Showdown (6 page)

Jimmy's legs began jerking, his boot heels drumming on the dirty floor.

“What a horrible way to die,” one of the bar's soiled doves said, moving closer to where Jimmy lay.

“How much for a good hump?” a man asked her.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“It better be a good one for that price,” the man said, standing up.

She led him toward the rear of the saloon, and they disappeared into the darkness of a hall.

Jimmy yelled once more and then was silent, his body ceasing its jerking and convulsing. His head lolled to one side.

“That's all,” Raven said. “He's gone.”

“ 'Bout damn time,” Jack Miller said. “Gimmie another beer,” he told the barkeep.

“Some of you men carry these bodies out of here and over to the undertaker's,” Raven said. The bodies were dragged outside, sawdust was sprinkled over the blood spots, and the card games and talking resumed.

Doc Raven finished his coffee and picked up his black bag. “See you in the morning, Frank.”

“I sure hope so, Doc.”

Frank stood at the bar for a few moments, then pushed his way through the crowd and walked out of the bar. He stood for a moment on the boardwalk, breathing in the cold wet air of fall and mulling over his situation. What had Vanderhoot said? As soon as the rain ceased the hunt would begin.

Frank walked down the boardwalk toward the barn. He'd sleep in the loft this night. He was sure the saloon would be noisy until the wee hours. There were few lamplights shining; the locals had gone to bed.

“Good idea,” Frank muttered. In the livery, he got his blanket roll and climbed up into the loft. He was asleep in the hay a few minutes after closing his eyes.

Frank awakened at Dog's low, almost inaudible growl in the stall beneath where he slept in the loft. He lay still, listening, his right hand silently closing around the butt of his Peacemaker. Dog did not repeat his growl.

Then Frank heard the very faint scrape of a boot. It sounded as though it came from just outside the livery. Frank eared back the hammer of the .45 and waited.

After a few quiet moments, he heard boot steps moving away from the livery, slowly fading into the night. Frank did not know what time it was, but he had awakened feeling refreshed, so he knew it must be close to his normal getting-up time. He pulled on his boots and silently climbed down to the floor of the livery. He let Dog out back to do his morning business, and without lighting the lantern, slipped out the front of the stable and stood for a time in the early morning darkness, listening. The rain had slackened off to an irritating drizzle. He could hear no sound except the soft sighing of the cold wind.

Frank stepped back into the huge livery, silently closing the door, and popped a match into light, checking his watch. The hands read 3:30. He let Dog back in, and the big cur immediately went to the stall with Horse and lay down in a corner.

“You stay put,” Frank told him.

Frank walked to the cafe. It was dark. Frank guessed the cook probably wouldn't show up for another hour. He glanced at the saloon. It too was dark and silent. He turned up the collar of his coat against the chill and walked on until he reached the edge of the short business district, then crossed over and began walking down the other side. He walked slowly, pausing often to listen. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. It appeared he was the only one awake at this hour.

He wondered where all the hired guns had found shelter to sleep. Then he recalled overhearing one of the gunslicks in the saloon the past night talking about them renting several empty houses in town.

“I hope the roofs leak and they all catch pneumonia,” he muttered, then smiled at his remark.

He stopped and stepped back into the darkness of a door stoop at the sounds of several riders coming from the east. He watched as the three men rode up the street, all of them wearing slickers. Their horses looked very tired.

“My God,” Frank muttered under his breath. “More bounty hunters. Maybe it is time for me to give some serious thought to pulling out.”

The trio of riders rode down to the livery stable and out of earshot. Frank waited in the darkness. A few minutes later, he saw the faint glow of a lantern. They had rousted Old Bob out of his warm bed. Bob would not be in a very good mood, Frank thought with a grin. He decided to walk down to the livery and see if Bob would put the coffeepot on.

The men who had just ridden in were stripping the saddles from their horses when Frank walked in. Bob was standing off to one side, looking very unhappy about being rousted out of bed. The trio of riders turned and stared at Frank.

“Morgan,” one of them said.

“Roberts,” Frank replied. “Been a long time.”

“Ten years, I reckon. Down in Louisiana, wasn't it?”

“New Orleans, yes. I believe you were beating a woman, weren't you?”

Sudden anger flushed Roberts's face. He momentarily tensed, then smiled and relaxed. “You stepped into a situation you didn't understand and should have stayed out of.”

“No woman deserves a beating like that, Roberts.”

“Whatever happened to that French bitch?” Roberts asked.

“She died about a week after the beating.”

Roberts shrugged. “I had a headache for a week after you hit me with that rifle butt. I owe you for that, Morgan.”

“And now you're here to collect, right?”

“That's about it.”

“Any more guns riding in?”

“A few more. Small-time gun-handlers. They should be here later on today.”

“Well, it promises to be quite a show.”

“You don't seem to be too worried about it, Morgan.”

“Last man standing gets the money. And you boys are late getting into the game.”

“I heard some boys came out of retirement for this hunt.”

“A few. Lonesome Howard. Vickers. Olmstead. Dolan is here.”

“No kidding? Well, that's quite a crew. Lots of old friends around here for a while, right, Morgan?”

“That's one way of looking at it, I reckon.”

“I aim to collect that money, Frank. Me and the boys here.”

“Who are your friends?”

“This here is Don Blanchard from West Texas way.” He jerked a thumb. “And that's Russ Temple. He's a Wyoming boy.”

“You ain't as old as I thought you'd be, Morgan,” Don said. “All the stories told about you, I figured you'd be near'bouts a hundred or so.”

Bob stepped in and said, “I don't know where you boys is gonna sleep, but you ain't sleeping in my livery. I'll stable your horses, and that's it.”

“You a feisty old fart, ain't you?” Russ said.

“Keep runnin' that mouth, boy,” Bob replied, “and you and your horse can sleep under a tree.”

Roberts held up a hand. “We'll find us a place to sleep, old man. You just take care of our horses.”

“I can do that.”

“When's the cafe open for business?”

“Five-thirty or so.”

Roberts looked at Frank. “You gonna be there?”

“I plan on it.”

“We'll see you there then.”

“I can hardly wait,” Frank replied sarcastically.

“Hey!” Russ called from the huge front doors of the livery. “It's rainin' again.”

Roberts cussed and said, “Is this crap ever gonna stop?”

“Maybe it's God's will,” Bob said.

“What the hell are you talkin' 'bout, old man?” Don asked.

“He destroyed the earth once by a flood, didn't He?” Bob replied. “Maybe He's gonna do it again.”

“Why would God do that?” Russ asked, moving back toward the group.

“Sin,” Bob answered.

“Ahh!” Roberts said, slashing the air with a hand. “I don't believe that crap.”

“You don't believe in God?” Bob asked.

“I didn't say that,” Roberts replied quickly. “Course I believe in God. I was baptized when I was a boy.”

“In a river?” Bob asked.

“In a crick behind the church.”

Bob smiled. “Is the water fit to drink yet?”

Roberts stared at the liveryman for a few seconds. “I don't like you, old man. I don't like you a-tall.”

“I can live with it,” Bob replied.

Roberts wheeled around. “Come on, boys. We'll go sit in front of the cafe. Stinks in this place.”

Bob muttered something under his breath.

Roberts turned. “What'd you say, old man?”

“I said, 'You probably smellin' your own butt.' That's what I said.”

“I'll deal with you later,” Roberts said. “After I deal with Morgan.”

“Want to deal with me now?” Frank challenged.

Dog was sitting just inside Horse's stall, taking it all in. He had not barked or snarled, just sat watching and listening very intently. Russ had moved away from Roberts, angling for a clear shot at Frank should it come to that. He had moved very close to Dog, which was not the smartest move he could have made.

“I put lead in you now,” Roberts said, “I don't get to collect no money. That's the way I heard the game is played.”

“Now or later,” Frank said. “Either way you're a dead man.”

Russ's hand dropped to the butt of his pistol. Dog silently stood up on all four paws, the hair on his back rising.

Bob moved back a few steps.

“Do it now or shut your damn mouth,” Frank told Roberts.

“You're forcin' me to kill you, Morgan,” Roberts said. “What's with you anyways? You lost your mind, or somethin'?” He cut his eyes to Russ.

Russ's hand closed around the butt of his six-gun, and Dog leaped and nailed him, his jaws closing around the man's arm. Russ hollered and lost his balance as he tried to shake Dog loose. He fell to the livery floor, Dog's powerful jaws tearing at his arm.

“I'll kill that damn dog!” Don yelled, grabbing for his pistol.

Frank shot him, the bullet ripping into his chest and dropping the man, mortally wounded.

Dog was busy ripping at Russ's arm.

Frank turned to face Roberts. His eyes burned at the man while a small smile played at his mouth.

Roberts held his hands up and away from his gunbelt. “That's it, Morgan. I'm out of it for now. Call off your damn dog!”

Frank spoke one sharp command, and Dog turned loose of Russ's arm and backed up, his teeth bared in a terrible snarl. Russ lay on the floor and moaned, blood leaking from the multiple wounds on his arm.

“You're crazy, Morgan,” Roberts blurted out. “You've gone nuts on me.”

Frank holstered his Peacemaker. “Drag your partners out of here, Roberts. And remember this: The next time you brace me, be ready to die.”

“What the hell am I 'posed to do with a dead body at four o'clock in the mornin'!”

“Prop him up and look at him,” Frank told him. “I don't give a damn what you do with him. Just drag him out of here.”

“Russ is hurt bad.”

“That's his problem. 'Sides, I don't think he's hurt too bad. The doc's will be open about dawn. He'll live till then.”

Roberts helped Russ to his feet, and together they dragged the body of the dead man outside into the rain.

“This ain't right,” Russ said. “It ain't decent.”

“What the hell do you know about anything decent?” Frank asked, following the men to the front of the livery. “If there was a ounce of decency in you, you wouldn't be hanging around scum like Roberts.”

“My arm is tore up bad,” Russ griped. “And it's hurtin' something fierce. That damn dog probably give me hydrophoby, or somethin'.”

“No, he didn't. But I've got to be sure and wash his mouth out good. I don't want him getting sick after chewing on you.”

The hired guns dumped the body of Don by the side of the livery and walked away, up the boardwalk.

“Man, you are quick,” Bob said. “I never even seen that hook and draw. God blessed you with a gift, for a fact.”

“God?” Morgan asked, punching out the brass and reloading. “You think God gave me the ability to kill people?”

“The Good Book says God works in mysterious ways, Frank.”

Morgan had no reply to that as he found a rag and wiped the blood from Dog's mouth. Bob forked hay into the stall for Horse. Morgan combed his thick brown hair with his fingers, using a piece of broken mirror to gaze into. Was there a bit more gray in his hair? Sure looked that way.

“You studying 'bout how handsome you are?” Bob asked with a grin, returning from his shack out back, now dressed for the day.

“Yeah, I'm a real lady-killer for sure,” Frank replied sourly, settling his hat on his head. “Women just can't keep their hands off me,” he added with a smile to soften the acid reply.

“You probably ain't been lookin' too hard for a good woman to settle down with,” Bob told him. “I know for a fact they's hard to find.”

“You told me you were married once. What happened?”

“Didn't work out. She took the young'uns and went back East. I ain't heard a word from her since. Probably never will.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to be. I ain't. Things usually work out for the best. I put on the coffeepot. Should be ready to swaller in a few minutes. I got some biscuits makin' too.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They both turned as Doc Raven strolled into the livery. “Morning, boys,” he said.

“What are you doin' up so early, Doc?” Bob asked.

“Couldn't sleep. Did I hear you say you've got coffee, Bob?”

“For a fact, you did. Come on, we'll have us a . . .”

Half a dozen gunshots ripped the early morning and cut off Bob's statement.

Doc Raven sighed. “I guess I'd better get my bag. The day's starting off bloody.”