A little insurance was sometimes a comfort.
Frank took the tray back to the café, then went over to the general store and bought some blankets for the cell bunks, charging them to the town's account. Back at the jail, he blew out the lamps and locked the front door. He did not build a fire in the jail stove, for the night was not that cool. Besides, if they both caught pneumonia and died that would save the state of Arkansas the expense of sending someone out here to take them back, plus the cost of hanging them.
He walked away, putting the very faint yelling and cussing of the two locked up and very unhappy outlaws behind him. They would settle down as soon as they realized there was no one to hear them.
Frank first stepped into the Silver Slipper Saloon and stood for a moment, giving the crowd a slow once-over. He spotted a couple of gunslicks he'd known from way back, but they were not trouble-hunters, just very bad men to crowd, for there was no back-up in either of them.
Frank walked over and pushed his way to a place at the bar, between the two men. “Jimmy,” he greeted the one his left.
“Morgan.” Jimmy looked at the star on Frank's chest and smiled. “I won't cause trouble in your town, Frank."
“I know it. I just wanted to say howdy. Hal,” he greeted the other one.
“Frank. Back to marshalin’ again, huh?"
“Pay's good."
“I don't blame you, then."
“You boys bring your drinks over to that table in the far corner—if you've a mind to, that is. I may have some work for you both."
“If it's marshalin', count me out, Frank,” Hal said.
“It isn't."
“OK, then. I'll listen."
At the table, Frank laid out the problem of getting the shipments of silver to the spur rail line just across the border in Colorado.
“I heard Vanbergen and Pine was workin’ this area,” Jimmy said.
“Big gangs,” Hal added.
“That worry you boys?” Frank asked.
“Hell, no,” Jimmy said. “You let me get some boys of my choosin’ in here, and let us design the wagons, we'll get the silver through. Bet on that."
“All right. Get them in here."
“It'll take a while. They're all scattered to hell and gone,” Hal said.
“We've got the time. And Mrs. Browning's got the money."
“Who is this Mrs. Browning, anyways?” Jimmy asked.
“Old Man Henson's daughter. He died some years back, and she's running the business."
“Any truth in the rumor I heard years back, Frank?” Jimmy asked. “'bout you and Old Man Henson's daughter?” He held up one hand before Frank could say anything. “I ain't pushin’ none, Frank, and I sure ain't lookin’ for trouble. But the rumor is still floatin’ around."
“Whatever happened was a long time ago, boys. Her father hated my guts. Now he's gone, and she's in a spot of trouble. That's why I'm here."
“That's good enough for me,” Jimmy said. “I won't bring it up no more."
“I'll get some wires sent in the mornin',” Hal said. “Then we'll see what happens."
“Good deal,” Frank said, pushing his chair back. “Where are you boys staying?"
“We got us a room at the hotel,” Jimmy told him. “We picked us up a bit of money doin’ some bounty huntin’ work. Brought them two in alive, we did."
Hal grinned. “'Course they was sorta shot up some, but they was alive."
“What happened to them?” Frank asked.
“They got hanged,” Jimmy said.
Frank smiled and stood up. “See you boys tomorrow."
“Take it easy, Frank,” Hal told him.
Frank left the saloon, very conscious of a few hostile eyes on him as he walked. He had spotted the young trouble-hunters when he first pushed open the batwings: three of them, sitting together at a table, each of them nursing a beer.
Frank did not want trouble with the young hotheads who were—more than likely—looking for a reputation. All three were in their early twenties—if that old—and full of the piss and vinegar that accompanies youth. But the youthful piss was going to be mixed with real blood if they tangled with Frank Morgan.
Frank walked up and down both sides of the main street of town. All the businesses except the saloons, the two cafés, and the hotel were now closed for the night. Frank turned down the short street that angled off of Main and paused for a moment, standing in the shadows.
The street and the boardwalk were busy, but not overly crowded with foot traffic. Judging from the noise, the Red Horse Saloon was doing a booming business. A rinky-dink piano was playing—only slightly out of tune—and a female voice was singing—also out of tune. Everything appeared normal.
But Frank was edgy. Something was wrong, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, or name. He had learned years back to trust his hunches. Over the long and violent years, that sixth sense had saved his life more times than he cared to remember.
Frank stepped deeper back into the shadows and waited, his pistol loose in leather, his eyes moving, watching the shadows across the street.
There! Right there! Frank spotted furtive movement in the alley between two boarded-up buildings across the street.
Frank squatted down in the darkened door stoop, presenting a smaller, more obscure target. His .45 was in his hand, and he did not remember drawing it. He eared the hammer back.
He watched as the shadows began to move apart and take better shape. Frank could first make out the shapes of three hats, then the upper torsos of the men as they stepped out of the alley and onto the boardwalk. He could not hear anything they were saying, if they were talking at all, because of the music and song from the Red Horse Saloon.
But he did catch a glint of reflection off the barrel of a rifle.
“They ain't huntin’ ducks this time of night,” Frank muttered.
But are they hunting me? he questioned silently. And if so, why? He was sure they weren't the three young hotheads he'd seen back in the saloon.
He was further intrigued as he watched the men slip back into the alley and disappear from sight. Just then a door opened on Frank's side of the street and bright lamplight flooded the street and illuminated the alley he'd seen the men walk into.
But they were gone without a trace.
“What the hell?” Frank muttered. “What in the hell is going on here?"
The door closed, and Frank sprinted across the wide street and darted into the alley. He paused, listening. He could hear nothing.
He moved on, to the end of the alley, stopping as he heard the low murmur of men's voices.
“I told you that bitch wasn't in her office this late. I told you both that."
What bitch? Frank asked himself.
“So OK, so you was right. We'll grab her tomorrow night."
“Oncest we get the big boss lady, that brat kid of hern will gladly hand over the silver."
“Yes,” the third man said. “Shore a lot easier than waitin’ for them to ship it."
Viv! They're after Viv.
“So what do we do now?"
Frank stepped out of the alley, his hands wrapped around the butts of both .45's. “You stand right where you are, is what you do."
The three men whirled around and the night exploded in gunfire.
Eight
As soon as the words left Frank's mouth he sidestepped back into the alley. The three men fired where Frank had been, their bullets hitting nothing but the night air.
Frank hunkered down next to the boarded-up building and fired at the shadows to his right. One man screamed and went down to his knees. The other two fired at the muzzle flashes, and Frank was forced to duck back.
He crawled under the building. Built about two feet off the ground, it was damp, smelled bad, and was littered with trash. He slithered along like a big snake until he was only a few feet away from the two men still left standing.
“I think we got him!” one said.
“Th
ink again,” Frank said from the darkness under the building, and opened fire.
The two men went down in an awkward sprawl. Frank rolled out from under the building and got to his boots.
“My leg's broke,” one of the men moaned. “Oh, crap, it hurts bad."
“I'm hard hit,” another one said. “Where is that bastard?"
“Right here,” Frank said. “And if either of you reaches for a gun you're dead."
“Sam?” said the one with a broken leg said. “Sam? Answer me, boy."
There was no response. The only person Sam was going to answer to was God.
“He's dead,” Frank told the would-be kidnapper just as a crowd began to gather, some of them with lanterns.
“Who the hell are you?” The other outlaw groaned the question.
Frank ignored that. “Get the doctor.” He tossed the command to the gathering crowd. “And someone else get the undertaker."
“Who are these men?” someone in the crowd asked. “And what did they do?"
“They're part of the Pine and Vanbergen gangs,” Frank told him. “They were attempting to kidnap Mrs. Browning for ransom."
“Good God!” a man said.
“How the hell did you know that?” one of the wounded outlaws asked. “And who the hell are you?"
“Somebody talked,” the other outlaw said. “That's how he knew. Man ... Ned is gonna be pissed about this."
“Who are you?” the outlaw persisted.
“Frank Morgan."
“Oh, hell!"
The town's doctor pushed his way through the growing crowd and ordered lamps brought closer to the wounded men. “That one's dead,” he said, pointing. “This one's got a broken leg.” He moved over to the third man. “Shot in the side. Bullet went clear through. Some of you men carry these men over to the jail. Where is Mr. Malone?"
“Right here,” a tall thin man said, pushing his way through the crowd. “How many dead?"
“One. The other two will live, I'm sure."
“One is better than none,” Malone the undertaker said. “If he's got the money to pay for my services."
“You bastard!” the outlaw with the broken leg said. “You give him a decent sendin’ off, damn you."
“He'll get planted,” Malone said. “How solemn and dignified will depend on the cash in his pockets."
“Get the living out of here,” the doctor told the volunteers.
Frank spotted Willis in the crowd. “I'm going to need some extra blankets from your store."
“I'll get them and bring them over to the jail,” the store owner said. “Anything else?"
“Laudanum,” the doctor said.
“I'll get it from Jiggs at the apothecary."
Doc Bracken stood up. “I've done all I can do here."
“I'll be at the jail,” Frank told him.
When the wounded outlaws were patched up and locked down, Frank went looking for Hal and Jimmy. He found them in their room at the hotel.
“Big doin's, huh, Frank?” Jimmy asked.
“Shaping up that way. How tired are you boys?"
“Not tired at all,” Hal replied. “Matter of fact, we had just finished washin’ up and was thinkin’ of findin’ us an all-night poker game."
Frank told them about the planned kidnapping, and that got their attention.
“What can we do to help?” Jimmy asked. “Name it, Frank. We owe you more'un one favor."
“You'll be well paid for this, I assure you. Want to stand guard at the Browning house?"
“Consider it done. Have you talked to Mrs. Browning about it?"
“I'll do that right now. You boys get dressed and we'll walk over together.” Frank smiled. “That is, as soon as I find out where she lives."
* * * *
It was the grandest house in the town, naturally, with a sturdy iron rail fence around it. The gate was locked. A cord was hanging out of a gap in the fence, and Frank pulled on it.
A man dressed in some sort of uniform came out and stood on the porch. “Yes? What do you want?"
“I'm Marshal Frank Morgan. Here to see Mrs. Browning on a matter of great urgency."
“I'll tell her, sir."
“Got to be one of the servants, I guess,” Frank said to Hal and Jimmy.
“Must be nice,” Hal said.
“I reckon,” Frank replied.
“I never been in a house this grand,” Jimmy said. “Y'all stomp your boots a couple of times to get any horseshit off of ‘em."
Frank smiled. “Good idea. We don't want to leave tracks on the carpet."
Conrad came out onto the porch and down the walkway to the gate, and he took his time doing it. As he was unlocking the chain he said, “I do hope this is important, Marshal. We were in the middle of dinner."
“Hell, it's eight o'clock,” Hal said. “Y'all hadn't et yet?"
“Eight o'clock is when most civilized people sit down for dinner,” Conrad told him.
“Pardon the hell outta me,” Hal muttered.
The interior of the home was elaborately furnished. There were paintings on the walls, and vases and various types and sizes of sculptures on itsy-bitsy tables and pedestals.
“La dee da,” Jimmy muttered, looking around him as they were led into the dining room.
“Don't knock nothin’ over, you clumsy ox,” Hal told his partner. “And don't touch nothin', neither."
“Speak for yourself, you jumpy moose,” Jimmy responded.
Vivian rose from the longest table Frank had ever seen outside of a banquet hall. The chandelier over the table must have cost a fortune. Its glow made the room as bright as day. Vivian smiled and said, “Marshal Morgan."
“Evening, ma'am,” Frank said, taking off his hat. “We're sorry to disturb you, but something came up I thought you ought to know about. This is Hal and Jimmy."
“How do you do, gentlemen?"
“Fair to middlin', ma'am,” Hal said.
“OK, I reckon, ma'am,” Jimmy told her. “Shore is a nice place you got here."
“Thank you. Would you gentlemen like something to eat, or some coffee?"
“Coffee would hit the spot,” Hal said, ignoring the dirty look he was getting from Frank.
Viv picked up a little silver bell from the table and shook it. A servant appeared almost instantly. “Coffee for the gentlemen, please, Marion."
“Yes, mum."
“Sit down, please,” Viv said. “Do make yourselves comfortable.” She looked at Frank. “What is the matter of great urgency, Fra”—she caught herself—“Marshal?"
“Yes,” Conrad said, entering the dining room and sitting down. “Do enlighten us."
Frank resisted an impulse to slap the snot out of Conrad. “Jimmy and Hal here are going to be your bodyguards for as long as you stay in this area, Vi”—Damn, but it was catching—“Mrs. Browning."
“Oh?” Vivian said, staring at Frank. “Don't you think I should have something to say about that? And what makes you think I want or need bodyguards?"
“Yes. And I must say I quite resent your coming in here and giving orders. I am perfectly capable of looking after my mother,” Conrad said haughtily.
“Shut up, boy!” Frank told him. “You couldn't look after a lost calf."
Conrad's mouth dropped open, and he started sputtering and stuttering.
“Close your mouth,” Frank said, “before you swallow a fly.” He turned his gaze to Vivian. “I just shot three men tonight, Mrs. Browning. Killed one, and wounded the other two. They were planning to kidnap you."
Nine
Terms of employment were quickly agreed to, and Frank stayed with Vivian while Hal and Jimmy returned to the hotel to get their belongings. Vivian wanted them to stay in the house, but both gunhands shook their heads at that suggestion. They would stay in the carriage house, behind the main house.
Conrad, his feathers ruffled by Frank's blunt comments concerning his ability to protect his mother, stalked off to bed, leaving Frank and Vivian al
one in the dining room. The candles and lanterns had been trimmed, leaving the room in very subdued light.
“If you had not heard I was having trouble shipping the silver—” Viv said. She shook her head. “I shudder to think what would have happened had you not been here."
“Well, I'm here, Viv. And Hal and Jimmy are good men. They'll get some wires off in the morning to some friends of theirs, and before you know it your silver will be safely shipped. Hal and Jimmy will design the wagons, and they'll be built right here in town. Until Vanbergen and Pine are taken care of, Hal and Jimmy will be your shadows, around the clock."
“And you, Frank?"
“I'll be around—you can bet on that. You couldn't run me off if you tried."
She touched his hand. “I'm counting on that."
“You've got it."
“Hal and Jimmy are certainly ... well, capable looking. I have to admit that."
“They're both tough as wang leather. They're not the prettiest pair in the world, but they're one hundred percent loyal. They ride for the brand, Viv. And they're quick on the shoot. They'll stick no matter what."
“Why doesn't the law do something about this gang, or gangs, I should say?"
“You were living back east a long time, Viv. You've forgotten this is the West. It's slowly being tamed, but its still pretty much wild and wooly and full of fleas. There isn't much law out here, not in most places. And it'll be some time before there is."
“I suppose so."
“I taught you how to shoot, Viv. Do you still have a pistol?"
“No. My husband didn't like guns."
“Can Conrad use a gun?"
“No. He doesn't like guns either."
The Drifter Page 6
