. Though in the habit of keeping people from getting too close to him, he had allowed the woman named Dixie to steal his heart.

  That had ended tragically, sending him into a spiral that had almost claimed him and left him beyond redemption.

  His friendship with the young Texas Ranger Tyler Beaumont had rescued him from that fate. Then, because of Beaumont, he had been reunited with old friends from his past. His estranged son Conrad had reached out to him, in need of help, and that was the beginning of the growing respect and friendship between the two of them.

  For a while, Frank had even pinned on a lawman’s badge and served as the marshal of a Nevada mining town, something that ten years earlier, he would have sworn up and down had no chance in hell of happening.

  It had taken him a lot of years to learn it, but he had come to the realization that no man can predict the course of his life … and it was a fool’s errand to try.

  There was nothing wrong with planning for the future—that was only good sense—but a man had to live with the knowledge that those plans might never come about.

  He smiled to himself as he realized how deeply he had sunk into this reverie. Being surrounded by nature had something to do with that, he supposed.

  It was beautiful here. These Canadian Rockies were some of the most spectacularly beautiful country he had ever seen.

  But they held plenty of danger as well. Beautiful or not, carelessness could get a man killed in a hurry here.

  As he walked along the creek between the trees, he saw birds and small animals, but no elk or moose. He decided he had come just about far enough and was about to turn around and go back to camp when he heard something.

  The crackle in the brush behind him made him spin around and bring the rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire.

  “Frank, wait! It’s me!”

  He found himself staring over the Winchester’s sights into Meg’s blue eyes, which were wide with surprise and even a little fear right now.

  Biting back the curse that sprang to his lips, he lowered the rifle and said, “Blast it, Meg, you know better than to sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you,” she protested. “I was just walking along behind you. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me before now.”

  So was he. Surprised and angry, mostly at himself. He had let himself get caught up in contemplating his lonely past, and if Meg had been an enemy, he would probably be dead now.

  “I thought you were going to gather some firewood,” he said in a gruff voice as he dropped the rifle to his side.

  “I did. Then I decided to come after you.”

  “Something wrong back at camp?”

  Meg shook her head. “No, not unless you count Salty’s snoring.” She came a step closer to him. “I just thought you might want some company.”

  It would have been rude to tell her that he didn’t, so he just said, “I was about to start back. Didn’t see any game worth shooting.”

  Meg looked around and took a deep breath. “It sure is lovely here,” she said. “And the air smells wonderful.”

  “That’s because of all these evergreens,” Frank said. “And because there’s no town close by to foul the air.”

  He was trying not to think about the way her breasts had lifted underneath the soft buckskin of her shirt when she inhaled deeply like that.

  “You don’t care much for civilization, do you, Frank?”

  He shrugged. “I like civilization just fine.”

  “Then it’s the people you don’t like.”

  “I like people, too. Just not some of the things they do. Most folks are too greedy, and they’re too quick to judge other folks.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Meg asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Frank had to chuckle. “I reckon you’re right.”

  “Anyway, you shouldn’t hold people to your standard. Not everybody can be as perfect as Frank Morgan.”

  He grunted and shook his head ruefully. “I’m a long way from perfect. That just goes to show that you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “I know that most men would have had me in their bed a hundred times in the months that I’ve known you, Frank. I’ve pretty much thrown myself at you.”

  He looked away, fastening his gaze on the stream that danced and bubbled merrily a few yards away.

  “We don’t need to talk about that.”

  “I think we do,” she insisted. “Damn it, if you don’t know by now that I love you, you’re a lot dumber than I think you are.”

  “I’m smart enough to know that I’m twice your age.”

  “But not smart enough to know that I don’t care about that?”

  Frank sighed. He was going to have to put it to her plain.

  “Listen. I’ve been married twice. I don’t intend to ever get married again.”

  “Who said anything about getting married?” Meg shot back. “You see a preacher anywhere around here? I don’t. But I see a nice, thick bed of grass on that creek bank, and I see mountains and blue sky and all the beauties of nature. I’m just saying we ought to add to those beauties, Frank, and if that shocks you, I’m sorry. I just don’t believe there haven’t been other women in your life besides the ones you married.”

  “There have been,” he admitted. More than he could remember, really. In those days, he had taken comfort where he could find it and then ridden on without regret, taking with him only memories … and those always faded.

  “Then why is it a problem?”

  “Because, blast it, I’m too damned old for this!”

  “I don’t think so.”

  How had she gotten so close to him without him noticing? He couldn’t answer that, but suddenly she was close enough that he could feel the
warmth of her breath against his face. She lifted her arms and put them around his neck before he could pull away.

  Did he even want to pull away? He sure wasn’t trying very hard to do so.

  He didn’t put up a bit of a fight when she lifted her face to his and pressed her lips against his mouth, either.

  He had the Winchester in his right hand. His left arm came up and went around her waist. He wasn’t thinking now. It was an instinctive reaction when he pulled her closer to him. She came eagerly, her body molding to his.

  In the cool mountain air that surrounded them, the heat of her kiss seemed searing to Frank.

  Why not? The part of his brain that was still working asked that question. Demanded an answer.

  He didn’t have one. Other than the ones he had already stated, he didn’t have a single good reason not to give Meg what she so obviously wanted.

  Then he heard something besides the thudding of his own heart.

  The clink of bit chains, followed by a man’s voice.

  With the arm that was already around her waist, Frank picked up Meg, drawing a started gasp from her, and hustled her away from the creek, deeper into the shadows underneath the thickening trees.

  “Quiet,” he told her in an urgent whisper. “There’s somebody out here.”

  Chapter 10

  Frank listened intently, but the sounds didn’t grow louder. In fact, he heard voices only a couple more times, and then they faded away. Wherever and whoever those pilgrims were, they weren’t coming closer to Frank and Meg.

  “Who was it?” Meg whispered to him.

  Frank shook his head. “No idea. Sounded like several horses and men, though.”

  “Do you think it was Palmer?”

  That was an interesting possibility. As far as they knew, Palmer had been alone when he fled from Powderkeg Bay. He could have run into some other outlaws and joined up with them, though.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Frank told Meg. “Come on. Let’s get you to camp. We need to tell Salty about this so he’ll be on his guard, too.”

  With Frank setting the pace, they moved quickly but quietly through the trees, heading back to the spot where they had left Salty. Frank hoped that nothing had happened to the old-timer while they were gone.

  As they neared the camp, he heard snoring and knew that Salty was all right. A feeling of relief went through Frank. They emerged into the clearing and saw him slumped against the rock where he had been sitting earlier.

  Frank nudged Salty’s foot with a booted toe. That caused the old man to come awake sputtering and thrashing. Salty’s hand moved toward the butt of his gun before Frank said, “Take it easy. It’s just us.”

  Salty took his hat off and ran his fingers through the tangled thatch of white hair.

  “Dadblast it,” he complained. “You come mighty near givin’ me a heart attack, Frank. You hadn’t ought to Injun up on a fella like that.”

  “We heard men and horses moving around somewhere near here.”

  That made Salty glance up, his complaints forgotten.

  “You get a look at ‘em?” he asked.

  “No, we just heard them.”

  “Frank heard them,” Meg put in. “I didn’t really hear anything myself, so they must not have been too close.”

  Salty climbed to his feet and put his hat back on. “Noises are funny things in these mountains. They can bounce around so they seem like they’re right close, but there ain’t really no tellin’ where they’re comin’ from.”

  “I know,” Frank said with a nod. “That’s why we have to be careful. Hold off on building a fire, keep the horses and the mules quiet, and be on your guard.”

  “From the way you’re talkin’, it sounds like you ain’t gonna be here.”

  “I’m not,” Frank said.

  With a worried frown, Meg asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To find those hombres and see who they are. Chances are, they’re just some trappers or prospectors and don’t have anything to do with us.”

  “But you have to find out for sure, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “It’s the best way to stay alive.”

  “I could come with you,” Meg offered.

  Frank shook his head. “I’d rather have both of you here keeping an eye on the animals and our supplies. If anything happened to them, we’d be in mighty bad trouble.”

  She looked as if she wanted to argue some more, but then she nodded and said in resignation, “I’ll do whatever you think is best, Frank.”

  “Are you goin’ on foot?” Salty asked.

  “Quieter that way,” Frank replied with a nod.

  There was nothing else to say. He gave Meg a quick smile, then set off on foot along the creek. Again, it wasn’t long before the camp was out of sight behind him.

  When he passed the spot where he and Meg had heard the men and horses earlier, he couldn’t help but think about what had almost happened there.

  It was a good thing they had been interrupted. He knew good and well he would have regretted giving in to the impulse, and he figured there was a good chance Meg would have been sorry about it, too.

  Such moments of human weakness were something else he had to guard against, along with all the other dangers that seemed to dog his trail constantly.

  Frank was able to move quietly enough that he didn’t spook the birds and small animals. When the songs of the birds and the rustling of creatures in the brush suddenly ceased, he noticed it and knew that he hadn’t caused it.

  That made him stop short and listen, but it wasn’t his ears that told him someone was nearby. It was his nose. He caught a whiff of tobacco smoke on the breeze.

  Whoever they were, they were probably following the creek. That was the easiest way to get through these rugged mountains. Knowing that, Frank moved away from the stream, angling to his left through the underbrush. The trees closed in around him. It was harder to be quiet, but he wasn’t likely to be seen.

  A few minutes later he heard voices. A horse nickered. The sounds came from his right, toward the creek. Carefully, he worked his way in that direction again but found a giant slab of rock blocking his path. It must have sheered off from the face of the mountain looming above him and toppled down here sometime in ages past.

  The rock sloped away from him and was rough enough that he thought he could climb it without much trouble. Being careful not to let the Winchester strike the rock—the clink of metal on stone could be heard for quite a distance—he began the ascent.

  Frank didn’t get in any hurry. In a situation such as this, haste was dangerous. He still heard the men talking and smelled the quirlies they were smoking. They must have stopped to rest their mounts and let the horses drink from the creek.

  He reached the flat top of the big rock. It was high enough that the trees didn’t shade it much, so the stone was hot from the sun as he crawled out onto it. He ignored the discomfort and crept stealthily toward the front of the slab.

  Before he got there, he stopped and took his hat off, left it lying on the rock with his rifle. Then he inched forward again until he could peer over the edge of the rock without being too noticeable.

  From where he was, he could see through the trees to the stream. The trunks and branches blocked his view to a certain extent, so he couldn’t be sure how many men had stopped there on the creek bank. At least half a dozen, he decided as he watched them moving around.

  There were that many horses, of course, and some pack animals, too. Frank’s forehead creased in a frown as he spotted several mules with wooden crates lashed to them. He wondered what they were carrying in there. Two more mules were carrying wagon wheels, of all things, but the men didn’t have a wagon with them.

  One of the men laughed. It was a coarse sound. From what Frank could see of them, they were roughly dressed, and he spotted several rifles and holstered pistols.

  Well-armed hardcases and a caravan of pack mules usually meant one thing: smugglers. Fr
ank had no idea what sort of contraband these men were transporting, but it was none of his business. He knew they probably wouldn’t take kindly to being discovered. It would be better to just let them go on their way. He and Meg and Salty would try to avoid them.

  Satisfied that he had found out what he needed to know, Frank edged back until he could no longer see the men. He picked up his hat and rifle and returned to the ground.

  Even though he was moving away from the apparent smugglers, he was still careful not to make too much noise as he walked through the woods.

  Because of that, he heard the shot plainly when it sounded suddenly from up ahead of him somewhere.

  Frank stopped short, every muscle in his body tensing as his hands tightened around the Winchester. He figured he was about halfway back to the spot where he had left Salty and Meg … and that was about where the gun blast had come from.

  He broke into a run.

  He didn’t worry about being quiet now. That shot had sounded as if it came from Salty’s old Remington. There had only been one shot, so it was possible Salty had blasted a snake or some other varmint.

  But it was also possible that Salty wasn’t able to shoot anymore, and that was what worried Frank.

  There was also a chance those hardcases had heard the shot and would come to investigate. Frank wanted to get his two companions moving—assuming they were all right—so the smugglers wouldn’t discover them.

  A horseman’s high-heeled boots weren’t made for running, of course. That slowed Frank down a little. But he made pretty good time anyway and within minutes began to spot some landmarks that told him he was getting close to the camp.

  He stopped to listen again. Rushing blindly into a situation was just plain foolish.

  Nothing. No horses, no men, no birds or animals. The single shot had been enough to spook the critters, Frank thought. He began working his way closer to the campsite, using all the cover he could find.

  Several minutes later, he crouched in the brush and carefully parted the branches so he could look between them. From where he was, he could see part of the grassy clearing on the creek bank. He didn’t spot Salty or Meg and didn’t hear them talking.