The Drifter (13 page)

Conrad was getting to his feet when Frank and Jerry reached him. His face was ashen, and he was trembling. “They were going to kidnap me!” Conrad blurted. “Hal pushed me down and stood in front of me.” He looked at Hal, bloody and dead in the street. “Oh, my God!” Conrad started to move toward Hal, and Frank stopped him.

“Easy, boy. No point. He's beyond help."

“You don't know that!"

“I know, boy. I saw him take three rounds in the center of the chest."

“I liked that man. I didn't at first. But I really liked him. He saved my life."

“That's what he was paid to do, Conrad."

Jerry was checking the dead and the wounded. “Two alive, Frank. And one of them ain't gonna be for long."

“Good,” Frank said. “The jail's gettin' full.” A crowd had gathered at the mouth of the street. “One of you get Doc Bracken, and someone get the undertaker. Move!” He turned to Jerry. “See if you can locate Kid Moran. Don't brace him, Jerry. Just see if he's still in town."

“Will do."

Jimmy and Vivian walked up. Vivian was pale with shock, and Jimmy was killing mad. Frank could read it in his eyes. “Settle down, Jimmy. They're gone."

“Me and Hal been pards for a long time, Frank. I ain't likely to forget this."

“See to Mrs. Browning and her son, Jimmy. Right now!"

Jimmy nodded and took Viv's arm, leading her and Conrad toward the front door of the office building and inside. Jimmy stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the bloody and still body of his longtime friend. The man touched the brim of his hat and walked inside the office, closing the door.

Someone called that the doctor had been roused out of bed and was on his way, as was Malone, the undertaker. Frank walked over to the hip-shot gunman. On closer investigation, he recognized him—Max Stoddard. He was wanted in several states for murder, and there was a hefty reward for his arrest.

“You boys are making me a princely sum of money, Max,” Frank told him.

“Go to hell."

Frank smiled at the outlaw. “Time I get through here, I'll be near'bouts able to retire, I reckon."

“Damn you, Morgan!"

Frank reached down and slipped an over-and-under derringer from the outlaw's left boot. “Were you thinking I'd forget about this little banger, Max?"

“I was hopin' you would, you bastard."

Frank laughed at him and took a long-bladed knife from the sheath on the outlaw's belt. “Not likely, Max. I haven't stayed alive this long by being careless."

“Ned or Vic will get you, Morgan. You can count on that. They'll get you ‘fore this is over."

Doc Bracken was pushing his way through the still gathering crowd, cussing loudly and ordering the gawkers to get the hell out of his way.

Mayor Jenkins was right behind him, both of them looking as though they had jumped into their clothes, unshaven and with disheveled hair.

“What the hell happened here?” the mayor shouted.

“These men tried to kidnap Conrad Browning,” Frank said, pointing to the dead and wounded in the street. “Conrad's bodyguard was killed. Conrad and his mother are safe. They're in the office building."

“My God!” the mayor whispered. “Do you know any of these men, Marshal?"

“I know this one. Max Stoddard. He's wanted for murder in several states. All these men are part of the Pine and Vanbergen gangs."

The mayor patted Frank on the arm. “Wonderful job, Marshal. Superb."

The mayor wandered off into the crowd. Frank turned his attention to the doctor, watching him work on Stoddard for a moment.

“No permanent damage to the hip,” the doctor said. “But he won't be walking for a while. Some of you men take this hombre over to the jail.” Doc Bracken moved quickly to the other outlaws. “Dead,” he said twice. “And this one won't last long. Some of you men make him as comfortable as possible. He'll be dead in a few minutes."

“Damn you to hell, Morgan!” the dying man said.

“Here, now,” Dr. Bracken admonished him. “That's enough of that. You best be making your peace with God."

The outlaw started cussing, spewing out a stream of profanity. Suddenly he began coughing. He arched his back, and then relaxed in a pool of blood.

“He's gone,” Doc Bracken said.

Frank went with the undertaker and searched the pockets of the dead men. They had no identification on them. He took their guns and walked back to his office. Jerry met him on the way.

“Kid Moran left town when the shooting started, Frank. Half a dozen people seen him hightail out."

“All right. What about this pass the outlaws took to get out of town?"

“Cuts through the mountains yonder,” he said, pointing. “But it's tricky, so I'm told. If you don't know the way, you can get all balled up and lost and find yourself dead-ended on a narrow trail."

“Can't go forward, and you have hell going back?"

“That's it."

“You been up there?"

“No. It's outlaw controlled on the other side of the mountains. Only the outlaws use it, and they don't use it very often. Men and horses have been killed up there, slippin' off the narrow trails."

“So the Pine and Vanbergen gangs are headquartered just over those mountains?"

“Yep. Not five miles away, as the crow flies. But they might as well be plumb over on the other side of the moon, if you know what I mean."

Frank nodded his head. “I do. Let's go see about our new prisoner and then arrange a nice service for Hal."

 

* * * *

 

A week after the shoot-out in which Hal was killed, a deputy U.S. Marshal came by train to Denver and then took the spur line down to the border and went from there by horse to the Crossing and picked up two of the prisoners Frank was holding. Frank's bank account grew substantially. Ten days later another deputy U.S. Marshal rode in and promptly rode out with Max Stoddard. Stoddard had a two thousand dollar reward on his head, and so did one of the other dead men. Frank gave half of the money to Jerry, and Jerry almost pumped his arm off shaking his hand. Frank's bank account grew even larger.

Hal was buried in the local cemetery, and Vivian bought a nice headstone for the grave.

Barnwell's Crossing grew by almost a thousand people in two weeks. Most were coming in because of the rumor of a major gold strike, and nothing anyone could say would make them believe it wasn't true.

“Hell with them,” Frank told Jerry one morning. “When they get tired of digging they'll leave."

The county now had a judge—Judge Walter Pelmutter—assigned to the town of Barnwell's Crossing, and that made the disposition of those arrested a lot faster. The marshal's office got two dollars out of every fine, and Frank split that with Jerry. Judge Pelmutter was a no-nonsense, by-the-book judge who cut no slack to anyone for anything. The jail was usually full at night and emptied out the next morning after court.

Frank checked the wall clock. Eleven o'clock. He had a lunch date with Vivian at her home in half an hour. After lunch they were to go riding and spend the afternoon together. Conrad would stay at the office. That would give Jimmy a much needed break. Frank had offered to hire another bodyguard, but Jimmy had said he didn't want to work with anyone else ... not for a time yet Jimmy was gradually working his way out of his grieving over the loss of his saddle pard, but he still had a ways to go.

“I'm going to go home and wash up some and change clothes, Jerry,” he told his deputy. “Then I'm over to Mrs. Browning's house. We're going riding down in the valley."

“Don't worry about a thing, Frank. I'll take care of any problem that comes up. Y'all have fun and relax."

At his house, Frank cleaned up and changed clothes—black trousers with a narrow pinstripe, black shirt. He tied a red bandanna around his neck and slipped on a black leather vest. He combed his hair, put on his hat, and then inspected himself as best he could in the small mirror he'd bought at Willis's General Store.

“Well, Morgan,” he said to the reflection. “You're not going to win any contests for handsome. But you don't look too bad, considering what you have to work with."

He buckled on his gunbelt and stepped out onto the small front porch. The day was sunny and cloudless, the sky a bright blue—a perfect day for a ride in the country.

He rode the short distance over to the Browning estate and talked with Jimmy for a few minutes before walking up to the porch and being admitted inside the grandest house in town.

“You look lovely,” he told Vivian, as she opened the door and he stepped inside.

“You wouldn't be the least prejudiced, now would you, Frank?” she teased.

“Not at all. You're as pretty as the day we married."

“And you tell great big fibs, Frank Morgan. But do continue."

Lunch was fried chicken, hot biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy.

“Did you fix this?” Frank asked.

“I certainly did. The servants have the afternoon off. And I told Jimmy to take off as soon as you got here."

“How about Conrad? Is Jimmy going to the office?"

“No. I asked a couple of my miners to look after him. Those men have been with me for years. Completely trustworthy."

After lunch, over coffee, Vivian said, “I'm going to change clothes, Frank. I hate to ride sidesaddle. Will you be shocked if I change into britches?"

Frank chuckled. “I knew you pretty well a long time ago, Viv. I think I'm past being shocked by anything you do."

She laughed. “Don't say I didn't warn you."

She came out of her bedroom a few moments later wearing very tight-fitting men's jeans and a checkered shirt, open at the collar. Frank almost choked on his coffee.

“Damn, Viv!” he managed to say, wiping a few drops of coffee off his chin.

“You don't approve, Frank?” she teased him.

“'Approve' is ... not quite the word."

“Come on, let's get saddled up and get out of this town. I want to forget business for a few hours. I want us to be totally alone, and I want a good, hard ride."

Frank grinned and held his tongue on that one ... but oh, what he was thinking.

She caught his smile. “You're naughty, Frank. But don't ever change."

“I'm too old to change now, Viv."

Five minutes later they were riding out of town, heading toward the mountains and a pretty little valley that lay in the shadows of the mountains.

Shortly after they rode out of town, four men dressed as miners rode out. They occasionally exchanged smiles as they followed the man and woman. They had traveled a long way to get to the town of Barnwell's Crossing. The five thousand dollars that Vivian's father had placed on Frank's head had grown to ten thousand over the years, and the man who was overseeing the bounty, controlling the purse strings—a close friend of the family, and legal advisor—had added ten thousand, plus a substantial bonus if the body was never found, for Vivian's death.

The four paid assassins had been lounging around town for a week, staying out of sight and waiting for the right moment ... and this was it.

 

 

 

Fifteen

 

 

The valley was an oasis of green surrounded by mountains, a profusion of multicolored wildflowers and gently waving grass in the slight breeze.

“It's lovely,” Viv whispered as she and Frank rested their horses at the mouth of the valley. “So beautiful and peaceful."

Frank had carefully checked out the valley a few days before, and had been pleasantly surprised to find it as Vivian had just described it.

“A little creek is over yonder,” Frank said, pointing. “Water is cold and pure. I had me a drink, and it numbed my tongue."

“Large enough to take a swim?"

“No. If you're brave you could stick your feet in it, though. But you won't leave them in there for long."

“I'm thirsty."

“We'll ride down and have us a drink. Fill up our canteens."

“I wrapped up some of that chicken and biscuits."

“I'm so fall now I'm about to pop, Viv. But it'll sure taste good later."

Vivian took off her fashionable boots and put her feet into the fast-running creek ... for about one second. She squealed, jerked her feet out, and immediately began rubbing them. “I have never felt water that cold!"

“I warned you,” Frank said with a laugh. He quickly cut his eyes to the horses, grazing a dozen yards away. Their heads had come up quickly, and their ears were pricked. The nostrils on Frank's horse were flared, and his eyes were shining with a wary and suspicious light.

“Stay put, Viv. Don't move unless I tell you to. And if I tell you, get behind that clump of trees just to your left."

“What's wrong, Frank?"

“I don't know. But the animals suddenly got jumpy, and I've learned to trust that big horse of mine. He's saved my skin more than once."

Frank stayed low and worked his way over to his horse. Using the big animal for cover, he pulled his rifle from the boot. He opened a pocket on the side of the boot and took out a box of cartridges and slipped them in his back pocket. Frank preferred the rifle because it packed a hefty wallop and had excellent range.

He crawled back to Viv and motioned for her to head for the copse of trees he had pointed out.

In the trees, she looked at him through worried eyes. “What's wrong?” she repeated.

“I saw one man, maybe two, slipping around on that ridge over there, dead in front of us."

“The Pine and Vanbergen gangs?"

“Maybe. Can't be certain about that. But folks who slip around are damn sure up to no good."

“Conrad!"

“The boy will be all right, Viv. You've got people looking out for him, and Jimmy will be in town and so will Jerry. Don't worry about him."

She peered through the weeds at the ridge. Frank felt her stiffen beside him.

“What's wrong, Viv?"

“I just caught a glint of sunlight off of something."

“Where?"