The Morgans

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Are you sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?” he asked.

  “We know,” the man with the eye patch replied. “We’ve plumb had all we’re gonna take from them varmints.”

  Nods and mutters of agreement came from nearly all the others in the cantina.

  “All right,” Frank said, “but remember this: You may outnumber Ramirez, but his men are professional killers, each and every one of them. There might come a time when you’ll hesitate before you pull the trigger, but those men won’t. They’ll kill you before you can blink your eyes, if they get the chance.” The settlers pressed closer around him as he went on, “Here’s another thing. You can’t just saddle up and go charging out there right now. The sun will be up long before you could get there.”

  “But those men Ramirez sent to hold up the train will be back today,” Beatriz protested. “His force is small right now. We must strike while we have the best chance!”

  Frank shook his head and said, “Even if he only has ten men, that’s enough for them to perch up there on that wall and pick off our men at long range before they ever get there. We might make it to the stronghold, might even get inside and overrun Ramirez’s men . . . but at least half of our force will die while we’re doing it.”

  At that blunt assessment, concerned frowns appeared on a number of faces in the crowd.

  “Then, what do you suggest?” Luciana asked coolly.

  “Somebody was able to sneak up and plant that blasting powder next to the wall last night,” Frank said. “I think we need to wait for nightfall again and take advantage of the darkness to get as close to the compound as possible before attacking. If one of your men was able to blow those gates open so we could get inside before Ramirez’s men knew what was going on . . .” Frank shrugged. “Taking ’em by surprise like that would go a long way toward giving us a better chance.”

  The townsman in the storekeeper’s apron said, “Do you think Ramirez will wait that long to strike back against us for gettin’ you out of there, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Sí,” the Mexican blacksmith said. “The general will be loco with anger that someone dared to defy him!”

  “He’s not going to try to attack the town with the men he has on hand right now,” Frank said. “Anyway, he’ll want to wait for those others to get back from below the border to see if they got the gold they went after. We don’t know when that will be, so it would probably be a good idea to send a couple of men out there with field glasses to keep an eye on the place from a distance. If Ramirez does make a move toward the settlement once the rest of his bunch gets back, we’ll need some warning. In the meantime, we can do some forting up, just in case we do have to defend the town. We need wagons with teams hitched up and ready to go, so we can block the ends of the street with them if we need to. Get some men on top of the tallest building in town to keep watch all around, and have runners ready to spread the alarm if there’s an attack. We can only defend a fairly small area effectively, so the women and kids and any men who aren’t able-bodied enough to fight should gather in the center of the settlement where they’ll be safe.”

  The young blonde opened her mouth to speak, but Frank held up a hand to forestall the protest she was obviously about to make.

  “The women who want to be will be armed and will serve as the last line of defense,” he went on. “Everybody else will spread out and try to keep the bandits out of town as long as possible.”

  “And you claimed you are no general!” Luciana said with an approving smile.

  “Everything I said was just common sense,” Frank insisted.

  “A man with common sense who can think clearly in times of trouble is the best general an army can have, I think.” She looked around at the others in the cantina, and a ragged cheer went up.

  Frank just shook his head. They were cheering and carried away by emotion now, but sooner or later it would come down to blood and flame and death. It always did.

  “I want to talk to the man who planted that blasting powder. I reckon we can get another keg of the stuff?”

  “You can have all of it I got in my store, Mr. Morgan,” the man in the canvas apron said. “And anything else you need.”

  Frank rested his hands on the butts of the Colts stuck behind his belt. He smiled and said, “I could use a box of. 45s, I reckon.”

  * * *

  The Kid carefully kept his face expressionless as he heard Ramirez say that Frank was gone. He had kept his connection to the prisoner a secret for this long, and he wanted to continue that, if possible.

  “He was rescued, I should say,” Ramirez went on. “While the peons were blowing a hole in the wall, some of the sluts we brought here to work as servants killed several of our men and helped Morgan get away.”

  “You know for sure that’s what happened?” Kern asked.

  “The women were all gone this morning,” Ramirez answered, shrugging. “They slipped away during the night. There is no other explanation.” His face darkened even more with rage. “But before they left, they cut the throats of some good men!”

  There weren’t any good men in this bunch, the Kid thought. Whatever had happened to them, they’d had it coming. But if Ramirez was able to carry out his vengeance on Saguaro Springs, it would be fearsome indeed.

  “Well, we’re back now,” Bracken said, “so let’s unload this gold and then go burn that damn settlement to the ground! That’ll teach those greasers and white trash they can’t stand up to hombres like us!”

  Ramirez made a slashing gesture and said, “No, not yet! I believe they may be trying to lure us into a trap. Besides, we need the town for supplies. We cannot destroy it, no matter how much I might like to!”

  Kern frowned in thought, scratched at his bearded jaw, and said, “You reckon maybe Morgan is still there? Or do you think he’s getting as far away from here as he can, as fast as he can?”

  A savage smile creased Ramirez’s face. He said, “That is another reason to wait. I believe Señor Morgan may seek revenge for being kidnapped. If we are patient, he may come back with men from the settlement and try to attack us, instead of the other way around. And that will put him right back in our hands.”

  The Kid’s spirits sank a little as he listened to the general. The notion that Frank Morgan would run away now that he was free had never crossed his mind. He had known as soon as he heard that Frank had escaped it was only a matter of time until he tried to strike back against Ramirez. Frank had seen Ramirez’s evil with his own eyes, and he would be keen to destroy this bandit stronghold.

  If he could just manage to stay alive until then, maybe he could get loose and make a difference, the Kid told himself.

  That might not be possible, though, because Ramirez turned toward him and said, “In the meantime, we can amuse ourselves by coming up with a painful death for this traitor—”

  “No!”

  The sudden outburst took the men by surprise, including the Kid. He turned his head to look and saw Antonia striding toward them.

  She wore the black leather trousers but today had on a red, long-sleeved silk shirt with them. Her long raven hair was loose around her shoulders and down her back. She stopped and cast an insolent gaze over the Kid, taking in the way his hands were tied behind his back.

  “What has he done?”

  “Tried to steal all the gold for himself!” Ramirez said as he waved a hand in the air. “He must pay for his madness and his treachery!”

  “I agree.” Antonia’s voice was almost a purr as she went on, “Give him to me.”

  “What!” The exclamation came from Kern. The Kid watched the way he looked at Antonia, and now that he knew what to watch for, he saw signs that Kern was smitten with her. But at the same time, the suggestion Antonia had just made flabbergasted and upset the gunman.

  “I said, give him to me. I will devise a suitable punishment for him.”

  Ramirez glowered and said, “This is not a matter for women—”

&nbs
p; “And I am not a typical woman, Papa, you know that. You trusted me to help you capture a notorious gunfighter like Frank Morgan. Why do you not trust me to make an example of a man who would betray us and our noble cause?”

  The Kid didn’t think for a second that she believed her father’s cause was noble. He wasn’t sure what drove Antonia Ramirez’s actions, but it wasn’t any altruistic desire to make things better for Mexico and its people, he was damned sure of that.

  For a long moment Ramirez stood there, apparently considering what Antonia had said. Impatience grew on Kern’s face, and finally he burst out, “Why not just let me put a bullet through his head, General? I came mighty close to doing that down there in Mexico after he nearly ruined everything.”

  “If that’s what you wanted to do, then you should have done it,” Ramirez snapped. “Instead you left the decision in my hands, Kern, and I will make it.” His head jerked in an abrupt nod. “And I decide that I will grant my daughter’s wish. You can have this dog to do with as you will, Antonia . . . but he must suffer before he dies. That is my only requirement. Otherwise it will not be a suitable demonstration of what happens to those who defy the leader of our glorious revolution!”

  Antonia said, “I can promise you, Papa, that Señor Callahan will suffer.” She turned and barked an order to some of the men standing nearby. “Take him to the dungeon!”

  A couple of them grabbed the Kid’s arms and marched him toward the hacienda. They didn’t know it, he thought wryly, but their new prisoner was worth just as much money as the one who had escaped. However, he sure wasn’t going to tell them that.

  His captors hustled him down the stairs and into one of the cells. One of the men cut the ropes around his wrists, then the other gave him a hard shove that sent him sprawling forward heavily on the stone floor. The cell door clanged shut with grim finality, and shadows closed in around him.

  As he lay there, he thought about the expression he had seen on Antonia’s face after she had watched Florita being whipped. He was still alive, and he had that to be thankful for, but he wasn’t sure if he was better off having Antonia in charge of his fate . . . or worse.

  Chapter 31

  After the eventful night, and after giving his orders for the settlement’s defensive preparations, Frank managed to get a few hours of sleep on a bunk in the cantina’s back room. He woke up with Luciana Hernandez perched on the mattress’s edge beside him as she lightly rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “I have coffee and food for you, Señor Morgan,” she told him. “You said you did not wish to sleep past mid-morning.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he sat up. Luciana didn’t move, and he was very aware of the soft warmth of her hip pressed against his.

  She moved her hand up and down his arm and said, “You are a most impressive hombre, Señor Morgan.”

  “Call me Frank,” he suggested. “You mean I’m impressive for my age?”

  “Ha! I can tell by looking at you that you still put many younger men to shame, Frank. A man of your years has much wisdom when it comes to life . . . and women.”

  “Being wise is something I haven’t been accused of too often,” he responded with a grin. “You said something about coffee?”

  “Of course.” She stood up and indicated a tray she had placed on a small table.

  Frank moved from the bunk to a ladder-back chair beside the table and took a swallow of the strong, black coffee, immediately feeling better as he did so. He tucked into the food while Luciana continued sitting on the bunk.

  “One of the men we sent out to keep an eye on Ramirez’s stronghold rode back into town a few minutes ago with news,” she said. “The men he sent below the border have returned. They brought two packhorses with them that appeared to be heavily loaded.”

  Frank frowned and said, “That means they must have been successful and got that gold from the train. That amount by itself will be enough for Ramirez to recruit more men and buy more guns and ammunition.”

  “Which means he must be stopped now, before he becomes even stronger.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “How many men came back?”

  “Our watchers counted twenty. Beatriz says that was the number of men who left a couple of days ago.”

  “I was hoping maybe they lost a few in the holdup. I’ll take whittling down the odds any way we can get it.”

  “Here is something odd, though,” Luciana said. “The watchers reported that one of the men appeared to have his hands tied behind his back as he rode, as if he were a prisoner.”

  “Maybe they did lose somebody in the holdup but brought a man from the train back with them.”

  “Perhaps. But our men said the one who was a captive looked like a gunman. They could not make out too many details through the field glasses, but they said he was young and dressed all in black.”

  That description made Frank’s jaw tighten. He asked, “What color hair did this fella have?”

  “The watchers could not tell. They were too far away.”

  Frank sat there, his coffee and breakfast forgotten for the moment. During the brief moment when he had seen his son in the hacienda’s dining room, Conrad had been dressed all in black. But some of the other men could be, too, so what Luciana had just told him didn’t really mean anything.

  And yet, the tightness in his gut was undeniable. It was unlikely Conrad would have let those bandits get away with holding up the train without doing something to try to sabotage their efforts. If he had done that and failed . . . worse, if they had also discovered that he was actually Conrad Browning . . . they might have brought him back to the stronghold for Ramirez to deal with. Frank had absolutely no proof that was what had happened, but he had a father’s instinct that told him his son was in trouble.

  “I can tell something worries you, Frank,” Luciana said. “Do you believe our attack is doomed to fail?”

  He shook his head and said, “Not at all.” He didn’t say anything about Conrad, because he couldn’t allow that to influence his decisions. The people of Saguaro Springs had put their faith in him, and he was going to do his best for them. That meant waiting for nightfall to put his plan into action . . . even though a big part of him wanted to gallop out there right now and go in with all guns blazing to find his son.

  But if anything did happen to Conrad, Frank would see to it that Ramirez and all his gun-wolves paid for it in blood.

  He drank some more of the coffee and said calmly, “I need to talk to that Apache fella and figure out the best way to blow up the gates into that place.”

  * * *

  The Kid sat with his back propped against the stone wall of the cell and rolled his shoulders to get the muscles working properly again. He flexed his fingers and felt the sharp stabs of pain as the blood began flowing in his hands. It was uncomfortable but necessary. If he got the chance to make any sort of move against his captors, he wanted to be able to seize the opportunity.

  Footsteps in the corridor outside made him lift his head. He suspected he was the only prisoner down here, now that Frank was gone, so whoever it was had to be coming to this cell. Maybe Antonia had decided his fate, and they were coming to drag him to his death.

  He hoped they would be careless enough to let him get his hands on a gun. Just a few shots before he died, that was all he asked for. A chance to put a bullet through Diego Ramirez’s head and end his reign of terror . . .

  “Señor Callahan?”

  The voice that came through the barred window in the door was a surprise. It belonged to Antonia. He’d heard only one set of footsteps, he realized. What was she doing, venturing down here alone?

  He stood up and moved over to the door, but he didn’t put his face up next to the window, just in case Antonia had some sort of vicious trick up her silk sleeve.

  “What do you want, señorita?” he asked quietly.

  “Just to talk.”

  “What’s the matter? Having trouble coming up with some suitable way t
o torture me to death, so you thought maybe you’d ask me for suggestions?”

  “You should be careful how you speak to me,” she snapped. “I hold your life in the palm of my hand.”

  “If you don’t kill me, your father will take care of that for you.”

  “Not if he is no longer in command.”

  He frowned. What in blazes did she mean by that? He risked a look out through the bars.

  She was alone, all right, at least as far as he could see. Her face was close to the window in the door. The light from a lantern at the end of the corridor burnished one smooth cheek as she peered in at him.

  “Listen to me,” she said with a note of urgency. “The guard is far enough away that he cannot hear if you keep your voice low.”

  “All right,” the Kid said in little more than a whisper. “What do you want, señorita?”

  “I want to save your life, Señor Callahan. Despite what you did south of the border, you are valuable to me. At least . . . you can be.”

  “The general doesn’t agree with you.”

  She let out a tiny snort and said, “My father and I have often disagreed. We see this revolution of his in different ways.”

  “You don’t want to free Mexico from el Presidente Díaz’s grip?”

  She waved a hand and said, “Díaz is a brutal dictator and should be removed, but one brutal dictator is much like another, eh? I have no illusions about my father. He is a cruel man, too. And yet he has his virtues. For example, he is not a greedy man.”

  “He just stole a fortune in gold,” the Kid said.

  “The means to an end. If he has to, he will spend every penny of it in his quest to gain power.”

  The Kid was starting to have an inkling of what was going on here. He said, “And you don’t really care all that much about power, do you? At least . . . not compared to gold.”

  “With the wealth that is in this stronghold right now, I could live in comfort for the rest of my days. More than comfort. Luxury. If my father has his way, though, all of it will go to hire more gunmen, buy more guns and bullets.”