“Let’s go, Cec,” Luke called. “Careful now.”
“I’m goin’ the back way to the livery. Meet you there.”
“Well, I ain’t skirred of you, Morgan!” a woman shouted.
“You tell ’im, Mama!” another man called.
“Go git him, Bloody Mama!” Ham shouted.
“You may be a stallion now, Morgan,” another woman shouted. “But when I git done with you, you gonna be a geldin’. I’m gonna de-nut you, Morgan.”
“You tell him, Sadie!”
Lovely ladies, Frank thought. On a sudden hunch, Frank decided to shift locations. He slipped away silently just as he spotted several dark shapes moving toward his old position.
Just in time, he thought. Getting me to talk was a setup by Cec and Luke.
Frank crawled under one building and as quietly as possible wriggled out the other side.
“The bastard’s gone, Luke!”
In the very dim light, Frank could see the legs of the man. He sighted in on the man’s knee and squeezed the trigger. Cec went down to ground, hollering in pain.
“I’m hit, Luke. He’s on the other side of this building. Oh, God, it hurts somethin’ awful. Git him for me.”
“Hell with this,” Luke called. “I’m gone. Good luck, Cec.”
“Damn you!” Cec yelled. “You cain’t leave me like this. I cain’t walk, Luke. Come help me.”
There was no reply from Luke. Luke was hauling his ashes.
“I thought you was my pard,” Cec moaned.
Honor among thieves, Frank thought. Nonexistent.
Bloody Mama and Sadie began cussing Frank, filling the night air with the most vulgar of profanities. They used words and phrases Frank would not use. They suggested things they were going to do to the kidnapped women, once Frank was dead. And when he was killed, they said amid the vulgarity, they were going to dismember his body and make the women cook and eat various parts of him.
And they were going to pickle and preserve a certain part of him, to show to other outlaws in the West. Maybe charge admission to see it.
“What a couple of nice ladies,” Frank whispered under his breath. Then he smiled at the thought: Come one, come all. Only twenty-five cents to see Frank Morgan’s . . .
He shook his head at the absurdity of it.
“Hey, Morgan!” A new voice was added. “This here is Bob. Booger Bob. I got me a bullet with your name on it, Morgan.”
Frank shifted locations again, this time moving to the far end of the street, behind the last building in the ramshackle town. The building was without most of its roof and minus a part of one wall.
“Hey, Morgan!” Booger shouted. “You know where I’m gonna shoot you? I’m gonna stick my rifle up your . . .”
Frank sighed as Booger finished the sentence. The outlaws were certainly getting quite inventive about what they were going to do with him.
Frank let them shout suggestions back and forth. He took that time to dart across the road and peek into the building where the women were being held. The four men guarding them were not taking part in the shouting of insults. They were tense and at the ready. Frank could see some of the women, all huddled together under blankets at the far end of the building. He could not see them very well, but well enough to know they were all in bad shape.
Time to bring this battle to a conclusion.
Frank moved cautiously behind the buildings. He could not understand why all the outlaws had taken refuge in buildings and were not out looking for him. It was one thing to be cautious, and quite another to be stupid.
Frank lit the fuse to a stick of dynamite and tossed it under a building, then ran two buildings up and squatted down just as the explosive blew.
The floor of the old building was shattered by the charge and the walls puffed out. The roof collapsed, falling on top of those trapped inside. One man staggered out. Frank shot him.
“He’s behind us!” someone shouted. “Let’s get him.”
A knot of men came running through the darkness. Frank lit another stick and tossed it. The outlaws ran right into it. The explosion sent some of them spinning like tops, and sent bits and pieces of others hurtling into the night. It momentarily deafened several others, and Frank solved their discomfort with .45-caliber medicine, sending them forever to a place where the only sounds they would hear would be their own flesh sizzling from the flames, their own wailing in agony, and the laughter of Satan.
“Hey, Morgan?” a man shouted as Frank took that time to run back down the back of the shacks of the main street of the outlaw town. He wanted to be near the building where the women were being held. “Can we make some kind of a deal?”
Frank offered no reply. They knew he was listening.
“This is Goody Nolan, Morgan. We’ve run into each other a time or two.”
Frank waited.
“I can only speak for myself and the two men I rode in here with. Shiv Lopez and Aaron Samuels. You know ’em both.”
Frank did, and they were just as sorry and worthless as Goody.
“We’re next to the livery, Morgan. We can ride and circle around, get clear of town and any of the others who might want to shoot us for pullin’ out. If you don’t say nothin’, then I’ll take that as a deal made, Morgan.”
Frank remained still and silent.
“We’re gone, Morgan.”
Several minutes later, Frank heard the sounds of horses’ hooves, the riders lying back as far as they could from the town.
“You yellow bastards!” Sadie screamed. “Ain’t a one of you got no balls.”
“Cowards!” Bloody Mama shrieked. “No-good pissants.”
Frank had moved back to the building where the women were held. One of the men guarding the women said, “Goody’s got him the right idea. Let’s get the hell out of here, boys.”
“What about the women?”
“Hell with them. Lookie here, gals,” he said to the women. “Me and the boys are pullin’ out. Y’all stay quiet and don’t yell or nothin’. Your man’s gonna luck up and win this fight and you’ll be safe.”
“If I ever see you,” Lara said, her voice as cold as frost on a pump handle, “I’ll kill you myself.”
“You won’t see me again, lady. Bet on that.”
“Let’s do it, Dag,” another said. “Let’s get gone.”
Frank slipped under the old building and waited until the men had exited the building. He listened as they rode away, taking the same route as Goody and his pals.
Frank stood up, brushed off the dirt from his clothing, and stepped into the building, mentally preparing himself for the worst as he viewed the women close up.
It was even worse than he had imagined.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Don’t say a word,” Frank urged the women in a whispered voice. He was trying to keep the shock he felt upon seeing them from his face. He wasn’t at all sure he was succeeding.
“Frank,” Lara said, standing up, holding a blanket around her to cover her nakedness. “I felt sure you’d come.”
Lara’s face was swollen and puffy from being beaten. Her lips were twice their normal size. Both her eyes were nearly closed from the swelling. All the women were in very bad shape. Two of them, Frank noted, could not even stand up.
The four men who had hastily pulled out had left behind two rifles, leaning in a corner of the building. Frank picked one up and checked it, then handed the weapon to Lara. “You know how to use this, Lara?”
“Oh, yes.” She took the rifle.
“I’ve got to clean this place out,” Frank said. “There are still some snakes that need to be stomped on. Lara, if I don’t come back . . .”
“I know,” she replied softly, then lifted the rifle. “They won’t take any of us alive, Frank.”
Frank took a deep breath, then nodded his head. “All right, Lara.” His eyes touched the blanket-covered body of a woman lying on the floor. “Who is that?”
“One of the women the
y kidnapped earlier. She died about an hour ago. Val beat her with his fists yesterday. She never regained consciousness.”
“I’ll be back,” Frank said.
“We’re counting on it, Frank.”
Frank slipped out of the building and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust once more to the night. He felt his emotions hardened and then turn mean. Mad-dog mean. He reached into the sack hanging from his gunbelt and pulled out a stick of dynamite. Then he walked to the next house and pressed his ear to the outside wall. He could hear the muffled sound of voices. He lit the dynamite and tossed the sputtering stick under the house, then ran for cover.
The dynamite blew and the old building completely collapsed; the walls blew out and the roof came crashing down. People might have survived that, but if they did, they were badly hurt.
Just then, Frank heard the sounds of galloping horses. He looked toward the road and could just make out the shapes of about a half dozen or so horses. The last of the outlaws were pulling out; they were calling it quits.
Frank began walking the town, looking for survivors. The first one he found was the outlaw with the busted knee, Cec.
Frank squatted down and looked at the man. Someone had bashed his head in and turned his pockets inside out, stealing whatever the man had. They had also taken his guns. “Nice friends you had, Cec,” Frank muttered.
He walked on. He found several wounded outlaws and dragged them to a house. He put them inside and closed and locked the door.
“Are you gonna leave us in here to die, Morgan?” one called.
“Yes,” Frank replied. “At least for tonight. I’ll turn you loose in the morning and leave you horses to ride out on.”
“This ain’t Christian, Morgan.”
“Take it up with God,” Frank told him, and walked away.
* * *
Frank leveled a rifle at the driver of the heavily laden supply wagon, and the men lifted their hands. “I ain’t nothin’ but a delivery man, mister,” the driver said. “But I know you. You’re Frank Morgan. Booger Bob said you was here. I come with the supplies and for my money.”
“I’ll pay you. Go to the livery and saddle two horses. Get out. I ought to shoot both of you dead for consorting with the trash that lived here.”
“How ’bout our money?” the other man asked.
Frank tossed him a wad of bills and a sack of gold coins he’d taken from the dead outlaws at first light. “There’s your money. Now get the hell gone from here.”
The pair were gone ten minutes later. They did not look back.
Frank drove the wagon down to the livery and unhooked the team. He rubbed them down and forked hay to them, then unloaded the wagon. Lara walked down to the barn and stood in silence for a moment, watching him.
“Is that how we’re leaving, Frank, in that wagon?”
“Yes. I’ll put hay in the bed to cushion the ride. We’ll pull out in the morning.”
“How far is the nearest town?”
“About four days, in this wagon. It isn’t going to be a pleasant trip.”
“Neither was the ride here or our stay.”
Frank looked at the woman. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But it’s over now.”
“It will never be over, Frank. Not in our minds, that is. Our bodies will heal. But not our minds.”
“I reckon not, Lara.” He continued forking hay into the bed of the wagon.
“Did you bury the dead men, Frank?”
“I put their bodies in a shack. I’ll set it on fire in the morning. That’ll have to do.”
“It’s more than they deserve.”
“I’m sure of that.”
Lara walked to the front of the livery. “I’ll gather up as many blankets as I can, Frank. And those of us who are able will heat some water for a bath of sorts. We have to bathe, Frank. Do I have to explain that?”
“No. I understand.”
“Good.”
“As soon as I get done here, I’ll fix us something to eat. A big pot of stew or something. Soup maybe.”
“Whatever, Frank. I made some coffee. It’s on the stove.”
“Thanks. I could use some.”
When Frank finished in the livery, he walked the town, making one last check to see if he’d missed any outlaws that might still be alive. He had not. Then he walked back to the building where the women were staying and poured a mug of coffee. He went outside, sat down, and rolled a cigarette. He drank his coffee slowly and smoked. He was tired, very tired. The events of the previous night were catching up to him. Frank was far from being an old man, but he sure as hell was no longer a young buck, full of piss and vinegar.
“Mr. Morgan?” The young girl’s voice opened his eyes.
Frank looked into the battered face of young Lydia Wilson. All of fourteen ... now going on forty, Frank thought. “Yes, honey?”
“What am I going to tell my mama and papa?”
“The truth, Lydia. As much of it as you think they can stand to bear.”
“And how much is that?”
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe you can talk to Doc Evans and he can help with that. You’re going to have to see him.”
“I know. But I don’t know what to say to him. It’s . . . well . . . so personal and awful.” She ran back into the house, weeping uncontrollably.
Lara came out and sat down beside Frank. “I think,” she said, “I will be heading back East, Frank. I still have some family back there.”
“Might be a good idea.” Frank knew right then and there that once he got Lara back to town, he would never see her again.
“I could never live in Chance again, Frank. I couldn’t face the townspeople day after day. I just couldn’t.”
“It would be a hard thing, I’m sure.”
“Would you come back East with me, Frank?”
Frank shook his head. “No, Lara. I couldn’t live back yonder. Too damn many rules and regulations for me. I like my freedom.”
“People are free back there.”
Again, Frank shook his head. “No, they’re not. They just think they are. We’ve had this discussion before. It wouldn’t work for me.”
Lara rose from the step and walked back into the building without saying another word to Frank. Frank experienced a very acute sense of loss for a moment, then sighed and stood up. He would have liked another cup of coffee, but didn’t feel like facing the women again . . . not just yet. He was bone-tired, and he was dirty and would have liked a bath and a shave. He looked rough, and probably smelled that way. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. But he had promised the ladies he’d fix a pot of stew. Frank went back to the cache of supplies and rummaged through the pile. He decided to fix some bacon and fried potatoes. That would have to do.
Dixie Malone had walked down to the livery, and watched Frank for a moment. “Let me do that, Mr. Morgan,” she said from the doorway.
“You sure?” Frank asked.
“It would help get my mind off ... things.”
“I reckon so. Sure. I’ll get a fire going and we’ll fix something to eat.”
While the food was cooking, Dixie said, “Those among us who are married are wondering how much we should tell our husbands.”
Frank looked at her. “I can’t answer that, Dixie. How strong is your husband?”
“You don’t mean physical strength, do you?”
“No.”
“He’s a mighty jealous man, I can tell you that.”
Frank hesitated. How to answer her question? In the minds of many, once a good woman had been raped, she was soiled. The husbands—many of them anyway—would always wonder several things. One, could she have prevented it? Two, could she have found a way to kill herself? Death was better than rape. And three, did she secretly enjoy it?
“You tell him what you think he needs to know, Dixie. I’m going to talk to the men and tell them what I personally saw and heard . . . tell them up to a point, that is.”
She smiled at
that. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”
“Frank. Just Frank. Mr. Morgan is going to get burdensome. We’ve got a long way to go.”
* * *
Frank set fire to the outlaw town, torching every building. On the morning they pulled out, the outlaw town was blazing.
There were nine women to be transported back home. Six from the town of Chance, and three others from nearby farms. One of them, a woman called Pearl, had seemingly lost her mind. She never spoke a word. She just sat quite still in the bed of the wagon and slobbered down the front of her dress.
“Two outlaws at once took her several times,” Dixie said. “It was awful to watch. Little Ed was among them.”
“I intend to find them all, Dixie,” Frank told her. “I’ll see they get justice.”
“After the last assault on her,” Lydia said, “her eyes just sort of glazed over and she never said nothin’ else to nobody.”
Lydia and Nellie chose to ride horseback on the way back home . . . astride. Which was sort of embarrassing to Frank, but he declined to say anything about it. The girls had found some men’s britches in the town, washed them proper, and put them on, using a bit of rope for belts to keep them up.
“Those two women, Sadie and Bloody Mama,” Lara said, “they were worse than the men.”
“Perverted bitches,” Dixie said.
Then Lara proceeded to tell Frank some of the things the two outlaw women had done. Frank would have preferred she had kept that information to herself. When she finished her rather graphic retelling, Frank felt his ears burning.
“Thank you so much for that information, Lara,” Frank told her, trying without success to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“You’re certainly welcome, Frank,” she replied with an equal amount of sarcasm.
With the burning town behind them, Frank and the women started the long trek home. Frank had no idea what had happened to the whores who lived and worked in the town. They’d either run off into the timber or ridden out with some of the outlaws. Really, he didn’t much give a damn what had happened to them. He’d read a line once in a book about how people who lie down with dogs usually got up with fleas. Something like that. Couldn’t remember who wrote it. Shakespeare maybe.
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