“What do you want me to do with him?” Beltran asked. There was a cruel twist in his lips under his curled mustache.
“Whatever you want. Just make sure he ends up dead.” He turned to Frank. “Me and Bean have some things to talk over. Don’t we, Bean?”
“Whatever you say, Wilson,” Frank said, wincing as the words came out of his mouth.
“What did you say?” Swan sat up straighter and slid to the edge of the couch. He chewed on his cigar and stared at Frank.
Frank had slipped up and he knew it. He had to make his move now.
Beltran was bent over the wounded Ranger, the wooden grip on his revolver less than two steps away.
“You called me Wilson . . . I know you,” Swan railed, jumping to his feet. “You’re . . . Frank Morgan!”
The mention of the infamous gunfighter’s name caused Beltran to look up at his boss with a start, but it was too late.
Frank closed the gap between himself and the dark outlaw in the blink of an eye. He knew he had to take care of the mustachioed killer first, or risk being shot in the back while he worked out a way to kill Ephraim Swan.
Beaumont looked up and saw what was happening in time to throw the full weight of his body into Beltran’s legs. Frank was able to snatch the man’s pistol out of his holster as they both fell in a tangled pile on top of Tyler Beaumont.
Beltran proved to be a strong and agile adversary. He drove two rapid-fire blows crashing into Frank’s injured ribs.
The gunfighter flinched, trying to get his wind back while he fought the searing pain that shot down his right arm. He struggled to get to his feet. The pistol was heavy in his grasp and he felt it start to slip. By some miracle he was able to hang on to it.
Beltran’s big hand snaked out and wrapped around Frank’s right wrist, pushing the gun away from him. He gave it a stout yank and both men fell back to the ground.
Frank expected Swan to shoot him at any moment. His strength was failing. He knew he couldn’t hold on to the gun forever.
A sudden thud rocked both men. For an instant, Frank thought it was the Ranger. Then he saw Velda, her flimsy gown gathered up at her hips, rear back and kick Beltran again in the head.
The outlaw’s eyes went wide and his grip loosened enough for Frank to pull his arm free. Beltran was only momentarily stunned and moved toward Frank again, a deadly look of determination in his dark eyes.
The gunfighter shoved the revolver toward the only target that wouldn’t endanger the Ranger, and shot Beltran through the neck.
His spine shattered, the outlaw went instantly rigid. He sputtered and gurgled, trying to talk, but his voice box had been torn away, leaving behind only a mass of blood and gore.
Frank realized he was no longer a threat and rolled quickly to get a shot at Swan.
The outlaw leader had vanished.
Velda still hovered over the wounded outlaw, her gown hiked up over pale but powerful thighs, ready to kick him again.
Frank grabbed his own knife back from the dying outlaw’s belt and cut Beaumont’s hands free before he climbed wearily to his feet.
“I misjudged you, young lady,” he said to Velda, remembering how he’d thought she had told the Ranger’s secret.
The words jarred her out of her stupor. She let the hem of her gown drop and flew against Frank in a hysterical rage.
“You were going to shoot Johnny, you lousy, mean, wicked son of a bitch.” She beat against his chest with both hands, tears and spit flying as she railed. “You would have killed him, you bastard. I thought you were his friend.”
The wounded Ranger gathered up his shrieking girlfriend while Frank looked on in dismay. Beltran’s pistol still hung from his hand.
“It’s all right,” Tyler said over and over while he patted the girl’s back to calm her down. “He knew the gun wouldn’t be loaded. He showed it to me before he pulled the trigger.”
The girl sniffed and looked up at him. “Really?” She looked back at Frank. “You were sure?”
Frank shrugged, wincing at the pain the action caused his shoulder. “I had a pretty good idea.”
“Didn’t you see him cock it when he pointed it at me? That way I could look right down every hole in the cylinder and let him know he was right.” Beaumont gave Velda’s shoulders a squeeze. “He wouldn’t have shot me. Would you, Frank?”
Frank didn’t say anything for a moment. Tyler looked at him.
“Would you?”
Finally the gunfighter chuckled. “Of course not. I could see in your eyes the gun wasn’t loaded. If it would have been otherwise, I’d have shot Swan. Now let’s do what we came for and go after the murderous son of a bitch.”
The Ranger looked around the room for another weapon. War cries and gunfire rang out outside the church. “Don’t forget to put on your yellow rags,” he said. “Sounds like my friends just showed up.”
“How they gonna see anything in the dark?” Frank pulled the yellow bandanna out of his pocket.
“Good point.” Beaumont grinned. “I’ll have to talk to the captain about that if we don’t all get shot.”
Velda gave him a worried look. Beaumont patted her on the behind—much softer that the way Swan had done it.
“It’s all right, sweetie,” he said. “That’s why we picked yellow. Easier to see at night.” The Ranger looked back at Frank and his eyes grew wide. “Frank, you’re hurt bad.”
Frank looked down and saw blood dripping off the barrel of the pistol in his hand. Old wounds had ripped loose, torn open in the fight with Beltran. A red stain colored his entire right side. Blood dripped steadily down his arm, covered his hand, and flowed off the front sight of the gun, gathering in a growing pool at his feet.
He shook his head.
“I’m fine,” he said. “If you’d be so kind as to help me wrap one of Swan’s fine silk sheets around my chest to stop this leak I’ve developed, I’ve got some unfinished business to tend to.”
Velda grabbed up a sheet she’d been lying on and wrapped it snugly around Frank’s chest. She sniffed, wiping tears out of her eyes as she tore a little shred of cloth off the end with her teeth so she could tie it.
Frank lifted his hands above his head with a groan as she pulled the fabric tight. It hurt to bring his arms up, but the pressure stemmed the flow of blood and helped to push back some of the pain.
“Many thanks.” He winced as he lowered his arms.
Velda looked up at him and began to cry again. Her eyes were wide with fear and regret. “I swear I thought you were gonna kill Johnny or I never would have gone wild on you like that.” Her voice caught in her throat, and the pitch rose as she worked herself into a full bawl. “I’da never hit you if I knew you was on his side and hurt so bad.”
Frank stretched to get the sheet adjusted right, and shook his head to calm the lady. “I’m fine.” He looked around the cramped room. “You could help me by tellin’ me where Swan is likely to go.”
“Why don’t you let us take care of this?” The young Ranger rubbed at his jaw, where the gag had been, and blinked his swollen eyes.
“Hell, boy.” Frank grinned. “Beltran whomped you good. You’re hurt as bad as I am. You got two dozen outlaws to go arrest in this town. I say, fine, have at ’em. Just stay out of my way when it comes to Swan.”
Velda dried her eyes on the sleeve of her gown and looked out the back door. “I know where he mighta gone.”
Both men turned to look at her at the same time.
“Ephraim is really scared of his own shadow. He’s a big talker when he’s got his army around—and don’t get me wrong, he’s hellacious good with a gun—but he’s always talkin’ about this person or that being out to get him. He keeps hideout guns everywhere and two horses all the time—one in the livery and another in the little barn at the other edge of town in back of the old laundry they use as an opium den. He said if he needed to scoot from town in a hurry, he had to be able to ride out from either direction.”
&n
bsp; Frank bit his lip and clenched the pistol in hand tight enough to start up the bleeding again. The church was more or less halfway in between the two horses. Swan could be heading for either one. Frank wanted to be the one to take the ruthless outlaw, he owed Dixie that. He couldn’t let him get away.
Whatever he did, Frank knew he needed to do it fast. He slipped his coat back on over the bandages, gritting his teeth as the tight skin over his old wounds stretched almost to the breaking point. Gun in hand, he opened the door to the outer sanctuary to see if anyone was standing guard. No one. The attacking Rangers from Company F were doing a good job of keeping the town’s occupants busy.
He jammed Beltran’s pistol into his waistband on his left side, and took his own gun belt off the peg just outside the front door and strapped it on.
“Looks like this is going to be a toss-up,” he said as he checked the rounds in his Peacemaker. “I go one way and you go the other. I want to be the one to kill the bastard, but I want him dead more than that.”
The Ranger nodded. He’d found a box of rounds for a Winchester carbine from Swan’s gun collection against the wall, and was jamming cartridges into the tube. “Fair enough. You call the shots. Which one you want to take—the livery or the smokehouse?”
Shots rang out just outside the door. The men and Velda all ducked as stray bullets pierced the old wooden boards that formed the wall. A gruff voice yelled out: “Texas Rangers. Throw it down!” A crying moan followed more quick shots.
Beaumont had a grim look on his face. He sat Velda down between a stack of heavy boxes and the inner wall and gave her the loaded rifle. He grabbed up another from a nearby crate and began to load it for himself. The air outside seemed alive with gunfire and screaming, and he crouched low while he slid the shells home. “They’re not giving much quarter out there.”
“Would you?” Frank took a deep breath and made his decision. “I’ll take the livery stable. At least I have a horse there and can go after him if he’s slipped away. With all the shootin’ he may be dead already, but I doubt it. As slimy as he is, I imagine he’s working his way through belly-to-the-ground like the snake that he is.”
He looked at Velda, who’d stopped trembling or crying now that she had a rifle in her hands. “Me and Tyler are going to go now. After we get up to the front door, you blow out the lights before we open it.”
“You’ll be all right in the dark here, darlin’,” the Ranger said. “It’ll be safer.”
Velda nodded and the two men trotted to the door. She blew Tyler a kiss, then doused the lights.
Frank checked to be certain he still had the yellow scarf tied conspicuously around his neck, before stepping into the darkness. A sudden thought struck him as surely as any bullet. He gave Tyler a solemn look in the threshold of the doorway.
“You got one thing to remember, Beaumont. Someone sold you out to these outlaws. It wasn’t Velda and it wasn’t me. If I was you, I’d want to go find out who before someone else gets killed. There’s a wild card out there who we can’t trust, and there’s a chance they’re wearin’ one of your yellow rags.”
Chapter 37
It was just light enough to make out the bodies of three dead outlaws on the street in front of the old church. Frank looked at a smiling Beaumont and shook his head. The Rangers of Company F meant business, and everyone without a yellow scarf would do well to stay out of their way.
The bright rag scarves seemed to glow in the low light. It helped Frank’s nerves to know he wasn’t as likely to be gunned down by the raiding Rangers, but the bright cloth sure did turn him into an easy target.
He pulled his coat collar up against the cold and to partially cover the colorful bandanna. That would have to do. He bade good luck to the tough little Ranger and moved off to look for Swan.
Frank rounded the corner on the street leading to the livery at a trot, and ran straight into the wilted blonde, Suzette. She wore a wool coat that looked two sizes too big for her, and carried a carpetbag full of extra clothes.
They hit hard enough that it knocked the slight woman to the ground.
She jumped to her feet and began to brush herself off with an indignant air, visible even in the heavy shadows.
“Watch where you’re goin’ you stupid . . . ” She stopped when she recognized Frank as the man who’d rescued her from a bad night with Big Un, the greasy giant.
Her voice melted from ice to warm honey in a matter of seconds, and she leaned in close, rubbing against the gunfighter’s body. “I didn’t know it was you, sweetness. You better come with me. There’s Texas Ranger bastards crawlin’ all over this place.”
Frank shrugged her off, hoping she didn’t know the significance of the yellow scarf around his neck. “I can see that,” he grunted.
Three rapid-fire shots rang out across the street, and a man with a pistol stumbled out of the Oxblood saloon. He stumbled, fired once into the ground, then fell. The saloon was on fire, and the flames sprang to life in no time on the dry wood. In a matter of moments it was light enough for Morgan to make out the dead man’s face as the gunman Clay Bonner.
Suzette grabbed at Frank’s hand. Hers was cold and clammy, like snakeskin. “Let’s hightail it off this street, sugar. I still owe you a free sparkin’, and I want to see both of us get out of this so you can collect.” She looked up and down the street, her dark eyes darting back and forth. “There’s a whole bunch of the badge-totin’ vermin out behind the Oxblood and the Café. They’re settin’ fire to everything. I know where there’s at least one horse out behind the old laundry. We could ride double and sneak out of here before anyone knew we was gone. What do you say? I could use a strong man like you to look after me.”
Just then, the mean-eyed bartender stumbled screaming out of his hiding place in the Oxblood. The man’s clothes were on fire, but he didn’t have enough sense to fall down and roll. He made it twenty yards down the street, lighting the way like a huge lantern as he went, before he succumbed to the flames and fell smoldering in the middle of the deserted road.
Suzette pulled Frank into a nearby side alley to get them out of the line of fire.
“That stubby little bastard Johnny Nugget is behind this,” she spit. “With any luck, Ephraim put a bullet in his head before he had to run off. Don’t see what Velda saw in that sawed-off runt.”
Frank grabbed the skinny woman by the arm and yanked her off the ground. The action sent fiery darts shooting up his arm, but he was too mad to care.
“Ooooow,” she yelped, her eyes blazing in the reflected light of the burning saloon. She’d been hurt before and was used to rough treatment. “You’re hurting me.”
Frank held her fast and gave her light body a little shake to let her know he was serious. “Where’s Swan right now?”
“He’s leaving. Why should you care? He owe you money?” She gave a crazy little laugh despite the pressure Frank put on her upper arm.
“You might say that.” Frank assumed that since Suzette was on her way to the hidden horse behind the old laundry, she had seen Swan going toward the livery. But he wanted to be certain.
“I mean it, Suzette. Tell me if you know where he is.”
“At the livery. I saw him slip in the back way just before you knocked me outta my drawers.”
Frank released his grip and let her slip back to her feet. “What’s got into you?” she whined, and put down her carpetbag to rub the sore spot on her arm.
Frank let out a deep breath and shook his head. He couldn’t just let her walk away. Young Tyler Beaumont had already proven he had a weak spot for the womenfolk. He was not likely to recognize her as his spy—a slipup that was bound to get him killed.
Frank looked at the livery a block and a half away. If Swan hadn’t left yet, he was sure to be out of there soon. He had enough of a head start.
He changed his tactic on the woman. She’d obviously lived and survived long enough in this town that intimidation wouldn’t work well on her. She would respond best
to deceit.
“It’s dangerous out here,” he said. He helped her straighten her rumpled coat. “You got a gun or some kind of weapon?”
Suzette softened immediately. She was used to people like Swan who alternately hit her and kissed her. “I do, sugar.” She reached into her carpetbag and took out a four-shot pepperbox. Not the most accurate gun in the world, but capable of killing the stout young Texas Ranger at close range.
“Anything with more power than that little toy?” Frank wanted to be sure.
The woman smiled and mewed like a cat. “We women got things that are ten times more powerful than that to help us get our way, lover boy.”
Horses nickered in the livery. Morgan didn’t have time for any more of this.
He’d made it this far in life without shooting too many women, but this little tramp was fast moving toward her place on the short list. He snatched the pepperbox from her and emptied the shells out onto the street.
“What?” Her look of dismay turned into the glare of a sheep-killing dog. “You sorry bastard. You’re one of them. I should have seen it.”
“Shut up, Suzette.”
“And to think, I was dumb enough to offer you a sure-enough no-charge sparkin’. I don’t do that for anyone, least of all no sorry badge-totin’ puke.”
She’d slipped the pearl-handled knife out of her coat before he’d noticed it. As soon as she finished speaking she slashed out with blind fury.
Frank ducked to the side as the sharp blade whizzed past his chest. As mean as she was, once Frank knew Suzette had the knife, she was no match for him, and it actually made his decision about what to do with her all the easier.
She lunged for him again, intent on burying the blade in Frank’s belly. He stepped nimbly to one side and whipped his Colt from the holster in one fluid motion. As she stumbled past, he gave her a stout whack across the back of the head.
The skinny blonde staggered forward a step. The pearl-handled knife fell from her grasp and she collapsed facedown in the dirt with a loud oompf.
* * *
Frank was moving toward the livery again before Suzette hit the ground. He’d hit her hard, hard enough to hear a bone crunch. A blow to the back of the head like that could kill a person, especially a skinny-necked little woman like her, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He couldn’t very well let her just trot on down the street and kill Beaumont.
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