The Last Gunfighter: The Drifter

by William W. Johnstone

  After the young woman had left, Frank told Jerry, "Have a wagon hitched up. Transfer one of those Gatling guns over to it, and fill all the magazines."

  Jerry looked at him.

  "And some dynamite and caps, too," Frank added.

  "Sounds like you're about to declare war, Frank."

  "I am, Jer. For a fact."

  Jerry left the office at a run, and Frank began putting together some gear. He was filling the empty loops in his ammo belt with .44-.40 cartridges when Mayor Jenkins came in.

  "Coffee over there on the stove, Mayor," Frank told him. "It's fresh and hot. Help yourself."

  "Good." Jenkins reached into his suit coat and pulled out some papers. "While I'm doing that, you sign these where I've put an X."

  "What am I signing?"

  "Some very important papers." He pushed a pen and inkwell across the desk. "Sign them and date them."

  Frank scrawled his name, looked at the calendar and printed in the date, then pushed the papers away.

  "I just spoke with Dr. Bracken, Frank. There is no change in Mrs. Browning's condition."

  "I know."

  "Doc Bracken is worried about Conrad. The boy is very shaky."

  "He's learning that death is a part of living, Mayor. The kid is tougher than most people think. He'll be all right."

  "I know you're about to do something. You want me to put a posse together, Frank?"

  "No. This is something I have to handle myself. There has been enough loss of innocent life this day."

  "One man against two large gangs?"

  "If I decide I need help, Mayor, I'll send word back. What I would like for you to do is officially deputize some of those men I had guarding the prisoners earlier. They can take care of the town. I want Jerry with me at the blockade."

  "I'll do that immediately."

  "Thank you."

  "Be careful, Frank."

  "I won't promise that, Mayor."

  Jenkins smiled his understanding, nodded his head, and picked up the papers. "I'll send over your copies in a few days. I want to have these recorded."

  Frank finished filling the loops in both gunbelts, .44-.40 and .45, then filled up a large canteen with fresh water. Jerry walked in about the time he was finished.

  "Got the Gatlin' gun loaded, Frank. Several cases of filled-up magazines."

  "Dynamite?"

  "Enough to blow up a mountain. You ever handled dynamite?"

  "Plenty of times. One more thing: go over to Angie's and tell her to fix us some sandwiches to take with us."

  "On my way."

  Frank stowed his rifle and canteen in the wagon outside the office and looked over the team: good, powerfully built horses. Doc Bracken walked up. Frank guessed the doctor was taking a much needed break from his patients.

  "Mrs. Browning is drifting in and out of consciousness, Marshal. She wants to see you. You'd better come now. I don't believe she can last much longer."

  Frank walked over to the doctor's office and pushed open the door leading to the tiny clinic. Conrad was sitting by his mother's bed. He looked up at Frank.

  "I'll leave you alone for a few minutes, Marshal," the young man said, standing up. "Then I'll be back. I have something to say to you."

  "All right, son."

  "I am not your son!"

  "Yes, you are," Vivian whispered.

  Conrad whirled around. "What did you say, Mother?"

  "Frank Morgan is your father."

  "Mother! You don't know what you're saying."

  "Mr. Browning knew you weren't his own son, but he raised you as if you were. Frank and I were married in Colorado right after the war. I was pregnant with you when your grandfather drove him away."

  Conrad stared at Frank for a moment, then charged out of the office.

  Frank sat down in the chair beside Viv's bed and took her hand. "I guess he had to know, Viv."

  "It was past time."

  "You're going to pull through this, Viv."

  "No, I'm not, Frank, and you know it. I can read that in Dr. Bracken's eyes, and yours."

  Frank didn't know what to say. He held her hand.

  "Listen to me, Frank. Please. I don't know how long I'm going to stay conscious. I don't want you to see me ... die. I don't want that to be the last memory you have of me. I don't want that image to be the one you carry in your mind for the rest of your life. Do you understand that?"

  "Of course I do, Viv."

  "Promise me you'll take care of Conrad. Promise me you'll try to see him into manhood."

  "I'll try, Viv. I'll do my best, if he'll let me. But if he won't ... what can I do?"

  "Nothing. If you'll try, that's all I ask."

  Vivian closed her eyes, and Frank thought for a few seconds he had lost her. Then she took several ragged breaths and once again opened her eyes.

  "Did you sign the papers Jenkins brought over to you?" she asked.

  "What? Oh. Yes. I signed something this morning. He said it was important."

  She tried a small smile. "They were very important, Frank. Thank you. How is Jimmy?"

  "He's dead, Viv. And so is the servant."

  "I'm so sorry. What a mess. It was a bank robbery, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. They tried to rob the bank. They didn't get away with a nickel of the bank's money."

  She stared at Frank for a moment. "You're going after them, aren't you?"

  "It's my job, Viv."

  "Frank?"

  "I'm right here."

  "I never stopped loving you. I want you to know that."

  "Nor did I stop loving you, Viv."

  "That makes dying so much easier, Frank."

  "Now you stop that kind of talk. You hear me? You're going to pull through this, Viv. You are. You've got to try, honey. Try!"

  "I'm awfully tired, Frank. And I'm suddenly at peace. I ... really can't describe it."

  "Viv!"

  "Try to look after Conrad, Frank. Will you? Remember, you promised."

  "I'll do my best, Viv."

  Vivian closed her eyes.

  "Viv! Viv!"

  Conrad burst into the room, the nurse right behind him.

  "Both of you get out!" the nurse commanded. "Right now! Move."

  Conrad confronted Frank in the outer office. "I don't care what mother says. You're not my father!"

  "But I am, boy. She spoke the truth. Let me tell you what happened."

  "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. It's all a pack of lies!"

  Frank checked himself before he could strike the young man. "Your mother is not a liar, boy."

  "Of course she is!" Conrad came right back at him. "If what you say is true, she's lied to me for years. Now let me hear you deny that."

  Before Frank could reply, Conrad said, "You can't, can you? No, because it's the truth."

  "If you will just let me try to explain, Conrad — "

  "I hope to God I never see you again," Conrad blurted. "All this tragedy is your fault. It never would have happened if you hadn't showed up here."

  Frank struggled to grasp the logic behind the young man's words. What did his coming to town weeks back have to do with an attempted bank robbery? He shook his head. "Conrad, you're not thinking straight I — "

  "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I just want you to leave. I don't wish to ever see you again."

  "Boy, I made a promise to your mother that I would take care of you. I — "

  "You!" Conrad hissed at him. "You take care of me? Oh, I think not. Get out and leave me alone."

  Frank stared at his son for a few seconds. "All right, boy. But I'll be back. You can count on that. Then we'll talk more."

  "Not if I have anything to say about it."

  The nurse walked into the room, dabbing at her eyes. "One of you go get Dr. Bracken. Hurry."

  "Mother?" Conrad blurted.

  "Fading very fast. Hurry, boy."

  Conrad ran out of the office. "Is she conscious?" Frank asked.
<
br />   "No. My God, this has been a horrible day."

  Frank recalled Viv's words: I don't want you to see me die. I don't want that to be the last memory you have of me.

  "Yes, it certainly has been that."

  The nurse gripped Frank's arm. "Kill those outlaws, Marshal. Kill every one of them. Avenge this town."

  "I plan on bringing them to justice, ma'am."

  The nurse looked at him for a moment and then turned away, walking back into the tiny clinic of Dr. Bracken without another word.

  Frank touched the butt of his pistol. "Yes, I certainly plan on delivering justice, ma'am."

  Frank headed for his office. Jerry was waiting on the boardwalk. "Is Mrs. Browning — " He could not bring himself to finish the question.

  "It won't be long, Jer. You ready to go?"

  "Ready. I put the sandwiches in the wagon."

  "All right. You drive the team. I'll follow with our horses. What's the latest on the death count?"

  "Still climbing."

  "Let's go even the score."

  Twenty-three

  About half a mile from the blockade, Frank left Jerry with the wagon and rode up to take a very cautious look-see, walking the last hundred yards and peeping around the sheer rock wall on the left side of the road. The Pine and Vanbergen gangs had blocked the road with a heavy chain stretched across it and then stationed two wagons, tongue to rear, in back of that. They had two red flags on poles in front of the chain, signifying danger, and four men with rifles were on guard.

  "Slick," Frank muttered. "Very slick." He looked up and shook his head. No way to get above the blockade, for the sheer rock face was several hundred feet high. Any assault would have to be a frontal one. And Frank guessed that the main body of the gangs was camped not too far off, so they would come running at the first sounds of trouble.

  It had been suggested to Frank that a rider from town try to make it through the outlaw pass. He had smiled at that and asked for volunteers. When no one stepped forward that suggestion was dropped.

  Frank rode back to Jerry now, and swung down from the saddle. "One way through, Jer."

  "Straight ahead, right?"

  "That's it."

  "They're going to hear the wagon when we move it into place, for a fact," Jerry said. "But what the hell? Surely they know we're here."

  "Oh, they know, all right. This is how we'll play it: I'll handle the Gatling, and you get the wagon in place, as close as you can without exposing yourself. There's a place to turn the team just before the curve."

  "And then what?"

  "Then I start cranking and clear the roadblock."

  "And the gangs come on the run."

  "Probably. But they're going to run right into our fire. You have a better idea?"

  Jerry smiled and shook his bandaged head. "Can't say as I do. I'll get the wagon in place."

  "I'll be at the curve with a rifle. As soon as they hear you they'll get ready to open fire. Just as soon as I get a target, I'll drop him."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "Good luck, Jer."

  Jerry nodded his head and climbed into the wagon. Frank walked back to the curve and got into position. The guards had probably been warned by a lookout high above the road, for there was no one in sight.

  As he waited for Jerry to get into place, Frank wondered if the four men who had ambushed him and Viv that sunny afternoon had been part of the two gangs. He didn't think they were. Dutton's men, he was sure.

  Another man he damn sure had to deal with as soon as he got the road opened. And he would get the road open. Frank didn't have any doubts about that. Doubts about his ability to deal with any given situation were not something that plagued him. He just bulled ahead and got it done.

  Jerry got the wagon into position and unhitched the team, leading them to safety, then came back and removed the cases of dynamite and caps, stashing them behind some rocks, well out of the line of fire. He returned to crouch beside the wagon, rifle in his hand.

  "Ready for the dance?" Frank called.

  "Play the fiddle, Frank. It's your tune."

  Frank started cranking, the lead flying from the hand cranked machine gun. The heavy slugs tore into the wagons, knocking great chunks from the sideboards.

  "I thought you said both them Gatlin's had been ruint?" someone called from the outlaw side.

  "Yeah," another man yelled. "Damn shore don't sound like it to me."

  Frank gave the outlaws another half a magazine and got lucky this time: a man staggered out, both hands holding his torn up belly. He collapsed on the rocky road and died.

  "Jess is dead!" a man called.

  "I see him, you idgit! I ain't blind."

  "No, yore just stupid! That there is Frank Morgan, and I told you he wasn't gonna take this lyin' down."

  "If you want your share of that money in the bank you'll shet your mouth and hold this here road."

  "I want me some of them women in the town," another man said, his voice carrying clearly in the thin mountain air. "I got me a real powerful yearnin.'"

  Frank gave the outlaws another half a magazine, and that ended conversation on their side for a few minutes.

  While Frank was changing out the magazine, Jerry's rifle cracked and an outlaw screamed and fell to the hard road, one leg broken. The .44-.40 slug had busted his knee. Moaning in pain, the man dragged himself out of sight, behind some rocks on the side of the road.

  Hundreds of feet above the road, some of the outlaw gang began hurling large rocks down at the road. But the top of the ridge angled outward, and rocks hit nowhere near the wagon. The outlaws gave up their rock throwing very quickly.

  For a few moments, the siege became quiet, both sides apparently at an impasse.

  Jerry edged closer to Frank. "How are we goin' to get the dynamite down to the blockade? We sure can't toss it down there. It's too far."

  "I've been studying on that, Jer. I think we'll use the spare wheel off the wagon."

  "A wheel?"

  "Yes. It's a gentle slope down to the blockade, and the road is fairly smooth. We'll tie the charge to the wheel, light it, and roll it down there."

  "And if it falls over, or rolls off the edge before it gets there?"

  "There are four more wheels on the wagon. And we've got lots of dynamite. The trick is going to be cutting the fuse the right length."

  "I'll get the wheel. You handle the charges. Me and dynamite made a bargain a long time back: it leaves me alone, and I do the same for it."

  Frank smiled. He was an experienced hand with dynamite, and knew that it wasn't just the charges one should be cautious with, but the caps. He'd seen men lose fingers, hands, and entire arms after getting careless while capping dynamite.

  Frank tied together a dozen sticks of explosives and carefully capped the lethal bundle. Jerry rolled the big wheel up and squatted down, watching while Frank cut and inserted the fuse. Then Frank secured the charge to the wheel with a cord and looked at his deputy.

  "You ready?"

  "If that's a fast-burnin' fuse, we're in trouble," Jerry said.

  Frank chuckled. "We'll soon know, won't we?"

  "You don't know?"

  "Nope. You got the dynamite and fuses. Didn't you ask?"

  "'Fraid not."

  Frank struck a match and lit the fuse. "Roll it, Jer!"

  Jerry was only too happy to start the wheel rolling. He breathed a sigh of relief when the wheel was on the road. The heavy wheel bounced and wobbled down the gently sloping road, the fuse sputtering and sparking as it rolled.

  "Get the hell out of here!" an outlaw yelled. "That's dynamite comin' our way."

  "Shoot the wheel and stop it!" another gang member shouted.

  "You shoot the goddamn thing, Luke. I'm outta here."

  For a few seconds it looked as though the wheel was going to topple over before it reached the blockade. Then it straightened up and picked up speed, rolling true.

  At the blockade, outlaws were scra
mbling to get clear. They were running and cussing and slipping and sliding.

  The wheel ran into a wagon and lodged under the wagon bed for a few seconds before exploding. It went off with a fury, sending bits and pieces of the wagon flying in all directions. The explosion lifted the second wagon up and over the edge of the road. The chain that had been stretched across the road was blown loose, and fell to the road. A huge dust cloud covered and obscured the area where the blockade had been. When the dust settled, the road was clear.

  Several of the outlaws had not gotten clear: there were three men sprawled unconscious on the road. One of them was clearly dead, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. He had been picked up by the concussion and thrown against the cliff.

  "Jesus!" Jerry said, his voice hushed. "How many sticks did you lash together, Frank?"

  "Twelve."

  Jerry cut his eyes to Frank and shook his head in awe. "Warn me next time, will you?"

  "I hope there won't be a next time," Frank replied.

  "It ain't over, Frank!" the shout came from high above the road. "You son of a bitch!"

  "Vic Vanbergen," Frank said. "I recognize the voice."

  "We'll meet again, you sorry son!" Vic yelled. "You can count on that."

  "And that goes double in spades for me, Morgan!"

  "Ned Pine," Frank said. "It's over here, Jer. They're making their brags and threats now."

  "Watch your ass in town, Morgan," Vic yelled. "It ain't over by a long shot."

  "He's tellin' you they've got men in town waitin' for you, Frank," Jerry said.

  "Sure," Frank said calmly. "Big Bob Mallory will be back, and Kid Moran. Several others, I'm sure."

  The lawmen waited on the road for several minutes more, but there was no more yelling from the top of the ridge. The Vanbergen and Pine gangs had pulled out.

  Frank and Jerry made their way cautiously down to the now wrecked blockade. Two of the outlaws who had not cleared the blast were dead, one with a clearly broken neck, the other with a massive head wound caused by the fallen debris. The others were gone.

  "I'll hook up the team," Jerry said. "Bring the wagon down and we'll tote the dead back." He smiled. "Might be a reward on them."

  "You're learning. I'll start clearing away some of this junk."

  "Frank?"

  "Yes?"

  "Pine and Vanbergen knew they couldn't keep this road closed. Why did they even try?"