Showdown (17 page)

Frank came to in a world of hurt and confusion and silence. His head throbbed with pain and his leg was stiff and sore, his pants leg caked with dried blood and mud. The mud must have acted to help stop the bleeding. But Frank couldn't understand the utter silence. He tried to sit up. The movement hurt him and he gave it up for a couple of minutes, then tried again. This time he made it. But God, his head hurt.

He rested for a time, then groped around until he found his hat. Before putting it on, he gently touched the side of his head with his fingers. There was a gash along the side of his head, all caked over with dried blood. He set his hat on his head very gently. It still fit, so his head wasn't swollen. He guessed that meant his skull wasn't busted.

He rested for another few minutes, then stood up. His head seemed to swim for a few seconds, and he thought he might pass out. He leaned against the side of the ravine for a moment until the dizziness passed.

He slowly and very carefully made his way out of the ravine. He suddenly realized that his second gun was gone, but knew it was useless to look for it in the dark. He stepped out of the ravine and looked back at the old fort. It was totally dark. Not a light showed anywhere. Frank sat down on a log and rested for a moment, trying to make some sense out of things.

The old fort looked and felt deserted.

After a time, curiosity got the better of Frank and he made his way back toward the fort. He walked only a few steps before almost tripping over the body of a man. Frank reached down, pulled off the man's gunbelt, and slung it over his shoulder. All the loops were filled with cartridges and the man's .45 was still in leather.

Frank found two other dead men and stripped them of weapons. He walked on through the night, looking into each building. The moon was up, the night cloudless, and he had ample light to see the damage his dynamite had caused.

God, what a mess!

The fort was devoid of living outlaws, the corrals empty. The outlaws were gone.

Hell with it! Frank thought as he passed by a stone building. I need something to eat and several cups of coffee. He stepped inside and struck a match. There was an old potbellied stove in the center of the room and the exterior was still warm, a coffeepot on the lid. Frank hefted the pot; it was nearly full. He found a tin cup and poured. Then he sat down on the side of a bunk and drank the warm coffee and smoked a cigarette. He stoked up the stove, adding some wood, and put the pot back on to heat the coffee.

Frank found a candle and lit it, then set about looking to his wounds . . . as best he could with what he had. He found a canteen of water someone had left behind in their haste to pull out, and lowered his trousers to look at the wound. The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his leg about halfway between knee and hip. Frank washed out the wound and used his bandanna to bandage it. He washed the gash in his head, and that got it bleeding again and Frank cussing a bit. Looking around, Frank found some stale bread and ate it. It didn't taste very good, but it filled up an empty spot in his belly. Frank rolled a smoke and relaxed for a few moments. In the faint flickering light of the single candle he thought, Now what?

He checked his watch. It had stopped. Frank recalled then that he had forgotten to wind it. Although his leg ached and his head hurt, Frank knew he had to get going. He could not afford to lollygag about. He found a cloth sack and put the spare weapons in it, then picked up the canteen and blew out the candle. He stepped out into the night and began the painful walk back to where he'd left Stormy, hoping the horse would still be there. If not, Frank would have a lot of walking ahead of him. At this time, he chose not to dwell on that.

* * *

Stormy was as glad to see him as Frank was to see the big Appaloosa. Frank quickly saddled up and headed out to try to find the trail of the hostages... if they were still free, that is. It was going to be difficult at night, but he felt he had to do it. A bunch of Eastern city folks wandering about in the Big Empty? Frank shook his head at the thought.

He found a lot of sign that told him the freed hostages had reached the horses and made the timber in a group. But a few minutes later, the sign showed that the Eastern men had lost their sense of direction (if they ever had any) and had turned north.

“Damn!” Frank said. “Heading deeper into the wilderness.”

But what was puzzling to Frank was the absence of any pursuit from the kidnappers. They had abandoned the old fort, that was a fact, but where had they gone? The horses could not have wandered far before being caught. The outlaws were all experienced men, with plenty of horse sense, many of them as good with a rope as they were with a gun. Had they panicked and given up on the scheme, just let the hostages go free without pursuit?

Sure looked that way to Frank. But if so, what had panicked them?

Staying with the sign, Frank found no indication that any of the Eastern men had broken with the group and wandered off by himself . . . which was a good thing. They stood a chance of making it if they stayed together.

After a couple of hours of slow riding through the timber, Frank suddenly reined up and sat his saddle, sniffing the air.

Wood smoke! Sure as hell it was. And he didn't believe for a moment it was Sonny and his bunch. He rode slowly on, following the sign of the hostages, the smell of wood smoke growing stronger in the cold night. Finally he spotted the flickering fire through the timber. He dismounted, ground-reined Stormy, and slipped up close.

He had found the Eastern men, and they were a sorry-looking bunch for a fact.

“Hello the camp!” Frank called.

The Easterners froze in panic.

“It's Frank Morgan. Take it easy, boys. I'm coming in.”

“Oh, thank God!” one of the men exclaimed as they all stood up as one.

The closer Frank drew to the camp, the more he could tell the men were in bad shape. All of them had been badly beaten . . . probably more than once. Some of them were missing teeth, and all had bruises and cuts on their faces.

“You boys have had quite a time of it, haven't you?” Frank said.

“Yes, we have, Mr. Morgan,” a man said. “By the way, my name is Aaron Steele.”

“I'm Frank, Aaron. Let's keep it on a first-name basis. It'll be a lot easier that way.”

The men all stepped forward and introduced themselves, shaking hands with Frank.

“I've got enough coffee left for a pot or two, boys,” Frank said. “And some food for a meal this night . . . or morning rather. You boys look like you could use some strong coffee and some hot food. ”

“That would indeed be wonderful, Frank,” John Garver said.

“I'll get my horse and we'll start cooking. And we've got to see about your horses too.”

“We picketed them, Frank,” Jackson Mills said. “We may be dudes, but we knew to do that much.”

“And we were lucky in another aspect,” Horace Vanderhoot said. “We all got horses that were saddled.”

“You really were lucky. Be back in a couple of minutes.”

Frank fixed a proper fire, first digging a small pit, then lining the outside with large stones and fixing a place for the coffeepot to rest. Then he sliced up all the bacon he had and fixed a skillet of pan bread.

“It isn't much but it'll jerk a knot in an empty belly,” he told the men.

“I'm salivating already,” Paul Edwards said.

Over coffee and bacon and pan bread, Frank began bringing the men up to date, starting with, “I might as well let you have the bad news first. Maxwell Crawford is dead. I buried him myself. He was a brave man at the end.”

“Oh, my God!” Hugh Dunbar said. “Poor Maxwell.”

“What about our wives?” Bernard Harrison asked.

“They're all right. All of them. They're waiting in South Raven for your return.”

“Will we return, Frank?” Edmund Greene inquired.

“You bet we will. We'll sleep a few hours and be on the trail come morning. It's going to be rough, 'cause I'll be taking you cross-country. It's the safest way.”

“You're the boss, Frank,” Delbert Knox said. “Whatever you say do, we'll do it, without question.”

“How many of those horrid people did you dispose of?” Fuller Ross asked.

Frank looked at the man who had offered his wife to the outlaws in exchange for his own well-being. “I killed several of them,” he said shortly.

Fuller picked up on the scorn in Frank's tone. “Whatever you might have heard about my actions, they are nothing but lies.”

“You are the one who is a damn liar, Fuller!” Horace said. “You are an utterly despicable cad! I loathe you!”

Frank used a piece of bread to sop up some of the grease in the skillet. He said nothing, preferring to stay out of the building argument. Let the friends settle it among themselves. If it could be settled.

“Those thugs were threatening to kill me!” Fuller said. “I had to do something to stop the beatings. Any of you would have done the same.”

“We didn't,” Paul Edwards said. “I would have willingly died rather than offer my wife to them to stop the abuse. And told them so,” he added softly.

“When we return to the city, Fuller,” Horace Vanderhoot said, “I shall see to it that your actions are made public. I want all our business associates to know what sort of person you really are. Do not speak to me after this. I want nothing more to do with you.”

The other men nodded their heads in agreement, Delbert saying, “The venture you and I planned together is now null and void, Fuller. I would rather go into business with a poisonous serpent.”

“You can't mean that!” Fuller protested. “My God, I have a lot of money tied up in that project.”

“As I do,” Delbert replied. “I will gladly take my losses to be rid of you.”

“I'll get even with you,” Fuller said. “All of you. You'll see. I'll get even.”

“Don't press it, Fuller,” Aaron told him. “Or I will personally do Mavis a great favor and make her a widow this night.”

“You can't mean that! Listen to what you are saying.”

“Shut up,” Jackson said. “Just shut your mouth, Fuller. Or I shall give you a thrashing you will never forget.”

Frank poured another cup of coffee and rolled a cigarette.

Fuller moved away from the others, and sat down with his back to a tree. He mumbled to himself.

Frank leaned back, easing his wounded leg. Horace noticed the movement and asked, “Are you badly hurt, Frank?”

Frank shook his head, which still ached slightly. “Not bad. I've been hurt worse. It's just a flesh wound.”

“Is there nothing you can do for it?”

“Come first light, I'll look for some tree moss and cover it with that. It works to prevent and heal infection. It's an old Cheyenne Indian treatment.”

“Tree moss?” Edmund Greene asked. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“It works,” Frank told him. “I've used it before.”

“You've been wounded before?”

Frank smiled. “Several times. A lot worse than this.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“Not much. Let's finish up this coffee and then try to get a few hours sleep, boys. We've got a hard pull ahead of us come morning.”

“I swear I don't believe I will ever be warm again,” John Garver said.

“Be thankful there were bedrolls behind those saddles,” Frank told him. “And say a little prayer that the snow holds off until we get back to town.”

“Did my wife say anything about me while you were with her?” Fuller Ross abruptly asked Frank.

“She mentioned a few things,” Frank admitted.

“What things?”

“This and that,” Frank said.

“Let's try to get some sleep,” Horace said. “Fuller, what happens to you and Mavis is something the both of you will have to work out when we get back. Good night.”

Frank sat long by the fire after the others had gone to sleep. If we get back, he thought.

Frank and the freed hostages started out just after first light. The men rejected Frank's idea that they head for Boise, and insisted they return to South Raven.

“It's rough country, boys,” Frank told them.

Frank's statement was met with stony silence.

Frank shrugged. “All right,” he said, swinging into the saddle. “Let's do it.”

The Easterners put the miles behind them without complaint. Frank knew they must all be hurting from the many beatings they had endured, and his opinion of the men rose considerably as the miles passed. On the evening of the second day out, the land was dusted with a light snow. But the morning sky dawned a bright blue and the men pushed on. Frank killed a deer later that day, and everybody went to sleep that night with a full belly. The saw no signs of the kidnappers.

Over breakfast, with Frank using the last of the flour and lard, Bernard Harrison asked, “What do you think happened to our kidnappers?”

Frank shook his head. “I don't know. But I doubt we've seen the last of them. At least as far as I'm concerned.”

“You want to explain that?” Aaron asked.

“I messed up their plans for riches. They won't forgive me for that. And they won't forget. I'm going to have some ol' boys looking to kill me.”

“I'll pay you a thousand dollars for every one of them you kill,” Fuller Ross said.

Frank stared at the man for a few seconds. “I'm not a manhunter, Fuller. I don't kill for money.”

“Then I'll find someone who will,” Fuller replied.

Frank shrugged his response. “Your option.”

Fuller had been riding alone, at the end of the column. None of his former friends would have anything to do with him. Frank suspected that when the group returned to the business world, Fuller would be in for a lonely and very rough time of it. And he was going to face it alone, without support of family. He had heard some of the other women talking about Mavis's plans to leave her husband.

“Why don't you hunt the men yourself, Fuller?” Jackson asked. “I can assure you, you will have ample time to do so.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Fuller snapped.

“Oh, I suspect that once the business community learns of your despicable behavior in this matter, you won't find many men willing to have anything to do with you.”

“And you'll be just delighted to spread the word about me, won't you?”

“If asked, I shall tell the truth,” Jackson replied.

“And so will I,” several others stated in unison.

“Bastards,” Fuller cursed them.

Frank stood up and put a stop to the bickering. “Mount up,” he told the group. They pushed on.

They encountered no trouble of any kind as they made their way toward South Raven, and that puzzled Frank. He could not understand why Sonny and the others gave up so easily. Perhaps they thought they were being attacked by a large force. Maybe by the time they rounded up their horses, they figured it was too late to catch up with the escaped hostages. Frank just didn't know. But he felt he would . . . when some of those involved in the kidnapping caught up with him. And he was sure that would happen. He kept a sharp eye out for any trouble on the way back to South Raven, but no trouble materialized.

“We'll be in town tomorrow afternoon,” Frank surprised the group by saying during a supper of rabbit meat he'd trapped earlier that day. “Y'all can get you a good meal and a hot bath then. And see the doctor if you like.”

“That's wonderful news, Frank,” John said. “But most of our wounds have healed since we left the old fort.”

“I think it's the cold pure air,” Horace said. “Am I correct, Frank?”

“It's got something to do with it, for a fact.”

“I wonder if the stage is running yet,” Edmund said.

“Probably,” Frank told him. Then he looked over at Jackson Mills. “You and me better have us a little chat, Jackson. Before we get to town.”

“About what, Frank?” Jackson looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

“About that fellow you hired to kill me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jackson sat up straight.

Frank related what Doc Raven had told him.

Jackson shook his head. “Dr. Raven is badly misinformed, Frank. I paid no one to kill you. Whoever this man is, he lied. Why, I don't know. But he lied.”

Frank stared at Jackson for a moment. He believed him. More mystery to an already very strange situation.

“This man, he resembled me?” Jackson asked.

“I guess so,” Frank replied. “He sure said he was you.”

Jackson nodded his head slowly. He cut his eyes to Fuller Ross. The man refused to meet his gaze. “You son of a bitch,” Jackson said, his tone filled with rancor.

Fuller did not reply.

“You betrayed me for a few dollars, didn't you, Fuller? You wanted me dead, didn't you? Answer me, damn you!”

“What's going on here?” Horace demanded.

“I haven't done anything,” Fuller said.

“I entered a business arrangement with Fuller just weeks before we came out here,” Jackson said. “It's rather complex, but the important point is this: Should either of us die, the living partner would benefit greatly. I thought it was merely a standard contract between friends. I see now what Jackson really had in mind.”

“You can't prove anything!” Fuller yelled.

“Now, wait a minute,” Frank said, holding up a hand. “I don't understand any of this.” He paused for a few seconds, then slowly nodded his head. “Unless the man never intended to kill me. He was set up to pretend to kill me, in the hopes he would tell me who hired him, and I would confront the man.”

“And you would kill me,” Jackson concluded. “It's something Fuller would do. Very complicated. So complex it didn't stand much of a chance of working. That's the manner in which many of his business deals are written. Complex and unworkable. . . except to his advantage.” He looked again at Fuller. “You are beneath contempt.”

“You can't prove any of this!” Fuller shouted.

“Oh, shut up, Fuller,” Delbert told him. “You're a damn snake in the grass. Now that I have a moment to reflect, I did see you talking with a stranger right after we arrived in town. I didn't think anything of it until now. I saw you, or thought I did, give the man something. You were setting this up then, weren't you?”

“Prove it!” Fuller yelled. “You can't prove it. You can't prove any of it. It's all conjecture. You don't have a shred of evidence that will stand up in court.”

Jackson stood up and walked over to the man he'd once called friend. He stood for a moment, then slapped the man across the face.

Fuller staggered back, anger flushing his face, reddening it. “Damn you!”

“I challenge you, Fuller,” Jackson said. “Name your weapon.”

“Are you insane?” Fuller yelled. “You must be crazy.”

“You better pick a weapon, Fuller. I'm warning you. I will have my satisfaction, one way or the other.”

“I'm not going to fight you, Jackson.”

“You're a coward,” Jackson said. “If you won't choose weapons, I will. Pistols. Name your second.”

Fuller looked wildly around him, fear evident in his eyes. “I won't fight you, Jackson. You're making a mistake. I didn't ask the man to kill Frank. I just wanted to scare . . . I ... uh ...” He realized he was only digging himself a deeper hole, and gulped a couple of times. He closed his mouth and shook his head.

“Get a pistol, Fuller,” Jackson told him, his voice cold and flat-sounding.

“No! I won't do it. You can't make me.”

Jackson began cursing Fuller. He cursed him until he was out of breath. Fuller stood still in the middle of the clearing, shaking his head.

Jackson walked to the man and hit him in the mouth with his fist. Fuller went down, his mouth bloody.

“Get up and fight me, you bastard!” Jackson yelled.

“No,” Fuller said.

Jackson drew back his foot and started to kick the man. Fuller cringed in anticipation of the kick. Jackson thought better of it and stepped back, standing for a moment, looking down at the man he'd once called friend. “You're a pitiful excuse for a man, Fuller.” He spat on the prostrate Fuller, the spittle striking the man in the face. Fuller did nothing. “Mavis will be far better off without you. And I shall personally see she is well supported, with your money, for the rest of her life.” Jackson turned his back to Fuller Ross and walked away.

Frank looked at Fuller. The man was a coward through and through. Probably had been all his life, and after this, Frank thought, the man would be an outcast among all those who knew him. That is, once the full story about what happened out West was told and retold, and it surely would be.

“Let's all calm down and get some sleep,” Frank told the group. “We'll be pulling out at first light.”

* * *

The entire town turned out to stand and watch Frank lead the very bedraggled group of men into South Raven. The citizens stood in silence and watched.

Frank reined up in front of the saloon/hotel, and wearily swung down from the saddle just as Doc Raven walked up and stood for a moment, counting heads.

“You've done the impossible, Frank,” the doctor said. “You've brought them all back . . . and in one piece too.”

“More or less, Doc,” Frank said, limping over and stepping up onto the boardwalk. “Some of them are missing some teeth.”

“You're a little worse for wear yourself,” Doc Raven observed.

“I'll be all right. The bullet went right through my leg without hitting anything vital. I treated it with tree moss.”

“I used it during the war. It works. I don't know why, but it does.”

The men stood and watched as the wives of the freed hostages came out and greeted them. Mavis was not among them. Fuller stood alone by his horse, looking very uncomfortable.

“That one,” Frank said, nodding toward Fuller, “is one sorry human being.”

“The women told me all about him,” Doc Raven replied. “And the news spread very quickly. Fuller Ross will not be treated with much warmth in this town.”

“Any of the kidnappers been spotted in this area?”

“No. And the road is open, the stages running.”

“The telegraph wires up?”

“Yes. And humming with the stories about the kidnapping. Every lawman in the West knows about it.”

“Was my name left out of the story?”

“As far as I know, yes. But it's only a matter of time. You know that.”

“I'll be gone by then. How's Dog?”

“Missing you. He mopes around. Horse is settling down. He even let a stranger pet him the other day.”

“Amazing.”

“I think you've been a bad influence on him.”

“Very funny, Doc. Well, I think I'll go play with Dog for a few minutes and then clean up. I need a bath in the worst way.”

“I won't disagree,” Doc Raven said with a smile.

Before either man could say another word, Dog came barking and running up the street and practically jumped into Frank's arms. After about a minute of frantic face-licking and pawing and barking, the big cur began to settle down.

“I think he missed you, Frank,” Doc Raven said, smiling.

“He smells like flowers, Doc. What'd you do, give him a bath with some sort of women's perfumed soap?”

“Yes. And I can tell you he didn't like it one damn little bit.”

“I don't blame him. I'm surprised he didn't attract every female dog in the county.”

“He did. The poor boy was worn down to a frazzle. I had to take him home with me and keep him in the house so he could get some rest.”

Fuller Ross came running up the street, all wild-eyed and panicky, shouting, “She's got a knife. Says she's going to castrate me. Help!”

Mavis appeared at the end of the street, holding a very large butcher knife. “Come back here, you little weasel!” she shouted.

“You go to hell!” Fuller yelled. “You're crazy, woman. Let me explain.”

“There is nothing to explain, Fuller,” Mavis told him. “And if you try, I'll cut your lying damn tongue out.”

“You tell him, sister!” a woman shouted from the boardwalk.

“Turn him into a gelding, girl!” Sister Clarabelle yelled. “I'll hold him down and you can do the nut-cuttin'!”

“
Whoa!
” Fuller hollered, looking frantically around him for someone, anyone, to help him. No one volunteered.

“You, Edith,” Clarabelle yelled, pointing to a woman across the street. “Block that alley on your side. Bertha, you and Zelda take the street. Don't let the scum get past you.”

“Good God!”
Fuller yelled, panic in his voice. “Somebody help me.”

“Not me,” Doc Raven said. “I make it a point not to get in the way of a woman holding a large knife. ”

“Nor me,” Frank said.

“Me and Winifred will cover this side,” a woman yelled.

“Good girl, Henrietta,” Sister Clarabelle shouted. “We'll all work tegether and get the worthless scum and cut him.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Doc Raven said. “I think these ladies mean it.”

“I never doubted it,” Frank replied.

Mavis began slowly advancing up the street, waving the butcher knife.

Fuller began backing up.

“Late stage is comin',” someone shouted. “Clear the street. They're comin' fast.”