Showdown (15 page)

Me!

Frank left the cabin long before dawn to return to Freetown, young Bessie with him. His suspicions a few hours back proved correct. The town was devoid of human life. The outlaws had pulled out in a hurry, leaving behind many articles of clothing, food, and more importantly, a corral full of horses, the saddles in the old barn.

“How come they left the horses, Mr. Frank?” Bessie asked.

“Good question, Bessie. One guess is they didn't want to be slowed down by herding them along. I'll saddle up a horse for you. You ride back to your cabin and get the others. Let your grandmother ride on the way back here. Will you do that?”

“Sure, I will.”

“I'll have the horses saddled up and ready to go by the time you get back. Don't let the others tarry, Bessie.”

“I won't. I'll make them hurry.”

Moments after Bessie had ridden off, Frank was prowling the town. He found the outlaw called Jeff in the back room of a building. The man was drifting in and out of consciousness, and Frank did not believe he was long for this world. Frank squatted down beside the dying outlaw and spoke to him.

“Is that you, Claude?” Jeff asked, his voice very weak.

“No. It's Frank Morgan.”

“I can't see you, Claude. My eyes has quit workin' and my head is hurtin' something awful. Can you get me somethin' for the pain?”

“I don't have anything, Jeff. Where'd the others go?”

“To the fort, Claude. They said they'd send a doctor back for me.”

Sure they will, Frank thought. Right. “I won't leave you, Jeff.”

“You a good friend, Claude....” The man's voice trailed off and he once more lapsed into unconsciousness.

Frank left the man and went to saddle the horses. When he returned, Jeff was still unconscious and his breathing was very bad. Frank had doubts as to whether the man would ever wake up. He went outside to smoke a cigarette. The day was sunny and bright, the sky an impossible blue. It was cold, but with no wind, it was not really uncomfortable.

“Claude!” Jeff cried out once.

When Frank reached the man's side, Jeff was dead; blood had leaked out of his nose and mouth, the flow of crimson ceasing when the man's heart stopped. Frank covered the man with a blanket and closed and locked the door. The old building was as good a grave as the ground.

Frank walked the town. The bodies of Cassius and the other Negro the outlaws had shot were gone. Frank had no idea what had happened to them, and a quick search failed to locate them. The outlaws might have hauled the bodies off into the timber or tossed them in the trash dump. Frank called off his search, and began gathering up what food the outlaws had left and filling saddlebags with the canned goods. He rolled the few blankets left behind and tied them behind the saddles. By the time he finished, Bessie was leading the women into the town.

“We can't stop to rest, ladies,” Frank told them. “We've got to make time. We're burnin' daylight and we've got a ways to go.”

“Our husbands?” Mavis asked.

“Gone.” He pulled Colette to one side and asked, “Did you tell Wilma about her husband?”

“Yes. She wants to see his grave.”

“We'll be there tomorrow. It's not that far from here. We can spend some time there and Wilma can pay her respects to Maxwell.”

“They weren't a very happy couple, Frank.”

“So I heard from a friend of hers in town.”

“Dr. Raven?”

“Yes.”

“I suspect she'll return to this country after the estate is settled.”

“Could be. Let's ride.”

* * *

It was slow going on the trail, for several of the women had been beaten repeatedly, and were bruised and sore and had to stop and rest several times. They spent the night in the ghost town of Red Rock. Prowling around, the women found several old pots and kettles and heated water to wash up in, then set about making some semblance of supper out of the food the outlaws had left behind. They were all sound asleep just after dark. The next morning, Frank was the first one out of his blankets. He stoked up the fire and put on water for coffee, then slipped into his winter coat and stepped outside for an early morning smoke.

He didn't tarry with his cigarette, for the air was very cold. He was back into the warmth of the old home in a very few minutes, and poured a cup of coffee. He turned as Wilma Crawford walked into the room.

“Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”

“Morning. Please call me Wilma, won't you, Frank?”

“If you would like that, certainly. Coffee?”

“Please.” A cup of coffee in her hands, Wilma thanked him, then asked, “Did my husband die well, Frank.”

“Yes, he did, Wilma. He conducted himself very well at the end.”

“Mavis's husband offered her in exchange for the beatings to stop.”

“I heard that. You think it's true?”

“Oh, yes. I have no difficultly at all believing every word of it.”

Frank shook his head at the deadly flatness of her tone; it was filled with disgust. “Mrs. Ross . . . Does she believe it?”

“She's maintaining a strong and stoic face, but yes, she believes it.”

“Tough way to learn what her husband is made of.”

“About half of these men are heirs, Frank. They didn't personally earn their wealth, they inherited it.”

“Their daddies gave it to them?”

“Precisely. And they have very skilled men working for them to insure they'll make more money.”

“While they play around.”

“Yes. Don't misunderstand what I say, Frank. These men are not stupid. They all have fine educations and they understand business. But they have so much money they don't know what to do with it, and they have so much time on their hands.”

“And they have never been tested as men.” It was not a question.

“They've never been tested as human beings, Frank. Not in my opinion.”

Frank smiled as his fingers were busy rolling another cigarette. He held it up. “You mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks. We need to be thinking of getting the others up if we want to make town today.”

“In a little while. I enjoy talking with you.”

“Strange that a lady of your standing would say that. I'm not very genteel, Wilma.”

“You're real, Frank. And I can't tell you what a relief it is to speak with someone who knows what life is all about.”

Frank smiled as he popped a match into flame. “I'd be lost in your city, Wilma.”

Wilma ignored that comment and asked, “You're going after the outlaws, Frank?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Alone?”

“Probably. I'd rather have it that way really.”

A noise in the other room put an end to the conversation. Wilma and Frank looked toward the archway as Nellie Vanderhoot walked into the room, her eyes still puffy from hours of deep sleep. “I must look a fright,” she said, running fingers through her hair. She took a deep breath and exclaimed, “Oh, my, is that coffee?”

Wilma smiled at her friend and replied, “It is and it's good and strong. I believe it's called cowboy coffee, isn't it, Frank?”

“I reckon you could call it that. Most Westerners like their coffee strong. Some folks say you could float a horseshoe in it.”

As she was pouring a cup for Nellie, Wilma said, “Frank says we'll be back in South Raven today.”

“A long hot bath and clean clothing,” Nellie said, taking the cup. “I do so look forward to that.”

“And then the wait for our ... your husbands,” Wilma said, correcting herself. She sighed heavily.

“I'm sorry, Wilma,” Nellie said after taking a sip of coffee. “I know you must be feeling your loss terribly. You've been so brave about it.”

“You'd better prepare yourself for the worst, Nellie,” Wilma told her.

“I already have,” the woman said softly. She looked at Frank. “The chances for all our husbands coming out of this ordeal alive are not very good, are they, Mr. Morgan?”

“Not real good, Mrs. Vanderhoot. I got to be honest about that.”

“My name is Nellie, please. May I address you as Frank?”

“I wish you would. Mister sounds sort of stuffy.”

“Actually, we're rather stuffy people, Frank,” Nellie said, much to Wilma's surprise. “Arrogant might be a better description.”

“It's the way you were brought up,” Frank said. “But the West has a way of bringing out either the worst or the best in people.”

“I've certainly been humbled,” Nellie confessed. “I shan't return to my old ways. You can be assured of that.” She took another sip of coffee and sat down. “Will we have time to hold a small service for Maxwell, Frank?”

“We'll make time, Nellie. I think Maxwell would rest easier after that.” Providing some bear hasn't toted the body off and ate it, he thought.

Marvella and Bessie were the next ones up, and over the protests of Frank and Nellie and Wilma, Marvella set about slicing bacon and frying it, and then made a big skillet of pan bread. Bessie made another pot of coffee.

“I hate to eat anything them damn white trash had their hands on,” Marvella said. “But I ain't one to waste food.”

“We'll have you say a breakfast prayer over it, Marvella,” Frank said. “That ought to take care of it.”

“I plans on doin' that, Frank Morgan,” she replied. “I does that 'fore ever' meal. And I'll say me a prayer for you too. Thanks and good huntin'.”

“I need it,” Frank said with a smile.

“I knows that too,” the old woman replied with a laugh. “I allow as to how you needs it in more ways than one.”

Frank got a good chuckle out of that. “You're sure right about that, Marvella. You purely are.”

Everyone had a good meal to start the day, and Frank went out to saddle the horses while the ladies rolled up bedding and secured and stowed away pots and skillets and the coffeepot. Frank had another cup of coffee, and they were on the road just as the gold was chasing away the last bits of silver from the eastern skyline.

“Will we make town this day?” Ethel Steele asked, wriggling around a little, trying to ease her butt a bit in the Western saddle.

“We should be riding into South Raven by late afternoon,” Frank said.

“Thank God,” more than one of the ladies whispered.

Marvella smiled as Frank cut his eyes at the old woman. She was as tough as whang leather, and carried her double-barreled shotgun over one shoulder by a sling. Frank had no doubts about her capability and willingness to use the weapon.

Frank led them toward the cabin where he had buried Maxwell Crawford. The day was sunny and cool and they made good time. Wilma rode up beside Frank, and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

“Is it far now, Frank?”

“Just over the next rise. I wrapped him in a blanket and piled rocks over his body.”

“I'm . . . glad you warned me about that.”

“I figured I'd better. It's the best I could do without a shovel. You can make arrangements to move the body later.”

She nodded her head as the tears began trickling silently down her cheeks.

The service at Maxwell's grave site was brief, with the group backing away afterward, allowing Wilma a few moments alone with Maxwell.

“It's a beautiful spot,” Nellie Vanderhoot remarked, looking around her. “So peaceful and quiet.”

“You suppose she'll have the body returned to New York?” Eudora asked.

“I don't know,” Clovis Knox replied. “But I wouldn't. I'd buy the land and create a permanent memorial.”

“That's a good idea,” Nellie said. “I'll suggest that to her.” She looked at the others. “Do you think that would be an inappropriate suggestion?”

When no one replied, Frank said, “I don't, Nellie. I think it's a good idea. What's under those rocks now is just the shell of the man. The soul has gone on.”

“That's lovely, Frank,” Nellie replied. “You continue to surprise us all.”

Frank did not reply to that. It just made good sense to him.

Wilma walked over to the group, wiping her eyes. “I'm ready to go,” she said. “There is nothing more to do or say here.”

A few hours later, Frank led the group into the town of South Raven. The residents gathered along the sides of the street and watched in silence. Swinging down from the saddle, Frank motioned to Phil, the bartender at the saloon/hotel.

“Get some rooms ready for the ladies, Phil.”

“I already done that, Frank. The Stover boy spotted y'all 'bout a mile out and come at a run to tell us.”

Doc Raven helped Wilma down from her horse and stood looking at her for a moment, while local men assisted the other ladies.

“I'd have never been able to pull this off without the help of Marvella and Bessie, Doc,” Frank said, indicating the old woman and her granddaughter. “I want them treated right. Anyone in town who doesn't will answer to me.”

“There are few prejudices in this town, Frank,” Doc Raven replied. “I didn't fight for the Gray because I believed in slavery or that colored folks were inferior.”

“I know, Doc. Don't get your hackles up. I just wanted to let you know where I stood, that's all.”

“Marvella and Bessie will be provided for,” Colette said, walking up. “I will insist on that.”

“As will I,” Wilma said.

Frank walked over to the boardwalk and sat down. He was beat; weary to the bone. He wanted nothing more than a drink, a hot meal, a bath, and a bed.

Doc Raven walked over and sat down beside him. “You all right, Frank?”

“Just tired, Doc.”

“Wilma told me about Maxwell.”

“He died well. I can say that much about him for sure.”

“When do you go after the others?”

“In the morning. And before you ask, no, I don't want a posse.”

“All right, Frank. By the way, many of the bounty hunters left town the same day you did. Some of them, I believe, went in search of the kidnappers.”

“To join with them probably.”

“That's my theory, yes. Some just drifted away. But let me warn you about this: Dolan is still in town, making talk about what he's going to do to you.”

“I'm easy to find, Doc. And if he tries it today, I'll settle it today. I'm in no mood to be charitable.”

Liveryman Bob walked up. “Dolan just stepped out of the saloon,” he said. “He's been making a lot of talk about you, Frank.”

Frank looked toward the saloon. Dolan was standing on the boardwalk, smoking a cigar and looking in his direction. “He's going to call me out in a couple of minutes,” Frank said.

“I'll get the women and kids off the street,” Bob said.

“The telegraph wires up yet, Doc?” Frank asked as Bob walked away.

“Not yet.”

“Anyone checked on the progress of the road-clearing?”

“Crews are still working on it. It'll be clear in a few days. Wilma says the women don't want any outside interference in this situation.”

“That's right. That would be a death sentence for their husbands.”

“You believe the outlaws would really kill the hostages?”

“I do.”

“As soon as the wires are up and the stage starts running, somebody is going to talk about it. You can't keep something this big quiet.”

“Then I'd better not waste any time in finding them,” Frank said as he rolled a cigarette and popped a match into flame.

“Dolan just stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.”

“I see him.”

“What is happening here?” Wilma Crawford asked, walking up to the men. “The street is suddenly deserted.”

“A shoot-out,” Doc Raven told her. “Get inside, Wilma.”

“This is ridiculous!” the woman said. “Why in the world would that man want to start a fight with Frank?”

“To see who is the fastest,” Doc Raven replied. Before Wilma could respond to that, Frank toed out his cigarette and stood up, stepping out into the street. He turned to face Dolan, still more than half a block away.

“I told you I'd call you out, Frank!” Dolan yelled.

Frank said nothing. He stood in the middle of the street and waited.

“Big hero now, huh, Frank?” Dolan shouted. “Rescued all the women. Hell, I could have done that myself. But nobody asked me.”

Behind closed doors, the locals waited.

Gunslingers began stepping out of the saloon and the cafe to line the boardwalks. They would not interfere in this matter. That would violate the unwritten code.

“You gonna answer me, Morgan?” Dolan yelled.

Frank made no reply. He knew from long years of facing men in the street that Dolan was working up his courage. What was that line he'd read once when he was trying to wade through some writing by that Shakespeare fellow? Screw your courage to the sticking place . . . Yeah, that was it. Frank never could appreciate that Shakespeare fellow. Everybody else said what a great writer he was. Frank couldn't see what was so damn great about him.

Dolan stopped and cursed Frank.

Frank waited.

Dolan began slowly walking toward Frank. “What's the matter, Morgan? You so scared you forgot how to speak?”

“Why don't you shut that flapping mouth of yours, Dolan?”

“Huh?”

“Make your play or shut the hell up and go away. I'm tired of listening to you flap your gums.”

“Are you that anxious to die, Morgan?”

“Shut up,” Frank told him, exasperation very clear in his tone. “I'm tired and hungry and want a bath. What I don't want is any more lip from you. Now, either pull iron or shut your mouth.”

Dolan screamed his outrage and grabbed for his gun. The locals watching the two-man drama being played out in their street would talk about the brief battle for years to come. Frank Morgan drew and fired his .45 so swiftly and cleanly, it was almost too fast for the human eye to follow. Blink, and you would have missed it.

Frank's bullet hit Dolan in the chest, and the bounty hunter sat down in the dirt of the street, a very startled expression on his face. “Well . . . I'll be damned!” Dolan said. He lifted his six-gun and managed to cock it. But he could not raise the weapon enough to point it at Frank. “You've killed me, you bastard!”

“Sure looks like it,” Frank said, walking toward the man.

“It ain't 'posed to be this way,” Dolan said as blood filled his mouth and began leaking past his lips.

“It never is, Dolan,” Frank told him.

“Somebody's gonna get you, Morgan,” Dolan said.

“That's the way it usually plays out,” Frank replied very matter-of-factly.

Dolan looked at Frank walking toward him, then fell over in the dirt and gasped, “I ... can't breathe.”

Frank said nothing.

“I'll ... see you in hell, Morgan!” Dolan said, then closed his eyes and died.

Frank slipped his .45 back into leather and walked away, toward the saloon. He pushed his way past the line of gunslicks that crowded the boardwalk, opened the door, and walked up to the bar. “Coffee,” he told the bartender. “And make sure it's hot.”

“Yes, sir!” the young man said. “Comin' right up, you betcha!”

The gun-handlers walked back into the saloon and either took seats or lined up at the bar. They were very quiet, none of them making eye contact with Frank.

“I'll get the coffee, Jim,” Phil told the young man as he stepped in from the hotel lobby. “You serve the others.”

Bob and Doc Raven entered the saloon and came to Frank's side. “Make that coffee for us too, Phil,” Doc Raven said. He looked at Frank. “I believe, Frank, you are the fastest gun I have ever seen in all my years out here.”

“I'm still alive, Doc,” Frank said simply.

“I talked to that fellow you released from jail, Frank,” Doc Raven said. “He came back into town to buy some supplies. He made it a point to look me up and tell me it was Jackson Mills who paid him to kill you.”

“Why didn't he tell me that when I asked him?”

Doc Raven shrugged, then said, “Maybe he was that afraid of you, Frank.”

“Did you believe him? Do you think it was Mills who paid him?”

“I don't have any reason to doubt it ... or to believe it,” Doc added.

“What kind of an answer is that, Doc?”

“The best one I can come up with.”

“I think you've got Wilma on what's left of your mind,” Frank said with a grin.

“You're right about that. I haven't been able to get her off my mind since the day she arrived.”

Frank sugared his coffee and stirred it slowly. When he could get sugar, he enjoyed a bit of it in his coffee. “I was real lucky in getting the women loose, Doc. I won't be that lucky with the men.”

“The ladies told me you've already talked to them about that. I believe they're prepared for the worst.”

“They better be. Doc, as soon as I finish this coffee, I'm going to go take a bath and then provision up so I can get that out of the way and take off early in the morning. Then I'm going to get something to eat, go visit with Dog for a time, and go to bed.”

“I won't see you in the morning?”

“Doubtful. I'll be pulling out long before dawn. Marvella drew me a map. I'm heading cross-country until I cut the old road to the fort.”

“You and Stormy get along?”

“He's a fine animal. You still sure you want to trade?”

“Absolutely. I've been exercising Horse every day. We get along just fine. But Dog misses you.

“I'll going to sleep in the barn tonight. Just so he won't think I've run off and deserted him.”

“Use the storeroom,” Bob suggested. “It's got a little potbellied in it and they's lots of wood behind the barn. You'll be a lot warmer in there.”

“Thanks. I'll do that.”

“They's a cot in there too.”

“Good.” Frank paused and took a sip of coffee.

“Let me provision up for you, Frank,” Doc Raven suggested. “That'll save you a little time.”

“I appreciate that. I need a bath in the worst way. I'm beginning to smell a little rank.”

“Now that you mention it . . .” Doc Raven said with a smile.

Frank laughed and finished his coffee. Phil looked at him, and Frank put his hand over his cup and shook his head. Phil went back to polishing glasses.

“Frank?” Bob said. “ 'Bout ten or twelve of the hired guns has left town. I don't know for shore, but mayhaps they've left to go join with the kidnappers... just to be with their own kind. Look around you, see who's missin'.”

“I have, Bob.”

“You can't fight all them people at oncest. That'd be suicide.”

“I can't see that I have much choice in the matter. If we call the law in on this, the hostages are dead for sure. I don't have a doubt in my mind but what Sonny would kill them. He wouldn't hesitate.”

“Wilma told me that several of the women expressed doubts about him from the beginning,” Doc Raven said. “Said they just didn't trust him.”

“They should have trusted their instincts,” Frank replied. “That's one man I'm going to make it a point to kill.”

“Put a bullet in him for me, Frank,” Raven said. “And one for Wilma.”

“I'll do that, Doc. See you boys.”

“Good luck, Frank,” Bob said.

Frank nodded and smiled. “Take care of Marvella and Bessie. I'd never have made it without them.”

“Will do,” Doc Raven said. “Good hunting.”

Frank walked out without looking back.