The big gundown (10 page)

“I told you, we’ll run those bandits to ground, Mr. Sheffield, if you’ll let us,” the man said. “So far, you’ve just had us guarding the trains.”

Sheffield snorted. “And a fine job your men did of that today.”

“It would have been different if I’d been there.”

Sheffield looked like he didn’t believe that. “This is Kid Morgan,” he said. “I’ve asked him to take over and lead the effort to find Colonel Black and his men.”

“Morgan, huh?” The long-haired man gave Morgan a cool, appraising stare and clearly didn’t like what he saw. “I reckon I’ve heard of him.” He spoke directly to Morgan. “And I reckon you’ve probably heard of me. I’m Phil Bateman.”

Slowly, Morgan shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say as I have.”

A flush crept over Bateman’s face as his scowl deepened. As he stepped past Sheffield, his hands hovered over the butts of his guns. “Maybe I ought to show you why you should have,” he said, his lips curling in a snarl.

Sheffield snapped, “Damn it, Bateman, stop that. I want you and Morgan to work together, not kill each other.”

“I never agreed to work for you,” Morgan said.

Sheffield frowned at him. “Now, listen, if it’s a matter of money—”

“It’s not.” Morgan had made up his mind. “I just don’t want the job.”

He didn’t bother explaining to Sheffield that his answer didn’t mean he wasn’t going after Colonel Black. He had his own reasons for trying to put a stop to the renegade colonel’s activities. He had a score to settle for the friends he had lost, and he thought his chances of doing that would be better alone—even with the odds he’d be facing—rather than trying to deal with a stiff-necked hard case like Bateman and a bunch of other hired guns.

Sheffield glared at Morgan. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he didn’t like it when anyone told him no. He began to sputter, “Blast it, Morgan, you saw that those bastards are capable of—”

“That’s right,” Morgan said, “I did. That’s why I don’t want any part of going after them.”

Bateman gave a contemptuous laugh. “This is the famous gunfighter you were gonna hire, Mr. Sheffield? First of all, he ain’t all that famous, and second, he sounds like a damn coward to me!”

Morgan knew good and well that Bateman was trying to prod him into a fight. Sheffield’s words had stung his pride, and Bateman intended to heal it by proving that he was faster on the draw than Kid Morgan.

One advantage Morgan had was that he didn’t give a damn whether he was faster than Bateman. He felt fairly confident that he was, but he didn’t intend to find out. He wasn’t going to risk getting killed before he could settle the score with Colonel Black for what had happened at the Williams ranch.

Sheffield glanced back and forth between the two of them. Judging by the look on his face, he was nervous about the possibility of gunplay breaking out—with him maybe caught in the middle.

Then a woman behind Morgan said, “What’s going on here?”

Morgan knew the voice belonged to Glory Sheffield. Her husband looked past Morgan at her and said, “Damn it, Gloriana, I told you to stay at the hotel.”

“I would have, but you were over here such a long time, dear.”

Glory moved around the men so that she could see Morgan and Bateman—and so
they
could see
her.
She sensed the tension in the room, as did the men who’d been working at the desks. They looked almost as nervous as Sheffield. The clerk who had tried to stop Morgan from going into the inner office had backed off and now stood beside his desk, toying with the inkwell as he watched the confrontation between Morgan and Bateman.

Morgan didn’t take his attention off Bateman, but from the corner of his eye he saw the way Glory’s breasts began to rise and fall faster. A flush crept over her face. He realized that she was excited by the danger that was in the air. A part of her probably wanted Morgan and Bateman to slap leather.

Morgan wasn’t going to let that happen. When Bateman demanded belligerently, “Well, Morgan? Did you hear what I said?” He just smiled faintly.

“I heard you. Think whatever you want, Bateman. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“So you admit that you’re a yellow, spineless coward?”

“I admit that I don’t care what somebody like you thinks.”

The flat, simple words were so scathing in their dismissal that once again Bateman looked like he was about to reach for his guns. If his hands moved a little more, Morgan was ready to draw. Even though his stance appeared casual, every nerve in his body was taut. He planned to kill Bateman just as quickly as he could, in hopes that the gunman wouldn’t get off a shot that might hit an innocent bystander, like one of the clerks—or Glory Sheffield.

“Ah, the hell with it,” Bateman muttered abruptly. “I’m not gonna waste a bullet on you, Morgan.” He moved his hands away from the ivory-handled gun butts and turned to Sheffield. “Give me the word, Mr. Sheffield, and the boys and I will go out and hunt down those outlaws for you.”

Sheffield’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “All right, Bateman, I don’t suppose I have any choice. Find that renegade, Colonel Black.”

“And kill him?” Bateman couldn’t quite keep the bloodthirsty eagerness out of his voice.

“Whatever it takes to make sure he leaves my trains alone,” Sheffield said. He walked over to his wife and took hold of her arm. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

She pulled loose from his grip, not roughly but firmly. “There’s no need to manhandle me, Edward,” she said in an icy tone. “I was hoping to look around Titusville. I haven’t been here before, you know.”

“There’s nothing to see. It’s just a town.”

She smiled. “I noticed a great many saloons and similar establishments.”

“None of which are suitable places for you to visit.” Sheffield looked at Bateman. “What are you waiting for? There’s still time enough for you to go out there where those outlaws ambushed us and try to pick up their trail.”

Bateman nodded. “Yes, sir. Hadn’t I better leave some men here to ride guard on the train when it goes back to Bisbee?”

Sheffield looked at Morgan. “Are you going back to Bisbee on the train, Morgan? It ought to be repaired and ready to roll again tomorrow.”

Morgan shook his head. “No, I think I’ll stay up here for a while. I’d sort of like to look around the town, too.”

“See?” Glory said with a triumphant smile at her husband. “I’m not the only one.” She stepped over to Morgan and slid her arm around his. “Maybe we should explore Titusville together.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t expected such scandalous behavior from Glory, but maybe he should have known better, considering what he had seen of her actions so far. She clearly liked goading her husband and flirting with other men as much as she could. He thought about disengaging his arm from hers, but that might just make her more determined to get her way.

“Do what you like,” Sheffield snapped. “You always do, anyway. And as long as you’re with Morgan, at least I’ll know that you’re safe from the roughnecks around here.” He turned back to Bateman. “Yes, leave some men to guard the train tomorrow, since Morgan won’t be on it.”

“Yes, sir.” Bateman didn’t like the implication that Morgan alone would do a better job of protecting the train than his men could. He stalked out of the office, but not before glaring one last time at Morgan.

When Bateman was gone, Glory urged Morgan toward the door. “Come with me, Kid,” she said. “I want to see this place.”

“I still have work to do,” Sheffield said. “I’ll be here at the office for a while.”

“That’s fine, dear.” The offhanded way Glory spoke made it clear she didn’t care where her husband was or how he was spending his time. A little muscle jumped in Sheffield’s jaw as he nodded and turned to go back into the inner office.

With arms linked, Morgan and Glory left the building that housed the mining corporation. “What would you like to look at first?” she asked. “A saloon? A brothel?”

“You’re trying to shock me,” Morgan drawled. “It’s not going to work.”

“Are you saying that you can’t be shocked, Kid?”

“Nope.”

“But it would take more than me to do it, is that right?” She gave him a speculative look. “We’ll see about that.”

Morgan managed not to sigh in exasperation. “Let’s walk over to the general store,” he suggested. “I need a new hat.”

“I’d noticed that yours was gone. What happened to it?”

“I lost it while I was crawling around under the train. I imagine it’s blowing around somewhere out there on the edge of the foothills now.”

“Well, I’ll be glad to help you pick out another one.”

He hadn’t asked her to help him pick out a new hat, he thought, but he refrained from pointing that out to her.

Morgan spotted a large building across the street with
TITUSVILLE MERCANTILE
painted on the sign that hung above its doors. He and Glory started toward it. Morgan was aware that a lot of the men on the boardwalks and in the dusty street stared at Glory with undisguised lust. She was probably the most stunning woman who had ever set foot in the settlement. He was sure that she was aware of the attention, too, and was probably enjoying every minute of it.

She could stir up a lot of trouble if she stayed in a rough-and-tumble place for very long, he thought. It would be a good idea if Sheffield got her back to Bisbee on that train tomorrow.

But that was Sheffield’s business, not his, Morgan told himself.

They stepped onto the boardwalk and went into the mercantile. Morgan spotted several hats hung on pegs next to a window and went over to examine them. Since Glory still had her arm linked with his, she went with him.

Morgan reached for a broad-brimmed brown Stetson similar to the one he had lost under the train. Before he could take it off the peg, Glory said, “No, not that one. It doesn’t go with that suit at all.”

“I’ll probably have to get a new suit, too,” Morgan pointed out. “The coat got pretty torn up while I was crawling around on that roadbed.”

Glory picked up one of the other hats. “This is the one you need. Try it on.”

Morgan turned the hat over in his hands. It was black, with a slightly smaller brim, and the band around the crown was studded with silver conchos. Holding it in one hand, he settled it on his head, then looked at Glory and asked, “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” she told him. “Very handsome. You should get it.”

“I don’t know how much it costs yet.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Edward owns this store. He owns nearly all the businesses in Titusville.”

Morgan frowned. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have to pay for the hat. I turned down that job he offered me, you know.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m still not happy about it. I was hoping we could spend a lot more time together.”

He might have tried explaining to her that if he had accepted her husband’s offer, he would have been out on the trail of Colonel Black’s gang, not spending time with her. Before he could get into that, however, a man’s voice said in a mocking tone, “Now ain’t that purty?”

Morgan bit back a sigh and thought,
Not again.

He hoped he wasn’t about to have to kill somebody.

Morgan turned slowly. He had recognized the challenge in the man’s voice and knew the comment was intended to either goad him into a fight or humiliate him. It hadn’t been that long since Phil Bateman had tried the same tactic, and Morgan was getting damned sick and tired of it.

Two men stood there, hard-bitten hombres with stubbled faces and gaunt cheekbones. They wore range clothes and low-slung guns. One was a few inches taller than the other and had rust-colored hair instead of dirty brown. Those were the only significant differences in their appearance.

Morgan pegged them as two of the men Sheffield had hired to protect his trains. The men who would now attempt to hunt down Colonel Black’s band of desperados, under Bateman’s leadership.

It wasn’t very likely they would be successful, Morgan thought. If Black and his men knew the Dragoon Mountains at all, they would be able to give Sheffield’s unofficial posse the slip without much trouble.

“I reckon Bateman must’ve sent you over here to harass me,” Morgan said.

“I’m the one talkin’ to you, mister, nobody else,” the one with rust-colored hair said. An ugly grin stretched across his face. “And I say that’s a mighty purty hat. It looks like somethin’ an Eastern dude would wear.”

Conrad Browning had been one of those Eastern dudes the hard case referred to, but those days were far behind Kid Morgan. He moved to one side to put some distance between him and Glory. He didn’t want her getting hurt if any shooting started. Even as he changed position, though, she sidled after him, as if she didn’t want him to get too far away from her.

Morgan saw that from the corner of his eye. His jaw tightened. If he had to be blunt about it, he would.

“Mrs. Sheffield, why don’t you go on over to the other side of the store?” he said.

Before Glory could say anything or respond to the suggestion, the shorter of the two hard cases snickered. “You sure you want to do that, dude?” he asked. “Maybe the lady should stay where she is to protect you.”

The other one said, “Yeah, I hear she’s partial to men who ain’t her husband.”

Morgan heard Glory’s sharp intake of breath. She might not make any bones about the sort of woman she was, but she obviously didn’t enjoy hearing two men such as these gun-wolves talking about it.

It got worse, though, as the first man said, “You know what I call a woman like that? A slut, pure and simple.”

The second man laughed. “Then why’s she hangin’ around with some damn Easterner who probably don’t even like women? He looks like a sissy to me.”

In a low, angry voice, Glory demanded, “Are you going to just stand there and let them say those things about both of us, Mr. Morgan?”

He noticed that she called him Mr. Morgan again, instead of Kid. But he said, “What do you want me to do, shoot them?”

“Yes,” Glory said. “I think I’d like that very much.”

Well, that put it right out there.

The two men crouched, poising their hands near their guns, and the movement reminded Morgan of coiling snakes. All they needed was the sound of rattles buzzing to warn of imminent danger.

Everybody in the store knew it, too. There were quite a few customers in the place, and most of them scrambled to get somewhere that they wouldn’t be in the line of fire.

“How about it, mister? You gonna draw?”

“Hold on a minute,” Morgan said. “I want to look at this hat. I think you may be right about it.”

That surprised all of them, including Glory. She said, “What are you doing?”

Moving slowly so as not to spook them into drawing, Morgan reached up and took off the hat. He stepped closer to the window, as if trying to get a better look at it in the light.

“What the hell?” one of the gunmen said.

The next second he yelled a curse as the sunlight slanting in through the window struck the silver conchos on the hatband and reflected right into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He flung up a hand to block the glare and took an instinctive step back.

At the same instant, Morgan flicked his wrist and sent the hat flying into the face of the other man. Reflex made him flinch as it came straight at his eyes. Morgan kicked him in the groin. The agony that exploded between the man’s legs made him forget all about trying to get his gun out of its holster. He screeched in pain, clutched at himself as he doubled over, and then collapsed on the store’s plank floor.

The man Morgan had blinded with the sun’s reflection from the conchos was still weaving around like he hadn’t yet regained his sight. He had his gun in his hand, though, so he was plenty dangerous whether he could see anything or not. Morgan lunged at him, grabbed his wrist, and shoved his arm up just as the man pulled the trigger. The gun roared, but the bullet shot harmlessly into the ceiling.

Still holding tightly to the man’s wrist with his left hand, Morgan brought his right around in a looping punch that landed cleanly on the hard case’s jaw with enough force behind it to jerk the hombre’s head to the side. Morgan twisted the man’s wrist so hard that bones ground together under the skin. The man grunted in pain as his fingers opened involuntarily, dropping the gun. It thudded to the floor.

Morgan let go of his wrist and brought that hand up in an uppercut that caught the man under the chin. The man’s head rocked back. Morgan chopped the side of his hand against the man’s exposed throat.

Gagging and choking and pawing at his throat, the man staggered backward. He blundered into a stack of buckets, tripped and fell, and brought the whole stack crashing down on him. As the hard case struggled to get to his feet, Morgan picked up one of the buckets and brought it down hard on his head. The gunman slumped and sprawled, out cold. His companion lay nearby, curled up in a whimpering ball of pain.

The whole thing had taken maybe ten ticks of the banjo clock on the wall of the store, behind the counter.

“My God,” Glory said in an awed voice. “How did you do that?
Why
did you do that?”

Morgan shrugged. “Seemed like it would be easier than shooting them, and less dangerous to everybody else in the store, too. Sorry if I disappointed you.” He bent and picked up the hat from the floor. “I think I’m starting to like this hat after all.”

He put it on again and turned to see Glory glaring at him. She hadn’t liked that comment about disappointing her, he thought. But he knew it was true. She had thought she was about to see the blood and death that had been denied to her earlier in her husband’s office, and a part of her had been looking forward to it.

Several of the store’s customers and one of the clerks came forward tentatively to stare curiously at the men on the floor. The clerk glanced at Morgan and said, “I never saw anybody move so fast, mister. I think you could’ve beat ’em both to the draw if you’d wanted to.”

“Didn’t see any point in getting a lot of blood on the floor,” Morgan said with a shrug. “You might’ve wound up with some bullet holes in the walls you’d have to patch, too.”

“Or bullet holes in us.”

“That was a risk, too,” Morgan agreed. “Have you got any law in this town?”

“Phil Bateman’s the marshal.”

Morgan grunted. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. Edward Sheffield pretty much owned Titusville, so it made sense that the local law would be one of Sheffield’s handpicked men. Morgan was a little surprised that the tycoon hadn’t offered him the marshal’s badge as well, when Sheffield was trying to hire him.

Morgan pointed at the hat on his head. “How much for the hat?”

“There’s no charge,” Glory said before the clerk could answer. “I told you, Mr. Morgan, my husband owns this store. I’m sure he won’t mind if I give you the hat.”

“I’d rather pay for it,” Morgan drawled coolly. He took a double eagle out of his pocket and flipped it to the clerk, who deftly plucked the spinning gold piece out of the air without thinking. “Will that cover it?”

“Uh, yes, sir, I reckon,”—the clerk glanced nervously at Glory—“if Miz Sheffield says it’s all right.”

She flipped a hand impatiently. “If Mr. Morgan wants to be ungracious, that’s fine with me, I suppose.”

“I don’t mean any offense,” Morgan said. “I just like to pay my own way and not be beholden to anybody.”

“Fine,” Glory said again.

Heavy footsteps from the doorway made Morgan glance in that direction. Phil Bateman came into the store, his hands near the ivory-handled revolvers and a look of expectation on his face, as if he hoped he’d have to use the guns. He came to a stop when he saw the two men lying on the floor near Morgan and Glory, one unconscious, the other obviously not in the mood to cause any more trouble.

“Somebody on the street told me there was a fight goin’ on in here,” Bateman said. “I should’ve known you were involved in it, Morgan. Trouble just follows you around, don’t it?”

“It seems to,” Morgan said, his voice as flat and hard as Bateman’s. “I think you knew who was involved, all right, since you sent those two over here after me.”

Bateman’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Morgan nodded toward the two men who had picked the fight. “Are you saying that those men aren’t part of the crew that Sheffield hired to guard the railroad?”

“I’m sayin’ I never saw those two before in my life,” Bateman declared. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about holdin’ a grudge against you, Morgan. If I decide to settle things between us, you can damn well be sure that I’ll handle it myself, and I’ll come at you from the front.”

Even though Morgan had been convinced that Bateman was behind the men’s attempt to pick a fight with him, Bateman’s words had the ring of truth. Bateman was the sort of man who clearly rated his own prowess with a gun quite highly, and maybe his pride would stand in the way of sending anybody else after Morgan. Morgan hadn’t considered that angle of it before.

He decided that he believed what Bateman had just told him. He jerked his head in a curt nod and said, “Fine. But that leaves a question unanswered.” He gestured toward the two men. “Who are they?”

“A couple of hombres who just naturally didn’t like you?” Bateman gave a humorless laugh. “I can sure understand that feeling.”

“Maybe so.”

Morgan didn’t fully believe it, though. His gut told him there was more to it than just a couple of hard cases trying to harass a man they had pegged as an Easterner, a suitable target for that sort of hoorawing. He would have to get to the bottom of it, otherwise he risked having someone send more men after him.

“I understand you’re the local marshal, too,” Morgan went on. “What are you going to do with those two?”

“We have a little one-cell jail. I’ll deputize a couple of miners to drag them over there and throw them in it. They can cool their heels there until I get back. The justice of the peace can hear their case then.”

Morgan knew Bateman meant until he got back from trying to track down Colonel Black’s gang. That might take a while, he thought. The prisoners could be in for a long stay in jail.

“What if I don’t press charges against them?”

Bateman shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They still disturbed the peace. For that matter, so did you. From the looks of it, their peace got disturbed real good.”

“I just defended myself and the lady,” Morgan snapped.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna lock you up. But I reckon it’d be a good idea if you didn’t linger around town, Morgan. There’s nothing here for you.”

Actually, Morgan agreed with him, although he wasn’t going to admit that to Bateman. He intended to spend the night there in Titusville.

But come morning, he was going to be on the trail of Colonel Gideon Black.