by Matt Cole
‘I guess Frank was just blessed,’ Hugh said thoughtfully. ‘As far back as I can remember, it seems he could always do anything he put his mind to.’
Nobody debated that. All of the four tall men gathered in the front room of their parents’ ranch house at the moment had grown up in the shadow of their big brother. It had never occurred to any of them to resent the fact that almost nothing they ever did seemed to measure up to Frank’s achievements. Riding, shooting, swimming, dancing, fighting or even winning women, Frank set a standard that only a fool would try to surpass.
A major factor in this absence of jealousy had always been Frank’s own personality and manner. The giant of a man never bragged or rubbed it in. He just went ahead and did things that other men only dreamed about.
‘Hey, he is finally movin’ our way,’ Virgil remarked. ‘Could be he has seen enough.’
There was impatience in Virgil’s makeup. He wanted to be out there on the tracks of those outlaws right now. He wanted them all dead or in jail and himself back with his wife on his own spread.
He wanted to start overcoming the pain. In this he appeared very different from Frank, who seemed to have simply accepted the pain. It was always hard to say just what Frank thought and felt. There had always been something mysterious about him, even when the boys were growing up, and that quality seemed to have strengthened as he grew older. He hadn’t even told them where he had been or what he’d been doing when he belatedly heard about their mother’s death.
On the other end of all this scrutiny, Frank paused in the yard to glance back at the area he had been scouring for the past hour. The outlaw tracks were a week old now, and largely obscured by others, but he knew them all. Five men had come to their mother’s ranch, and now he would recognize the prints of those five horses anyplace.
He took out his cigar case. It was silver, well worn. Everything that Frank Daniels owned or wore was good. Not flash, just solid quality. And most of what he owned was the equipment of the nomad – horse, bedroll, weapons, boots and clothing. His shirts were tailored for his broad shoulders, and his dark pants were cut to fit comfortably over the tops of bench-made boots of fine black leather. His guns, snugged in plain holsters, had thornwood grips and a gull finish. The foresights of both six-shooters were filed away, for sights could snag on leather when a man went to draw.
Frank’s roving gaze rested on the cottonwood by the family barn. As a kid, he used to climb that tree and jump for his father to catch him – and Isaac never missed. Isaac Daniels had been a big man then, in his natural prime. Booming and self-assured. He grew quieter as he got older, leaving it to his strapping sons to make most of the noise and handle most of the work.
A good man. Simple and straight. The same could be said of the boys’ mother. His father had been gone a few years, and now the woman who had shared his life for nearly forty years. But she had died not from illness, accident, act of God or sheer misfortune, but at the hand of men – and one man in particular. A man who was still breathing. . . .
Frank turned to face the window where four faces, each one similar to his own in at least one major respect, stared out at him.
‘I’m ready boys,’ he called, his voice loud. ‘Let’s saddle up!’
The last man the brothers spoke to before leaving Blue Springs Creek an hour or so later was Melvin Pasley, the wrangler, the horse breaker, the only citizen actually to see the killers.
Considering the challenge of what they were undertaking, the Daniels brothers had to be sure beyond all doubt who they were after. Melvin had already furnished detailed descriptions of the outlaws, but Frank wanted him to go through it with him all over again.
Since the tragedy, the brothers had made it their business to familiarize themselves with everything the law office was able to supply on the men who comprised the Murdock Gang. It didn’t take the brothers long, listening to Melvin, to know there could be no possible mistake. Melvin described Henry and Rhonda Lowe, Atticus Gartels, ‘Gila’ Murdock, and Newson and Uncle Birch Murdock.
Five murderous members of the Murdock Gang.
In Frank’s hand were five black stones from a flowerpot in the little courtyard at his mother’s ranch where she and his father had sat every fine evening for nearly forty years. They had found the stones clasped in her dead hand. It had been the dying woman’s way of telling her boys the number of her killers.
The stones were Frank Daniels’ now.
Blue Springs Creek had not seen an occasion like it since the war, when young men went off to fight with the Missouri Volunteers. Virtually the whole town was out to see them off, and a serious, emotional occasion it was. Grim-faced men and tearful women looked proud and relieved and angry all at once. Nobody could undo what had been done, their attitude said, but at least now something was being done.
There was no doubt that the town’s mood would have been completely different if Frank had not turned up to lead the vengeance posse. Nobody would suggest that Hugh, Virgil, Casey and Urban were anything but strong and purposeful men, but to tackle the Murdock Gang was a daunting task by any standard. The only reason that Blue Springs Creek felt hopeful was the man riding the barrel-chested dark brown thoroughbred up front.
All the well-documented Frank Daniels stories had seen wide circulation since his dramatic return. Young folks and newcomers had heard about his epic, twenty-round victory over the British heavyweight bare-knuckle champion at just eighteen years of age; his survival alone on Mount Ellen Peak for nearly six weeks when cut off by snow; the recurring rumors that he owned a gold mine in Utah and a cattle ranch in Texas but preferred to drift and look for excitement.
The general conclusion was that the infamous Murdock Gang had finally messed with the wrong man.
‘Frank will nail ’em, sure enough,’ the town sage had told the crowd in the saloon. ‘I never saw him start in on anything he didn’t finish. Those outlaws are doomed.’
‘Seems I’ve heard that said before about that murderous bunch,’ a visiting cynic had replied, ‘but if memory serves me right, that gang’s been ridin’ free and doin’ what it damn well pleases for nigh on five years. If the law and the army can’t bring ’em to book, how are five men goin’ to do it . . . even if one of ’em sounds like the heavyweight champeen of everything?’
The cynic was a little soured by all this talk of Frank Daniels, but the towners had faith. They would have the last laugh on the doubtful Thomases.
The Daniels traveled slowly past the Blue Springs Creek Feed and Grain, the general store, and on toward the Bella Union. Two women were on the porch at the saloon, watching what almost looked like a Fourth of July parade. But there was no joy in the occasion for Marlene Welch and Lucy Keller. Eighteen-year-old Lucy was sniffling and red-nosed because Casey was going off, maybe to get himself killed, and she believed she was in love with him. How Marlene felt about Frank nobody really knew, but she had made no secret of the fact that she considered this Daniels family vengeance crusade a grave and foolish mistake.
And she blamed it all on Frank.
‘Oh, will you just look at Casey?’ Lucy whimpered. ‘You would think he was goin’ off on a huntin’ trip to have the best time of his life with his brothers.’
Casey was waving his hat to a group of friends who, like himself, were only a few years out of school. His friends cheered him, and one shouted, ‘Nail one of ’em for me, Case!’
‘An eye for an eye,’ Marlene murmured. ‘That is a line of reasonin’ I have never been able to follow. Somebody knocks your eye out, so you do the same to them. Then you are both supposed to feel better. I don’t think so.’
Lucy was staring at Frank now, taking in his width of shoulder, the bronzed ruggedness of his features, the way he sat his saddle with a hand resting on his thigh and his elbow crooked away from his body, a picture of rugged power without any hint of vanity.
‘Is he as fine as they say, Miss Marlene?’ the girl asked. If her Casey had to go, God alone knew wh
ere, to hunt a gang of killers, it would help Lucy to know that he was being looked after. Marlene’s eyes were on Frank’s face. He was staring straight ahead as they approached the saloon, but she knew he would look up. He would have to.
Marlene Welch did not see him as ‘the heavyweight champeen of everything’. She saw a man that she knew and loved. She saw a man who could kill or be killed, the same as any other man.
‘They should not be going,’ she said, knowing that was not the response Lucy wanted or needed to hear.
‘Will he look out for Casey?’ the young woman pressed her. ‘Will he care for him? He’s only a boy, for Pete’s sake.’
‘Oh, Frank will look out for them all. Have no fear about that. But what good will it do? They are four ordinary men going after a small army of professional killers. No amount of care or looking after can guarantee their safety.’
Lucy Keller frowned.
‘You said four, Miss Marlene. There are five of ’em.’
‘I don’t put Frank in with his brothers. That would be like countin’ a wolf in with the house dogs.’
The riders had halted because a weaving drunk had staggered into the street to exhort them to victory. Lucy turned to face her employer squarely, her mouth tight at the corners.
‘Miss Marlene, I just don’t understand you some days. I honestly can’t figure if you love that man, Frank Daniels, or hate his guts.’
‘What does it matter?’ Marlene said coldly. ‘I am probably seein’ him for the last time anyway.’
‘But Miss Marlene, they say that Frank Daniels just does not know how to lose at anything,’ the young Lucy replied.
Marlene turned her head away and said, ‘Everybody loses sooner or later. Everybody.’
Lucy gave up and moved away a little. She was down enough without hearing talk like that. Marlene’s face was blank, but she was feeling things – of that, Lucy was sure. She was feeling things like somebody was sticking knives into her.
The sheriff ushered the drunk on to the boardwalk, and the horsemen came on. Hugh Daniels looked a little out of character, wearing an attorney’s jacket and a Colt .45. Rancher Virgil smoked his pipe and waved back to his wife, who had come to see them off. It was plain to everyone that Casey wanted to ride up to the saloon and say goodbye to his girl, but he settled for a salute and a smile. Urban the drifter stared past Frank at the hills, as though already plotting their course. Frank looked straight ahead.
But Marlene knew this man better than anyone, and as he drew level with the saloon, he turned his head sharply and stared directly at her. That did not surprise her, but then he lifted his hand to halt his brothers and turned the brown thoroughbred towards the porch.
Marlene Welch was thrilled, but she did not let it show.
‘Don’t ask me to wish you luck, Frank. I cannot do it.’
‘I have never relied on luck, Marlene,’ Frank simply replied.
Marlene looked at him. ‘On what then? How tough you are?’
His lopsided smile took her by surprise.
‘Tough? I never was half as tough as you, Marlene, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.’
‘You’re goin’ to enjoy this, aren’t you, Frank?’
The smile faded.
‘You know I have to do this.’
‘Like you did with the bear?’ she fired back.
Frank stared. Then he nodded, touched his hat brim and turned his horse back into the street. Blue Springs Creek watched the Daniels boys out of sight.
Marlene Welch was working on a solitary double rye half an hour later when she looked into the bar mirror and saw Lucy standing behind her. The girl was smiling.
‘I have decided to be brave, Miss Marlene. I am not goin’ to spend the whole of the next week or month getting around with red eyes and a runny nose. I am going to be cheerful and happy and patient until they all come back.’
A sarcastic reply came to Marlene Welch’s lips, but it died there. She even managed a smile as she turned on her high stool.
‘I’m glad to hear it, sweetie,’ she said. ‘And who knows? Maybe I have been a bit gloomy about it all myself. Maybe I should try and be happy, too.’
‘You do love him, don’t you, Miss Marlene? I saw it in your face when you two were talkin’.’
‘What is love?’ Marlene shrugged.
‘What did you mean by what you said?’
Marlene Welch eyed the girl strangely. ‘About what?’
‘The bear. I didn’t understand that,’ Lucy explained.
‘It’s not important.’
‘It seemed to be. Please, tell me, Miss Marlene.’
Marlene sighed. She was tired. Maybe she was getting old.
‘You mean to say you don’t know the story about Frank Daniels and the bear?’
‘No.’
‘A grizzly came down out of the mountains and took Frank’s favorite horse. So, naturally he went after it. But this was a travelin’ bear, and Frank was still huntin’ it two months later in the mountains. Caught it, too. Only thing, he wounded the bear with his rifle and it attacked him and almost tore his arm off before he could kill it.’
Marlene stopped, and Lucy said, ‘Well, there must be more to it than that.’
‘There is. The arm got poisoned, and a doctor in the north wanted to cut it off. But Frank said no. He came back home by train and was laid up for six months. Just think of that, Lucy. Six months of agony and operations just because he went after a dumb old bear.’
‘But men do dumb things like that all the time, Miss Marlene. It is their way.’
‘Not the way Frank Daniels does them. Other men hunt because they want to. Frank does it because it he has to. That is the terrible difference. A man doin’ somethin’ because he wants to can stop anytime, but a man who has to, is different. He keeps on, even if he knows he might lose an arm . . . or his life.’
‘I think you are makin’ too much of it, Miss Marlene, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,’ Lucy added.
‘Sweetie, you still don’t understand. Even after he had lost six months of his life over a bear, Frank still thought he had won something.’
CHAPTER 4
A BIG MAN RIDING
Where the rivers flowed together, the terrain was flat and in places marshy and overgrown with rushes. The combined waters formed a lake with a scattering of low islands. Back from the banks and the small patches of sandy beaches, the ground sloped upwards into brush-covered hummocks. It was on one of these islands that the Daniels found remnants of a recent camp, and it didn’t take long for Frank to be certain that the Murdock Gang had been there.
His brothers were pleased, for sign-reading throughout that day had been difficult and uncertain. The weather, in the form of wind or rain, could degrade signs. It was not sufficient to just look at a foot or hoofprint from one point of view. At certain times Frank knew that the sun and shadow could distort a print, and that a tracker, such as he was, might have to study them from multiple angles.
Frank Daniels felt he needed to get close to the tracks without disturbing them, and an up-close look could provide small details he might otherwise overlook.
The brothers could not understand why Frank did not share their happy reaction.
He explained over a hearty supper of fresh venison and sourdough.
‘These outlaws don’t do anything without a reason,’ Frank said, ‘and I think I know the reason they came out here.’
Casey glanced at Urban. As a drifter and a man of the outdoors, Urban was regarded as a sign reader and tracker not far below Frank’s standards. Casey’s look was asking Urban what he thought, and Urban was quick with his answer.
‘You figure they are goin’ to take to the water for a while, Frank?’ he asked.
‘On target.’ Frank was chewing roasted meat. He was a neat eater, wiping his fingers fastidiously on a bandanna after every mouthful. He had shaved before supper and was the only one with the energy to do so.
‘If I w
as tryin’ to shake off pursuit, I would head straight for this kind of country myself.’ He swallowed and added, ‘We could have our work cut out for us in the mornin’ boys, tryin’ to find where they left the lake.’
A fish plopped in the water, and the moon was a shimmer of silver on the horizon. The meal over, Casey cleaned the plates by rubbing them with sand. Urban and Virgil tended the horses. Hugh strolled across to the hummock where Frank stood with a cigar, waiting for the moon.
‘We’ve done well so far, wouldn’t you say, Frank?’
Hugh had a measured way of speaking. Like any good attorney, he considered his words before speaking. Seven years younger than Frank, he was almost as tall but not nearly as broad – few were. Although he had exchanged his towner’s coat for a hip-length leather jacket, Hugh still looked awkward with a pistol buckled to his hip.
‘We can do even better,’ was Frank’s response.
Hugh was silent as he fashioned a cigarette. He did so one-handed, a trick he had picked up from his father and never forgotten.
‘I’m missin’ Jane already.’ He licked the cigarette into a cylinder. ‘Just thought I should let you know.’
‘Your wife’s a fine woman. Why wouldn’t you miss her?’
‘Yes . . . yes, she is that . . .’ With his smoke going to his satisfaction, Hugh watched the moon make its timid appearance over the marshlands and lake. He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, she doesn’t approve of what we are doing. . . .’
Frank’s smile was humorless.
‘She could join the rest of the women and make a club.’
Hugh lifted his eyebrows. ‘Marlene Welch?’
‘Marlene.’ Frank exhaled a gust of blue smoke and filled his chest with air. ‘Of course, all women are the same, Hugh. If someone does them wrong, their response is to weep and carry on, whereas a man will do somethin’ about it.’
‘Guess you’re right.’ Hugh was thoughtfully silent for a time. ‘Though I guess it is fair to say we are takin’ on about the worst there is, isn’t that so?’