Montana Gundown

by William W. Johnstone

  “If that’s what you want, Mr. Embry, we’ll do it,” he said. “We’ll take along another of the hands. Not Carlin, though. He ought to stay here to keep an eye on things around the ranch.”

  “Fine. Take Bill Kitson.”

  Frank saw Faye’s mouth tighten a little at the mention of Kitson’s name. He recalled what Carlin had told him about the brief romance between Faye and Kitson that hadn’t gone anywhere. Faye might not like the idea of traveling in close company with a former suitor, but now that she had gotten her way about going to Pine Knob, it didn’t appear that she was going to object.

  “That’s all right with me,” she said.

  “It’s settled, then,” Embry said. “You’ll tell Kitson?”

  Frank nodded. “I’ll tell him. Come on, Salty.”

  As they left the house, the old-timer said, “That little gal is sure used to gettin’ her way. I’d say she’s got Embry wrapped around her little finger more’n once.”

  “You’re right about that. There’s Kitson.”

  The cowboy was standing near the front door of the bunkhouse smoking a quirly. He was a lean, fair-haired young man in his midtwenties, a little older than Faye. As Frank and Salty came up to him, he nodded to them.

  “We’ve got a job for you, Bill,” Frank said.

  “I generally get my orders from Mr. Embry or Hal,” Kitson said. He didn’t sound obnoxious about it. He was just stating a fact.

  “This one comes from Mr. Embry, and you can check with him about it if you want. Miss Embry is taking the wagon to town tomorrow, and Salty and I are riding along with her. You’re coming along, too.”

  In the light coming through the open bunkhouse door, Kitson looked surprised. “Faye ... I mean, Miss Embry ... went along with that?”

  “She did,” Frank said.

  Kitson flicked away the butt of his quirly and shrugged. “Well, then, I reckon if she doesn’t mind, I don’t, either.”

  The cowboy turned and went into the bunkhouse. Frank and Salty lingered outside.

  “Were we ever as young as him and Miss Faye, you reckon?” Salty asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Frank said. “I don’t think I can remember back that far.”

  Sometime during the night, Frank’s eyes snapped open. Over the long, dangerous years, like a lot of other frontiersmen, he had developed the ability to go instantly from being asleep to being fully awake. Out of habit, his hand moved toward the butt of the Colt where it hung in its holster close to his head.

  The bunkhouse was dark and quiet, except for the snores coming from several of the bunks. Frank sat up and looked around. No one was moving.

  He reached down. Dog had been sleeping on the floor next to his bunk, and when he touched the big cur he realized that Dog’s head was lifted in alertness. Something had happened to disturb the animal’s sleep, too.

  Frank slipped the Colt from the holster and swung his legs off the bed. In bare feet, wearing only the bottom half of a pair of long underwear, he stepped silently to one of the windows and pushed back the flour-sack curtain that hung over it. From there he could see the ranch house. No lights were burning there, as far as he could tell.

  All the windows were open to let in fresh air. Frank breathed in deeply. No smell of smoke. For a moment he had wondered if some of Baldridge’s men had snuck up to set the barn on fire, or something like that. Barn-burning was an often used tactic in range wars.

  But the night air didn’t smell of anything except pine trees, horse flesh, and manure, a common mixture of scents around a Montana ranch like the Boxed E.

  Frank frowned and let the curtain fall back. It seemed that whatever had roused him from sleep, it was gone now. Maybe a wolf had howled somewhere up in the mountains, or an owl had hooted as it swooped over the ranch looking for prey.

  Frank didn’t know, but an uneasy feeling continued to nag at him as he went back to his bunk, holstered the revolver, and stretched out on the mattress. He reached down to scratch Dog’s head and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

  He tried to take his own advice, but it was quite a while before he dozed off again.

  Chapter 23

  Frank had a look around the bunkhouse when he got up in the morning, but as far as he could tell, nothing was missing or out of place. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Dog’s slumber was disturbed, too, he might have thought that he had dreamed the whole thing, although he wasn’t given to such flights of fancy.

  At breakfast, Faye said that she would be ready to go in another half-hour or so. When they had finished eating, Frank, Salty, and Bill Kitson went out to the corral to get their horses ready to ride.

  Hal Embry followed them with a worried frown on his face. “If Faye had said anything to me about this loco idea, I would have tried to talk her out of it,” he said.

  “Going to town to buy supplies isn’t that loco,” Frank pointed out. “It’s just the circumstances that make it a risky thing to do.”

  “We could get by without the supplies,” Hal said. “It’s just that my sister gets bored easily. She always has.”

  Bill Kitson let out a little snort as he tightened the cinches of his saddle, then looked around and said, “Sorry, Hal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hal said, although it was obvious he was a little irritated by Kitson’s reaction. He turned to Salty, who hadn’t saddled his pinto yet, and went on. “Do you mind handling the wagon team? Have you ever driven one before?”

  “Have I ever driven a wagon before?” Salty repeated. He answered the question with a snort that was a lot louder than the one Kitson had given a minute earlier. “Son, I’ve handled every kind of wagon from a buckboard to a prairie schooner! I’ve rassled stagecoaches thousands of miles over every sort of terrain you can think of! I’ve fought Injuns and road agents and mudslides and snowstorms and tornadoes! There ain’t any kind of a four-wheeled vehicle I can’t handle!”

  Hal smiled and said, “I’ll take your word for it. But you never drove one with my sister sitting beside you telling you everything you’re doing wrong.”

  Salty scratched at his beard and shrugged. “I like a good challenge.”

  “You’ll get one,” Hal promised.

  Frank had his saddle on Goldy, and Dog was waiting with him when Faye emerged from the house. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt, a brown, divided riding skirt, brown boots, and a flat-crowned brown hat with its strap tight under her chin. Frank thought she was as pretty as she could be.

  Judging by the expression on his face, so did Bill Kitson. But the young cowboy turned his head and looked away as he sat on his horse waiting to leave for Pine Knob.

  Hal said, “Are you bound and determined to do this, Faye?”

  “Of course I am,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s going to be fine. Nothing will happen to me as long as I have Mr. Morgan with me.”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll saddle up and come with you—” Hal began.

  “That’s not necessary. Father needs you and the men to start moving the stock down from the higher pastures. You know that.”

  “It can wait,” Hal said stubbornly. “Anyway, Gage and the boys don’t need me to handle a chore like that.”

  “You know what Father wants done better than anyone else,” Faye insisted. “Just go on and do your work. Stop worrying about me.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  But Hal stepped back with his hands in his hip pockets as Faye climbed to the wagon seat next to Salty.

  “You’re going to handle the reins?” she asked him.

  “Yes’m, if that’s all right with you. Your brother asked me to.”

  “I suppose that’s fine. I could do it, but I don’t really care.”

  Frank swung up into the saddle.

  “Is your dog coming with us?” Faye asked.

  “I thought I’d take him along.” Frank added, “He doesn’t like being cooped up, either.”

  �
�Well, if he gets tired, he can ride in the back of the wagon.”

  Frank didn’t point out that Dog could lope along all day without getting tired. He just said, “Thanks, miss.”

  Mary Embry stepped onto the porch to wave good-bye as they rode away. Frank thought the woman looked worried, and with good cause. Faye had a wild streak in her to go along with her stubbornness, and that was a combination that would put plenty of gray hair on a parent’s head.

  And there he went again, thinking about what it was like to be a parent even though he had very little actual experience in that area, he told himself with a wry, inward smile.

  Frank rode to the right of the wagon, Kitson to the left. Dog bounded ahead. The trail to Pine Knob passed through several thick stands of trees and along stretches cut through low, rocky ridges. Frank was especially watchful while they were traveling along those places because they were good spots for an ambush.

  Nothing happened, however, and by late morning the small group was approaching the settlement. Frank thought that maybe Faye had been right about there not being any danger.

  But he wasn’t convinced of it yet.

  The wagon rolled into town, flanked by the two riders and the big cur. The saloons on the western side of Pine Knob weren’t busy at all. A few horses were tied in front of Corrigan’s, and the hitch racks in front of the Popular Saloon were empty. Evidently the crew from the B Star wasn’t in town today.

  After the wagon rattled across the bridge, Salty angled the vehicle toward the Pine Knob Emporium, and at Faye’s direction, he pulled up in front of the store’s high porch that also served as a loading dock.

  “You men can do whatever you want,” Faye told them as she stood up and stepped from the wagon seat to the porch. “Mr. Crandell’s clerks can load the supplies. When I’m finished with the shopping, I plan to have dinner at the Feed Barn. You can join me if you’d like, or I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.”

  “Thanks, miss,” Salty said. “Drivin’ is thirsty work, so I might take on a little lubrication while we’re here.”

  “Don’t get drunk,” Faye warned. “I’ll leave you here if you’re soused.”

  Salty’s eyes widened with wounded dignity. “I never said nothin’ about gettin’ drunk,” he insisted. “I can handle my liquor. Anyway, I don’t plan on downin’ more’n two or three mugs of beer. That ain’t enough to get a horsefly drunk.”

  “Just remember what I told you,” Faye said. She turned and went into the store.

  “If that don’t beat all,” Salty muttered. He tied the reins around the brake lever, then climbed down from the wagon, grunting a little because of muscles that had grown stiff during the ride to town. Frank knew the feeling all too well. He seldom climbed out of bed these days without a few grunts and groans.

  Bill Kitson swung down from his horse easily, though, and said in a voice low enough not to be overheard in the store, “She tends to be a mite bossy. Sometimes more than a mite. But I guess when you’re the boss’s daughter, you get used to people hoppin’ when you say jump.”

  Frank figured Kitson’s attitude was one reason things hadn’t gone any further than they had between him and Faye. But that was none of his business, Frank reminded himself.

  “Somebody needs to keep an eye on her anyway,” he said. “I’ll do that. Dog, stay with the wagon. Salty, you go on and get those beers you wanted. Bill, you can go with Salty or stay here with me.”

  Salty licked his lips and said, “Dadgum it, now I got me a dee-limma. Miss Faye said she was gonna have dinner at the Feed Barn, and you know how much I like the grub at that place, Frank. But I sure am thirsty, too.”

  “Why not go get a drink, then come back to the Feed Barn for dinner?” Kitson suggested with a grin. “I’ll come with you.”

  Salty looked amazed. He slapped Kitson on the shoulder and said, “By golly, if that ain’t a brilliant idea! I like this young fella, Frank. He’s got a head on his shoulders, by gum!”

  Frank chuckled. “You two go ahead, then,” he said. “Miss Faye and I will be over at the Feed Barn later.”

  Salty and Kitson set off toward the western side of town, with the old-timer asking which of the saloons down there was better. Frank turned and went into the Emporium after telling Dog to sit on the porch.

  He hooked his thumbs in his belt and ambled along the aisles between shelves of merchandise. A general store in a cowtown like Pine Knob had to carry a little bit of everything, and Crandell’s place was no exception. From castor oil to lilac water, from ten-penny nails to delicate bows, from Colt revolvers to bottles of ink, the Emporium had it all, along with barrels full of crackers, pickles, sugar, flour, and salt. Farm implements, saddles, and hats hung from hooks on the walls. There was even a small butcher shop tucked into a rear corner of the store.

  A couple of local women were browsing in one of the aisles. They gave Frank sidelong glances of disapproval, as if this was their domain and a grizzled old gunfighter had no place in it. They were probably right about that, he reflected.

  But he wasn’t the only one who didn’t meet with their approval. They cast the same sort of veiled looks at Faye, who stood at the rear counter talking to a short, bald-headed man in an apron. Frank figured he was probably Crandell, the proprietor. For a moment, Frank was puzzled about why the ladies from Pine Knob would be glaring at Faye like that; then he remembered how gossip spread in small towns. More than likely, the women had heard about how Faye liked to bathe naked in that waterfall and had been caught at it by Royal and Dobbs, and small-mindedly blamed her for letting the men see her unclothed.

  The women were watching Faye and muttering something between themselves when Frank came up behind them, moving quietly for such a big man. He cleared his throat, which made them jump a little. As they looked back at him, he touched the brim of his hat, nodded, and said, “Ladies.”

  They didn’t return the greeting. Instead they went around him and hurried out of the store, fluttering and clucking like a couple of old hens. Frank tried not to grin.

  Then Faye glared at him, too, and said, “I’m perfectly fine in here, Mr. Morgan. Why don’t you go back outside? I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Frank looked around. The Emporium had a back door, but with the front doors open, he figured he could wait right outside and get back inside in a hurry if there was any trouble.

  “All right, Miss Embry,” he said.

  When he stepped onto the porch, he looked both ways along the street as he rubbed Dog’s ears. Marshal Roy Trask was coming toward him along the boardwalk in front of several other businesses. Trask stopped to cough and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his lips. He put it away and continued on to the Emporium, climbing the three steps to the high porch.

  “Morgan,” the lawman said by way of greeting. “What are you doing in town?”

  Frank nodded toward the wagon parked in front of the store. “Miss Embry needed some things for her and her mother. Salty and one of the hands and I came into town with her.”

  “Bodyguards, eh?”

  “Just keeping an eye on her.”

  “Probably not a bad idea,” Trask said. “Even though I haven’t seen your son or anybody else from the B Star in the town for the past few days.”

  “What about Baldridge and Mrs. Wilcoxon?”

  Trask shook his head. “Nope. I reckon they’re sticking pretty close to the ranch. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that both sides in the feud have decided to wait and let the courts sort it out.”

  “It’s possible,” Frank said.

  “But you wouldn’t count on it.”

  Frank thought about it and shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Well, keep it out of my town.” Trask started to cough again but managed to suppress the impulse. He gave Frank a curt nod and moved on.

  Faye came out of the store a few minutes later carrying a small bag. Frank started to take it from her, but she shook her head and
placed it in the back of the wagon herself.

  “Mr. Crandell and his clerk will load everything else in a little while,” she said. “We can go on over to the Feed Barn.”

  “Salty and Bill said they’d meet us there later.”

  “What Bill Kitson does is no concern of mine,” Faye said crisply. She went down the steps and started toward the café.

  Frank called for Dog to come with them, then caught up to her easily. Dog trailed along behind, then found some shade to curl up under after Frank told him to stay.

  A few townspeople sat at the counter when they came in, but Salty and Kitson weren’t there yet. Frank assumed that Faye would want to sit at one of the tables, but she went straight to the counter and took one of the stools. She and Katie Storm greeted each other coolly. Frank knew that Katie thought Hal ought to stand up more often to his sister. Maybe Faye knew that, too.

  Frank sat down on the stool beside her and thumbed back his hat. “Hello, Miss Storm,” he told Katie.

  “Mr. Morgan, how are you?”

  “Fine, thanks. Ready for some of those fine vittles that your uncle dishes up.”

  Katie smiled and said, “I’ll tell him to fix a couple of plates for you and Miss Embry.”

  She went through the swinging door into the kitchen. Frank turned his head to say something to Faye, but before he could open his mouth, he heard a crash and a scream from the kitchen.

  Without even thinking, Frank was on his feet and heading for the door. He rammed it open with his shoulder and drew his Colt at the same time. As he charged into the kitchen, his keen eyes instantly saw Katie struggling in the grip of a man who looked vaguely familiar, while nearby on the floor lay Solomon Storm, his head covered with blood.

  Frank’s gun came up, and he was about to shout at the man to let go of Katie when the whole world came crashing down on the back of his skull. Blackness exploded all around him. He felt his knees hit the floor as he pitched forward, but he was out cold by the time the rest of him crashed down on the boards.