“You know, Doc, I think it will.”
“You just might be right, Frank.”
“Here comes Tom. You want to have some coffee?”
“Sure. More than that. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“I’m sure Tom will join you in a snack.”
“If I pay for it, yes.”
“And you will.”
“Of course. I always end up doing that.”
In the café over breakfast, Doc Evans looked at Frank and said, “Mind if I ask you a personal question, Frank?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Are the rumors true that you’re a wealthy man?”
“Moderately so, yes.”
“Yet . . . you still drift aimlessly around the West.”
“Doing what I want to do, Doc.”
“Are you? Really?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Why don’t you go abroad, Frank?” Tom asked. “Like maybe, oh, I don’t know. France. See the country.”
“I don’t speak the language.”
“How about Italy?”
“I don’t speak that language either.”
Both Tom and Doc Evans laughed at Frank’s replies. Doc Evans said, “You don’t have to speak the language to enjoy the country, Frank.”
“I reckon they’ve got grass and trees and valleys and mountains and hills, Doc. So do we right here. They’ve got rivers and creeks. So do we. They got fancy food in the cities of France and Italy, so I’ve heard tell. But I bet none of them has ever sat down to a buffalo steak cooked over a campfire while the wolves sang in the background. I bet none of those fancy city folks over there has ever camped in the mountains and cooked and eaten a fresh-caught trout and been entertained by camp-robber birds and squirrels or watched an eagle soar high in the sky. None of those folks ever sat out a bad storm in an Indian village, talking sign while eating Injun stew, then rolled up in a buffler robe and slept while the storm blew itself out. They got old buildings over there, so I’m told. So what? Who the hell wants to sail across the ocean to look at an old building? Boys, I’ve seen canyons down in Northwest Arizona Territory that will take your breath away. They’re damn near unbelievable. And the redwood trees you’ve got right here in California are a sight to behold. Beautiful. Almost spiritual. And I’m not a religious man. But I’m told some of those trees have been here for a couple of thousand years. That’ll make a man start thinking about God. At least it did this man. I’d go visit New York City maybe, ’cepting those folks have had their freedoms took from them by all the rules and regulations and laws. Man can’t be a man back there. Hell, you can’t even carry a gun back there. You get in trouble, you have to call for a police officer to settle it for you. That’s nonsense. I’ll saddle my own horses and kill my own snakes. I don’t need nobody else to do that for me. I don’t want nobody else to do that for me.”
“That’s the longest comment I have ever heard you make, Frank,” Doc Evans said. “In its own way, it was quite eloquent.”
“Wasn’t meant to be, Doc. I was just stating a fact.”
“But are you happy, Frank?” the doctor asked.
“I’ve been asked that before, Doc. Happy? I don’t know. But I do know I’m content.”
“The contented wanderer,” Doc Evans mused. “Sounds like the title of a book.”
“Or a song,” Tom added.
“Let’s get off the subject of me,” Frank suggested. “And get on to more important things. Tom, have you heard anything else about Val Dooley?”
“Not a word, Frank. And that sort of worries me. But there was a wire delivered to my house early this morning. Sheriff Davis and those deputies of his give up looking for his sister. They headed on back home. Said to tell you thanks for your help.”
“She’s close by,” Frank said. “I’d take a bet on that. And she’s not done with me or this town yet.”
“That thought doesn’t make me very happy,” Tom said sadly. “ ’Cause if she comes back here again, shootin’ up the place, somebody is gonna put lead in her.”
“I hope not, Tom,” Doc Evans said. “The woman is obviously deranged.”
“I don’t know about deranged, Doc,” Tom said. “But I do know she’s actin’ as crazy as a preacher in a whorehouse.”
Both Frank and Doc Evans had a laugh at that, Frank saying, “Tom, did you wire the judge about Little Ed’s breaking jail?”
“Yes. He put off his trip here. Readin’ between the lines of his wire, I got the notion the judge would be happy if we’d just shoot Little Ed and be done with the matter.”
“The judge doesn’t like to travel,” Doc Evans said. “He has gout. And when it flares up, he can be very testy.”
“I don’t believe we’ll take Little Ed alive,” Frank said. “Not again. I think he’ll go down shooting.”
“Be good for all concerned if he does just that,” Tom said. “Put an end to the matter.” He drained his coffee cup and stood up. “I’ll be at the office. I want to get some food to take to Elsie. I don’t think she’s eaten since Big Ed got plugged.”
A local came into the café and walked over to Frank. “Mr. Morgan? There’s a man over to the Purple Lily. Says he’s come to kill you.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Did he tell you his name?” Tom asked.
“No, Marshal. He just said for me to go fetch Frank Morgan. Said he come to town to kill him. He’s all dressed in black, from his boots to his hat. Even his bandanna is black. Real fancy gunbelt. Got silver dollars on it.”
Tom looked at Frank, who was leisurely finishing his coffee. “Sound familiar to you, Frank?”
“No. How old is this man?”
“He ain’t neither real young nor real old, Mr. Morgan. If I was to guess, I’d say ’bout thirty.”
Frank stood up and slipped the hammer thong off his Peacemaker. “Tom, I’ll keep him talking long enough for you and Doc to get the people off the street. If that isn’t possible, get them out of the line of fire.”
“We’ll do it, Frank. Give us a couple of minutes.”
A moment later, Frank stepped out of the café and slowly rolled a cigarette. Then he looked up and down the street, his eyes finally settling on a man dressed in black standing on the boardwalk in front of the Purple Lily. Frank could see he wore two guns, both of them tied low. Frank walked slowly down the boardwalk until he was directly across the street from the man who wanted to kill him. He did not recognize the man. He looked up and down the street. The boardwalks were devoid of people.
“You looking for me?” Frank called.
“If you’re Frank Morgan.”
“That’s me. Who are you?”
“Warner. Jack Warner.”
Frank had heard of him. Warner had made a reputation down along the Mexican border and he was supposed to be fast and accurate. “What’s your quarrel with me, Jack?”
“You’re you, and I’m me.”
“That might make some sense to you, but it doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. What’s the matter, don’t you like my name?”
“I don’t like hearin’ your damn name everywhere I go. Frank Morgan this and Frank Morgan that. I’m so sick of hearin’ about Frank Morgan I feel like pukin’ every time I hear it. But after today, I won’t be hearin’ it no more.”
“That’s right, Jack. Because after today, you’re going to be in the ground.”
“That’s something else I don’t like about you, Morgan. You’re just too damn cocky to suit me.”
“I’ve faced dozens of two-bit gunslicks like you, Jack. They’re all dead and I’m still walking around. I’d think about that were I you.”
Jack Warner laughed. “You got a will all made out, Morgan?”
“Sure, Jack. But you’re not in it. You have a burying place all picked out?”
The smile faded from Jack’s face. “I plan to live a long time, Morgan.”
“Not if you continue playing this deadly game with me, Jack.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Jack, you’re just another two-bit trouble-hunter. Too damn stupid to work and too damn lazy to steal.”
“You better be ready to back up those words, Morgan!”
“Jack, I’ve been ready. I’m just waiting on you. It’s your play, so make it.”
“Step out here in the street, Morgan!”
“My pleasure, Jack.” Frank stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. “Can you see me now, Jack?”
“Yeah, I can see you, Morgan.”
“That’s good, Jack. For a time there I was thinking you might be in need of spectacles.”
“I see plenty good, Morgan!”
“Then get on with it, Jack,” Frank said, throwing down the challenge. “The time for talking is over.”
That remark visibly shook Jack. That and Frank’s calmness. If he was expecting Frank to show fear at facing him, he was both disappointed and shaken. “Are you in that much of a hurry to die, Drifter?”
“Dying is not in my plans for today, Jack. Make your play.”
“Damn you, Morgan!”
Frank stood calmly and faced the younger man. “Does cussing me make you feel better, Jack?”
Jack hesitated, then started his hook and draw. His eyes, the mirror to a man’s inner feelings, gave him away. Just as his hand closed around the butt of his six-gun, Frank’s Peacemaker cracked. The bullet slammed into Jack’s chest and spun him around. He cussed Frank, and managed to clear leather and cock his pistol.
Frank shot him again, the slug hitting him in the belly and doubling him over. Jack sat down in the dirt of the street. He dropped his right-hand pistol and tried to pull his second gun. He fumbled for the weapon, but could not manage to pull it from leather.
“Give it up, Jack.” Frank’s voice came to the gunman. “It’s over.”
“Damn you, Drifter!” Jack said.
Jack was conscious of Frank walking toward him. He tried again to pull and cock his second gun. He simply did not have the strength to complete the task. Jack Warner fell over on his side in the street.
Frank’s shadow covered him.
“I can’t see so good,” Jack said.
“You want me to move so the sun can touch you?” Frank asked.
“Yeah. It’s too damn dark.”
Frank stepped to one side.
“That’s better,” Jack said.
Doc Evans walked over and knelt down beside Jack. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “You want me to take a look at you?”
“What’s the point?” Jack asked. “I’m hard hit and I know it.”
Dr. Evans noticed a pink froth forming on Jack’s lips, and knew that meant he was lung-shot.
“I come to kill you, Morgan,” Jack said.
“You should have stayed home.”
“Somebody will get the job done someday. I’m gonna laugh when it happens. I’ll know it and I’ll laugh.”
Preacher Bankston walked out into the street. “You want me to say a prayer for you, son?” he asked.
“Yeah. I reckon that would be nice. Tell the angels to come fetch me and carry me to heaven.”
Bankston began softly praying.
Warner started hollering and jerking as the pain hit him savagely. He began coughing up blood.
“Won’t be long,” Doc Evans said softly, more to himself than to those around him. “Have you ever seen him before, Frank?” he asked.
“Never. But I have heard of him. He had his rep down along the border. He was supposed to be pretty fast.”
“He wasn’t as fast as us, Frank,” Johnny Vargas said from the edge of the boardwalk.
“Hello, Johnny. I thought you’d pulled out.”
“I came back.”
“I see. Did you know this Warner fellow?”
“Not personal. But I do know he thought he was better than he really was.”
“He must have been very lucky.”
“His luck just ran out, Frank.”
“Seems like it.”
“Both of you go to hell!” Jack said as his coughing eased and he caught his breath.
“Now, now, son,” Preacher Bankston said. “That is no way to talk. You’re going to meet the angels soon.”
“They can go to hell too!”
“Here now, son! Stop that kind of talk. Keep that up and you’re sure to head straight into the embrace of Satan.”
“Can’t you do somethin’, Doc?” Warner asked.
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“Well, you can go to hell too then!”
Doc Evans shrugged his shoulders, then asked, “You have anyone you want us to notify?”
“My mother, back in Mississippi. If she’s still alive.”
“Where ’bouts in Mississippi, son?” Bankston asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Last I heard she was livin’ outside of Jackson.” He began coughing and spitting up blood again.
“What a disgusting sight!” Mrs. Hockstedler declared from the boardwalk. “Get out of my way, you hoodlum!” she said to Johnny Vargas.
“Excuse me, lady,” Johnny said, removing his hat.
Mrs. Hockstedler harrumphed her displeasure and lumbered on up the boardwalk, rattling the store windows as she marched away.
“What the hell did I do to her?” Johnny asked.
“You’re here, I’m here,” Frank said. “That’s enough for her.”
“Old bat,” Johnny muttered.
“Help!” Jack hollered. “Help me. I can’t see no more.”
“Steady, son,” Bankston said.
“I shore would like to have me them guns of his’n,” a rough-looking man said, walking up to stand beside Johnny.
“They didn’t do him much good, Tucker,” Johnny replied.
“That there’s a natural fact, Johnny. But I’d still like to have ’um. Warner?” he called. “Can I have them guns of yourn when you expire?”
Jack told him in no uncertain terms where he could shove his guns . . . both of them.
“Well, that’s downright unfriendly,” Tucker said.
Jack Warner took a deep breath and died in the dirt of the street.
“I’ll bury him for what’s in his pockets,” Undertaker Pennybaker said.
* * *
“The men just appear and challenge you to a gunfight,” Lara said. She and Frank were eating supper in the Blue Bird Café. “A life-and-death confrontation. I don’t understand the reasons why. It must be some sort of man thing.”
Frank buttered a biscuit and said nothing.
Few people paid any attention to Frank and Lara now. Their being together was accepted by the majority of the locals. Many secretly hoped the two would eventually marry and settle down in the community.
“Did you have your new suit pressed for this weekend’s opera event?” she asked.
“All ready to go.”
“You’re going to look very dashing, Frank.”
“You’re very good for my ego, Lara. I don’t believe anyone has ever referred to me as dashing.”
Tom stepped into the café and walked to Frank’s table. “Tom,” Lara said, “won’t you sit down and have something to eat?”
“No, thanks, Miss Lara. This is business. But thank you. Frank, Val Dooley and his gang just hit a town south of us. They robbed the bank and took some women hostage. Two girls in their teens and a grown woman. The woman was a customer in the bank making a deposit. The gang was headin’ north, straight toward us.”
“You want me to get a posse together?”
“No, I want you to stay here and look after things. At the marshal’s request, I’m gettin’ together some men and headin’ out in a few minutes. I’d feel a lot better if you were stayin’ here in town. And Frank? The marshal down at Dixsville said in the wire the Dooley gang killed two citizens.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all, Tom. All right, I�
��ll look after things here in town. Don’t worry about that.”
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll see you.”
As soon as the door closed behind Tom, Lara said, “Tom is getting entirely too old for this sort of thing.”
“It’s his job, Lara. And he takes it seriously.”
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “But I’m glad you’re staying here in town, Frank.”
“Finish your meal, Lara. I’ll walk you back to the hotel. Then I want to read that wire Tom received.”
“He just told you what it said.”
“I know. But I want to read it personal.”
“Whatever on earth for?”
Frank smiled. “I’m nosy.”
With Lara safely back at the hotel, Frank read the wire and then walked over to the telegraph office and spoke to the agent.
“Did you copy this wire?” Frank asked.
“Sure did, Mr. Morgan. Something wrong with it?”
“Did it seem right to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The telegrapher’s touch on the key.”
The agent was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Say! Now that you mention it, it wasn’t Nick’s touch. No, sir, it sure wasn’t. I just figured he was training a new person, that’s all. Why do you ask?”
“Can you send a wire to Dixsville?”
The agent shook his head. “No, sorry. I can’t send or receive anything to or from south of here. Wires are down, I reckon.”
“Thanks.” Frank walked out of the office, thinking: Pretty damn slick on your part, Val. Hit the town down there, then send a wire up here to pull the marshal and a posse out of this town, then cut the wires heading south. Only one thing wrong with your plan, Dooley.
I’ll be waiting for you.
TWENTY-TWO
Frank went over to O’Malley’s General Store and told Jack of his suspicions. Jack listened and then said, “But Frank, Dixsville is a half day’s ride from here. If the robbery just occurred, we have hours to get ready.”
Frank shook his head. “No, no. Listen to me. There was no robbery, Jack. I’ll make you a wager the Dooley gang wasn’t five miles from here when they tapped into the wire and sent that message.”
Imposter Page 15