Preacher's Quest
Page 28
“Not yet. I just want some answers, is all. There hasn’t been any real trouble here in my town for a long time, and I want to know why folks started dyin’ this morning all of a sudden.”
The dying hadn’t started this morning, Frank thought. This was just the latest installment.
The marshal’s office was in a small, blocky building that also served as the town jail. A coffeepot sat on a cast-iron stove in the corner. After putting the shotgun back on the rack, Larch offered Frank a cup, and Frank accepted gratefully.
“I used to do some cowboying, and that’s where I learned to boil coffee,” the marshal said. “So this is pretty potent.”
Frank smiled. “Just the way I like it.”
Larch poured coffee for both of them and waved Frank into a chair in front of the battered, scarred desk. He took Frank’s gun from behind his belt and placed it on the desk. As he settled down in a swivel chair, he said, “Now tell me why somebody wants you dead, Morgan . . . other than the fact that a man like you must have a lot of enemies to start with.”
Frank took a sip of the strong black brew and nodded in appreciation. Then he said, “Those gunmen were sent to intercept me by a man in Boston named Charles Dutton.”
“Why would this fella Dutton do that?”
“Because he knows that I’m on my way to Boston to kill him.”
Larch’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. “Simple as that, eh?”
Frank nodded. “Simple as that.”
But it wasn’t simple, not really. Not at all. And the beginnings of it went back years. Maybe even decades, depending on how you looked at it.
It went all the way back to when he had met and fallen in love with and ultimately married a beautiful young woman named Vivian. Her father had been opposed to the marriage, and eventually had succeeded in having it set aside legally. But he couldn’t do anything about the child Vivian had been carrying when she and Frank parted, and even though Vivian had wound up marrying somebody else who had raised her son Conrad as his own, the boy was Frank’s and that connection would always exist between them.
Years later, they had met again. Vivian Browning was a widow by this time, and a very rich widow, to boot. It was then that Frank had learned for the first time he had a son. Conrad Browning’s dislike for Frank had made Frank’s reunion with Vivian a bittersweet one, but given enough time, things might have improved all around.
They didn’t get the chance to, because Vivian had been betrayed and set up by one of her attorneys, a man named Charles Dutton. Because of Dutton’s treachery, Vivian had been cut down by an outlaw’s bullet, ending her life and driving a wedge between Frank and Conrad that threatened to become permanent.
Fate had cast the two men together again on several occasions, and Conrad had overcome his resentment of his true father to form a grudging respect for Frank. They had even worked together to ward off threats to a railroad Conrad was building down in New Mexico Territory. They were partners whether they wanted to be or not, since Vivian’s will had left a large share of her business holdings to Frank and the rest to Conrad.
Frank had met Charles Dutton briefly, before Vivian’s death. He knew the man was responsible for what had happened, even though Dutton hadn’t actually pulled the trigger himself, and he was aware that Dutton had fled back to Boston. Frank had intended to go after him and settle the score, but other things had gotten in the way, keeping him from getting around to it.
And then, while Frank was embroiled in a bloody range war down Arizona way, a hired killer had come after him and forced a showdown. Frank had emerged triumphant from that shoot-out. As the gunman lay dying, he had revealed that Charles Dutton had hired him to kill Frank. Clearly, Dutton felt that Frank’s very existence posed too much of a continuing threat and had decided to have him eliminated.
Instead, the attempt on his life had served as a reminder for Frank, a reminder that he had unfinished business to take care of. Now he was on his way east, and nothing was going to sidetrack him until he had looked into Charles Dutton’s eyes and avenged Vivian’s death.
He quickly sketched in this background for Marshal Harry Larch, then said, “I suspect Dutton has spies keeping an eye on me. I rode from Arizona up to Denver and talked to my lawyers there, made arrangements for my horse and my dog to be taken care of while I was gone, and bought a train ticket to Boston. I see now that was a mistake, though.”
“How come?” Larch asked, clearly fascinated by Frank’s story.
“How come it was a mistake? Because if Dutton knows that I m coming for him—and I’m sure he does—he’ll his damnedest to try to stop me. Hell try to have me killed before I can get anywhere close to him. He’s got the money to hire plenty of gunmen, too . . . money he stole from my late wife.”
“What’s that got to do with you riding the train?”
“I’m an easy target on a train,” Frank explained. “There’s no room to move, and there are too many innocent people around. Not only that, but the men who are after me will always know where to find me.” He shook his head. “What I’ve got to do is throw them off the trail. That’s my best chance of getting to Dutton.”
Larch rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. “Even if you make it to Boston, it won’ t be easy gettin’ to Dutton. He’ll probably have himself a bunch o’ bodyguards.”
“I expect so,” Frank said with a calm nod.
“So you’re willin’ to fight your way through a whole army o’ hired guns and guards just to take your shot at this hombre.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
The marshal laced his hands together and leaned back in his chair as his frown darkened. “There’s one thing you’re forgettin’, Morgan . . . No matter how justified you may feel in seekin’ revenge, what you’re really talkin’ about is murder. This is a civilized country now. You can’t just walk up to a man and gun him down, no matter what he’s done. If you can prove that Dutton is responsible for your wife’s death, you need to go to the law and let them handle it.”
Frank nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to tell me any different, Marshal. And what you say would be mighty good advice for most people. But I’m in the habit of stompin’ my own snakes, and I reckon I’m too old to change now.”
Larch sighed and reached out to rest his hand on Frank’s gun. He shoved the Peacemaker across the desk toward The Drifter. “All I can say is that I’m damn sure glad this fella Dutton is in Boston and not here in my town. This is gonna be some other lawman’s worry.”
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Copyright © 2007 William W. Johnstone
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-1739-3
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