“Least you know it and admit it. What happens if Val Dooley gets away from you this time?”
“If the kids are there, I’ll bring them back here and you can escort Julie and the kids back to Santa Fe.”
“And you’ll go on the hunt. Is that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?”
“That’s it.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then I’m gonna tell you somethin’. I’m gonna say it just this one time and I’ll never bring it up again. Here ’tis: Miss Julie got some mighty deep feelin’s for you, Drifter. And you feel somethin’ for her too. Y’ all could probably work it out if you tried. But if you bring them young’uns back here and then ride off alone after this damn Val Dooley scum, that’ll be the end of it for you and her. Miss Julie will go off and eventually find her a man that’ll care for her, and you’ll spend the rest of your days alone, closin’ your eyes to sleep in some damn hotel room or rolled up in your blankets on some lonesome trail with a saddle for a pillow and the smell of gun smoke all around you. Now, do you want to argue that?”
Frank shook his head. “No, Dewey, I don’t.”
“Well, glory be.”
“But I won’t be alone.”
“The hell you say!”
“That’s right. I won’t.”
“Who you gonna have along?”
“Dog.”
Dewey threw up his hands. “Oh, for God’s sake. Dog!” He walked away, muttering and cussing.
Frank stepped into the saddle and rode off into the predawn.
Alone.
Except for Dog.
Wearing brand-new paw booties.
Twenty-seven
Frank picked up the hoofprint of the horse that had led them to the valley, and followed it into the range of mountains. Within an hour, he’d found two more pieces of calico, torn from a dress. An hour later, he began to smell wood smoke. He swung down from the saddle and quickly rigged a picket line for Stormy.
“You stay,” he told Dog. “Guard.”
The big cur immediately dropped down beside Stormy. Dog would stay put until Frank’s return. Frank had no worries about that.
Removing his spurs and taking his rifle, Frank followed the smoke scent on foot. It didn’t take him long to reach the camp of the kidnappers. There were no guards patrolling the outer perimeters of the camp. A tribute to the outlaws’ stupidity . . . or arrogance, Frank thought. Probably a combination of both, he mentally added.
There were a half-dozen kids in the camp, all tied together with a long length of rope. Frank recognized Becky immediately. The Sutton kids, Gene and Claire, were there, as were Kathy and Debra Carter. Cindy Carter was not among the group. There were two other girls Frank did not recognize.
Frank carefully made his way around the half acre or so of clearing, keeping in the timber and brush, until he was directly behind the captives. As he worked his way around the camp, he counted the outlaws. Seven of them. Val was not among them. Frank had not expected him to be. Val had probably taken his best men and hightailed it out of this part of the country.
“Val ain’t comin’ back here, Johnny,” a man said, his words clearly reaching Frank. “He said he’d be gone no more than a couple of days. He’s been gone a damn week. Him and them that went with him has deserted us.”
“I do believe you’re right, Walt,” Johnny said, walking up to his friend. “So what’s your plan ’bout the girls?”
“Let’s do ’em again and then kill ’em and get the hell gone from here. I’m tarred of listenin’ to ’em whine and bawl.”
The other outlaws had gathered around Johnny and Walt, all of them nodding their heads in agreement.
Frank couldn’t wait much longer. The time to act was now, while the outlaws were all bunched up. He eared back the hammer on his rifle.
“I want that little one,” an outlaw said. “I like her a lot.”
Frank ground his teeth together. The little one had to be Claire Sutton. She was ten years old. Claire began crying as the burly outlaw looked at her and grinned, exposing a mouthful of decaying teeth.
“You and me, sweet thing,” he said. “We’ll have us a good time.”
“Doubtful,” Frank said. He stood up and began firing into the knot of outlaws and rapists, working the lever of his .44-40 as fast as he could.
The .44-40 slugs knocked outlaws spinning to the ground. When his rifle was empty, Frank jerked his Peacemaker from leather and finished what the rifle had started. When the gun smoke cleared, not one of Val’s gang remained standing. But not all were dead.
Frank quickly pulled his short-barreled Peacemaker from behind his belt and stepped into the clearing. One of the wounded outlaws managed to get his pistol from leather and point it at Frank. Frank shot him between the eyes.
Kneeling down beside Becky, Frank pulled his knife from its sheath and cut the ropes that bound the girl. He laid the knife down in front of her. “Cut the others loose, Becky. Quickly now, girl.”
While Becky worked at freeing the others, Frank walked over to the outlaws, sprawled on the ground, and looked at them. Four were still alive, two of them mortally wounded. One of them died while Frank stood over them.
“You bastard!” one outlaw cussed at Frank.
“You best make your last words directed toward God,” Frank told him. “ ’Cause you sure are gonna die.”
The outlaw cussed Frank.
Frank gathered up all the weapons from the outlaws and dumped them in a pile. “Get a sack, Becky. Put the guns in it. Gene, you and a couple of the girls go saddle up horses. The rest of you prowl the camp and get all the food and blankets you can quickly pack up.”
The kids went to work, and Frank turned back toward the outlaws. Another child-raper had died while Frank was speaking to the kids.
“You’re Frank Morgan, ain’t you?” an outlaw gasped.
“That’s right.”
“Damn your eyes!”
“Kill him, Mr. Morgan,” Becky called. “Shoot him!”
“No need for that, Becky,” Frank said. “He’s hard gut-shot. He’s not long for this world.”
“Let me shoot Ike,” little Claire called. “I will. Give me one of those guns.”
“No, child,” Frank told her. “You don’t want to live with that. Besides, Ike’s dying as we speak.”
“Where I want to shoot him won’t kill him,” the little girl said. “But he’ll sure feel it, I bet you that.”
Frank let that alone. He had a pretty good idea where the girl wanted to shoot her rapist, and he damn sure didn’t blame her a bit.
“You keep that girl away from me,” Ike said.
“Shut your mouth,” Frank told him. “Or I’ll give her a pistol and let her shoot you where she wants to shoot you.”
Ike closed his mouth.
“You gonna leave us here to die, Morgan?” a badly wounded outlaw questioned.
“I’m going to leave you, yes,” Frank replied. “Whether you die or not is no concern of mine.”
“You a coldhearted son of a bitch, Morgan!” another outlaw said.
Gene Sutton led three saddled horses into the clearing, then went back to saddle more.
“I hope you and all them brats git tooken by the Injuns and die hard,” another outlaw gasped. “I hope they skin you alive, Morgan.”
“I wish you the best too,” Frank responded. “Now shut up.”
“Marty just died,” an outlaw said. “Me and him rode many a trail together. You gonna bury him, Morgan?”
“Not a chance.”
“Damn you! You better hope I die, Morgan. ’Cause if I live through this I’m comin’ after you.”
“I’m so frightened I’ll probably faint from the fear,” Frank told him.
Across the clearing, Becky laughed at that.
“Bitch!” an outlaw said. “You wasn’t no good nohow. You wouldn’t even make a good whore.”
“We have the food and the blankets, Mr. Mo
rgan,” a girl called. “We rolled the blankets and stuffed the saddlebags.”
“Leave us a bottle of whiskey,” an outlaw pleaded. “It’ll help ease the pain from our wounds.”
“I broke the bottles of whiskey,” Debra Carter said, walking up to stand beside Frank.
The outlaw cussed her.
“Where is your older sister, Cindy?” Frank asked.
“She was sold to a man from back East,” Debra said. “Right after the wagon train was attacked. I don’t have any idea where she is.”
“I know,” a man with a belly wound said. “I’ll tell you if you’ll get me to a doctor.”
“He’s lying,” Debra said. “He wasn’t there. He just joined this gang.”
“You miserable little bitch!” the outlaw said.
Debra shrugged that off and went to help her sister.
“They’s wolves and pumas and bears in this area, Morgan,” Ike said. “We’ll be helpless agin them. It ain’t right you leavin’ us here like this.”
“You forgot to mention the buzzards,” Frank reminded him. “They’ll be gathering in a few minutes.”
“We’re ready to go, Mr. Morgan,” Gene called, leading more saddled horses into the clearing. Bedrolls were tied behind the saddles, saddlebags stuffed with food.
“Mount up,” Frank told the group.
“Morgan, for God’s sake!” a man called. “We’ll die hard like this. You can’t just ride off and leave us. It ain’t right.”
“Don’t talk to me about right and wrong,” Frank told the man. “Those words have no meaning coming out of your mouth.” Frank looked around. The kids were all mounted up and ready to ride. He looked at the outlaws, sprawled on the ground. “You boys have a real nice day now, you hear?”
* * *
Frank stopped at a small creek about two miles from his valley and told the kids, “Wash up as best you can.”
“I brought some soap,” Claire said. “Three bars. Those filthy outlaws never bathed or nothing.”
“We’ll get your clothes all washed up and patched when we get to my valley,” Frank told them. What he hadn’t told Julie or Dewey was that he had bought the land while in Santa Fe. It was his valley.
“Get to scrubbing,” Frank told the kids. “Gene, you wait until the girls are done with their bathing. I’m going to make a pot of coffee.”
While the coffee water was heating up, with the girls giggling in and out of the cold waters of the creek, Frank looked up at the sky over the outlaw camp. The buzzards had begun to gather, slowly circling high in the blue sky.
Gene had followed Frank’s eyes. “I hope the buzzards don’t get sick,” the boy said.
“You got anything you want to talk about, Gene? Manto-man.”
“No, sir. I reckon I’ll just live with what they done to me.” The boy paused. “Maybe I’ll forget in time.”
“Maybe so, boy. I hope so.”
“Is it all right if I pet your dog? He don’t bite, does he?”
“I don’t think he’ll bite you, Gene. Go ahead. I’ll holler at you when it’s time for you to wash up.”
Gene called to Dog and the big cur walked over, allowing the boy to pet him. Frank busied himself dumping in the coffee and then adding a bit of cold water to settle the grounds. After a moment he poured a cup, then rolled a cigarette and settled back to enjoy both. It was both his first cup of coffee and first smoke since leaving his valley early that morning.
Frank thought briefly about the outlaws-kidnappers-rapists he’d left back at the campsite. He felt no sympathy for any of them. They had chosen their way of life; no one had forced them into it. They had no one to blame but themselves. To hell with them.
Becky walked up, her hair still damp from the bath. Frank poured her a cup of coffee and she sat down on the ground.
“No point in worrying about this dress getting dirty,” she said. “It can’t get any dirtier than it already is. But I do feel better after that bath.”
“I think your mother brought you some britches to wear.”
“Is Mama wearing men’s pants?”
“Yes, she is.”
Becky smiled. “I can’t wait to see her.” Her smile faded. “But I wonder how much I should tell her . . . about what happened, I mean.”
“I think you should be honest with her. However, I don’t believe your mother will pry too deeply.”
“I hope she doesn’t,” the girl said. “I’d hate to have to lie to her.”
Frank did not push that issue.
“There are just some things I think it’s best to keep to myself,” Becky said. She sipped her coffee and then sighed. “But I wish I could have been there to see Susan get married. Is Danny a nice boy?”
“I believe he’s a fine young man. I think they’re going to be all right.”
The other girls began coming back to the campsite from the creek. Frank called to Gene and motioned toward the creek. “Time to wash the dirt and bugs off, boy,” he said. “You can take Dog with you if you like. He needs a bath too.”
“What happens to us now, Mr. Morgan?” Debra Carter asked, sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee.
“I take you all back to Santa Fe and the authorities will handle it from there. After that, I don’t know.”
“I’m just glad to be free from those men,” another girl said. Frank did not know her name. She looked at Becky. “I thought sure Val Dooley was goin’ to take you with him. He talked like he was.”
Frank stood up and walked away, letting the girls talk. He felt they would talk more freely and openly without him present. In Santa Fe all the newly freed hostages would be questioned extensively by the law, telling their stories over and over. It would be a long time before the girls would ever feel safe again.
The sounds of many horses coming closer broke into Frank’s thoughts.
“Riders coming, Mr. Morgan,” a girl called.
It was the sheriff from Santa Fe, leading a large posse. The chief lawman of the county swung down from the saddle and walked up to Frank.
“I got to thinking about the situation, Morgan,” he said after shaking hands with Frank. “Figured I’d get some men together and follow you. Looks like you done all right.”
“You saw Julie and Dewey?” Frank asked.
“We did. I left some men with them at your house. Yes, I did some checking back at the land office. Saw where you’d bought the whole damn valley. You got you a real nice place there, Morgan.”
“I think so, Sheriff.”
“Let’s get these kids rounded up and head on back,” the sherif said. “Miss Julie is on pins and needles about her daughter.”
“I’m sure.”
“I need to talk to these kids about Val Dooley.”
“You don’t have to worry about Dooley, Sheriff.”
“Oh?” The sheriff arched one eyebrow. “Why is that, Morgan?”
“Because I’m going after him, I’m going to find him, and then I’ll kill him.”
Twenty-eight
Frank hung back as Julie and Becky embraced. He watched as Julie led her daughter off a ways and sat down on the ground. Dewey walked over to stand beside Frank.
“I put on water for coffee soon as I heard y’ all comin,’ ” the mountain man said. “Figured you could use a couple cups.”
“You sure figured right,” Frank replied.
“Be ready in a few minutes. You gonna tell me what happened or do I have to guess?”
“There were only seven or eight of them. Val deserted this bunch. They were about to rape and kill the kids. I stopped them.”
“You damn shore ain’t much of a storyteller, Drifter. But I guess that’ll have to do. Since you didn’t bring back no prisoners, I reckon they wasn’t none alive to bring back.”
“A couple. I left them for the buzzards.”
Dewey grunted. “Serves them right.”
“Now I’m going to find Val Dooley.”
“What about Miss Julie?”
<
br /> “She can go back to Santa Fe with the posse. I imagine she and Becky have a lot of catching up to do.”
“And me, Drifter?”
“You have a store to run, Dewey.”
“That’s a fact, for shore. Be fall ’fore long. I best be makin’ me a list about what I need to stock up on and get it ordered.”
Frank knew Dewey was just saying that to let him off the hook. The old mountain man knew Frank wanted to go on alone.
“Miss Julie will be all right, I’m sure,” Dewey said. “She told me she had some family she could visit for a time, and she has some funds to tide her over.”
“I’ll see that she has money, Dewey.”
“Figured you would. Coffee ready. Let’s have us a cup or two.”
The men of the sheriff ’s posse were busy making their own camp, off from Frank’s stone house. Frank got a pencil and a piece of paper from his saddlebags and wrote out his lawyers’ addresses, one in Denver, one in San Francisco, and another in New York City. The New York City firm took care of all Frank’s business dealings east of the Mississippi River. One of the three firms almost always could get in touch with him. He also wrote out a note instructing any bank to give Julie Barnes money if she requested it.
But he doubted she ever would ask for any money. She was a very proud woman. She was also a frontier woman, tough and resourceful. Also very pretty, Frank thought with a sigh, the sigh touched with just a bit of regret. But he was better off alone. And in the long run, Julie would be much better off without him. He was sure of that.
Dewey returned with two cups of fresh-made coffee. Frank rolled a cigarette and sat back to enjoy his coffee and his smoke.
“You know how old I am, Drifter?” Dewey suddenly asked.
Frank looked at him. “No, I don’t, Dewey. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I don’t know neither,” the mountain man replied. “I think I’m near’bouts seventy. Near as I can figure it.”
“You’ve lived a good life.”
“Yeah, I have.” Dewey put wise old eyes on Frank. “Have you?”
“I’ve played the cards fate dealt me. And I think I’ve played them well. I know where you’re going with this, Dewey. And I recall you saying you weren’t going to bring it up again.”
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