The Drifter (10 page)

“I can see you, Morgan,” Calvin said sullenly. “I don't need no damn glasses."

“Then let's get this over with. I'm tired of trying to save your life."

“Huh?"

“You seem determined to end your life this morning. I've tried to keep you from doing that. But you won't listen. So let's do it, Calvin. Enough talking."

Calvin looked up for just a second. That was all the signal Frank needed. The second gunman was on the roof of the café, or one of the buildings just left or right of the café. As long as Frank stayed under the awning, he was safe from the sniper.

“I knowed you was yeller, Morgan. I'm challengin' you to stop all this talk and step out here and face me."

“Hook and draw, Calvin,” Frank said easily. “You can see me."

“You're yeller. I knowed all along you was yeller. Told everybody I'd prove it."

“And you're a loudmouth son of a bitch,” Frank said without raising his voice.

That got to Calvin—if Calvin was his real name, which Frank doubted. The man tensed, and Frank could see his expression change.

“You'll pay for that, Morgan."

“How? You going to have your buddy on the roof shoot me in the back?"

“Take him, Lou!” the man on the roof shouted. “Take him now. He's on to us!"

Calvin/Lou hesitated for just a second, then grabbed for his pistol.

Frank shot him twice just as he was clearing leather. He placed his shots fast but carefully, knocking both legs out from under the man. Jerry's shotgun boomed, and there was a scream from the gunman on the roof.

“Oh, my ass!” the sniper squalled. “You done ruint me. Oh, sweet Baby Jesus!” Then he fell off the roof, crashing through the awning and landing on the boardwalk.

Frank took a quick look at the man. His ass was a bloody mess. He had taken both barrels of Jerry's scattergun in the butt. He had landed on his belly on the boardwalk, and the wind had been knocked out of him.

Jerry stepped out of the alley, a six-gun in his hand. “Watch him,” Frank said, pointing to bloody butt. Then he walked over to the fallen man in the dusty and now bloody street.

“Calvin, or Lou?” Frank asked him.

“Lou. You bastard! You done broke both my legs."

“That was my intention."

“Damn your eyes!"

“Lou what?"

“Lou Manning."

“Well, well, now. I have a dodger on you over in the office. Another five hundred dollars in my pocket."

“That's an old dodger. It's a thousand now."

“That's even better. How about your buddy over there?"

“Bud Chase. He ain't got no money on his head. You gonna get me a doctor, Morgan?"

“I see him coming now. Was that you prowling around outside my house this morning?"

“Huh? No.” He groaned in pain. “I don't even know where you live, Morgan. I wish to God I'd never seen you. Where is that damn sawbones?"

“Taking a look at your buddy's butt. He's got two loads of bird shot in his ass."

“To hell with Bud's butt! My legs is busted, goddamn it."

Doc Bracken came over and looked at Lou's wounds. “Neither leg seems to be broken, but you won't be doing much walking around for a while."

“I really hurt something fierce, Doc,” Lou said. “Can you give me something for the pain?"

“When we get you settled in the jail,” the doctor told him.

“How's the other one?” Frank asked.

“Very uncomfortable,” Bracken said with a half-smile. “And he's going to be even more so when I start probing around for those shot."

Frank waved at some men. “Get these two over to the jail,” he told them. He looked at Doc Bracken. “Unless you want them in your office."

Bracken shook his head. “Jail will be fine. Neither one of them are in any danger of expiring. Your jail is getting full, isn't it, Marshal?"

“I'll have two cells left after these two are booked."

“Ummm,” Doc Bracken said. “What happens if your jail gets full?"

“I'll chain prisoners outside to a hitch rail."

Bracken gave him a hard look. “And you would too, wouldn't you, Marshal?"

“Bet on it."

The doctor chuckled. “I think you'll be the best marshal this town has ever had, Morgan. Providing you live long enough, that is."

“Thank you, Doc. How soon can I ask these two a few questions?"

“A couple of hours, maybe. Probably longer. I'm going to sedate them heavily. I'll let you know."

“Good enough."

The wounded were carried off to the jail. Dirt was kicked over the bloody spot in the street, and Frank told Jerry to locate one of the town's carpenters and have him get busy repairing the awning and the broken boardwalk. He sent another man to find the mayor and arrange for a meeting.

Conrad had not moved from his spot in the doorway across the street. Frank spotted the young man and walked over to him.

“How is your mother this morning, Conrad?"

“Very well, Marshal. Thank you for inquiring. That was quite a performance a few moments ago. Do you always twirl your pistol after a shooting?"

Frank did not remember doing that. It was just something he did automatically. “I suppose so, Conrad. It's just a habit."

“Very impressive, I must say. You are quite proficient with that weapon."

“I try."

“Tell me, Marshal, if you will, how long have you known my mother?"

Frank had no idea what Viv had told the young man, but he wasn't going to start off whatever relationship that might develop with a lie. “I knew her years ago, Conrad. For a very brief time."

“Before she married my father?"

“Oh, yes."

“I see. Well, at least you both have your stories straight. Good day, Marshal.” Conrad turned away and walked off toward the Henson Enterprises office building without another word.

“Boy damn sure suspects something is not quite right,” Frank muttered. He also knew that he and Viv had better get their heads together and plan something out, and do it quickly.

Mayor Jenkins strolled up, all smiles. “Well, Marshal,” he said, grabbing Frank's hand and shaking it, “congratulations. I was just informed about the incident. I was told that was quite a dandy bit of shooting on your part. Knocked the pins out from under that gunman quicker than the eye could follow. And I'm told you have a new deputy. Jerry, ah, what's his name? Consider him on the payroll.” He named a very generous monthly sum of money—about twice the going rate, even for a boom town. “You can swear him in. That goes with the office, Marshal. I should be hearing something from Arkansas in about a week. I'll let you know immediately. Good day, Marshal. Great job you're doing. Yes, indeed."

“Most happy fellow,” Frank muttered. He went in search of Jerry to swear him in.

Frank did not notice Conrad peeping around the corner of a building, watching his every move.

 

 

 

Eleven

 

 

Frank swore Jerry in as deputy marshal and pinned a badge on him. Then they went over to Willis's store and bought provisions for the small private room at the jail. Back at the jail, Frank fixed a pot of coffee and the two men talked while Doc Bracken worked on the wounded in the cell block.

“Never married, Jerry?"

“Once. Had two kids. Boy and a girl. She didn't like the West, and she really didn't like me, I guess. We lived in Kansas. Took the kids and left one day when I was out with a posse. I've not seen hide nor hair of any of them since. That was twenty years ago. Don't know where they are. You, Frank?"

“A long time ago. Right after the war. We weren't married long. It didn't work out. I've been drifting ever since."

“Yeah, me too, but I don't blame that on her. I reckon I'm just meant to wander, that's all.” Jerry stood up. “I need to go back to the roomin' house and get my things, Frank. OK with you?"

“Sure. Go ahead. I've got an appointment to see Mrs. Browning this morning. I'll probably be gone time you get back."

“That's a nice lady."

“Yes, she certainly is."

Jerry left and Frank looked in on Doc Bracken and his assistant. “You going to be much longer. Doc?"

“'Bout ten more minutes. I've got all the shot out of this man's butt that I can. The rest will have to stay. Some will work out in time, but he'll be sitting on a lot of bird shot for the rest of his life."

“I'll kill that son of a bitch who shot me,” the butt-shot Bud groaned through his laudanum-induced haze.

“Shut up,” Doc Bracken told him. “You'll have lots of time to think up threats while you're in prison. You'd better be thankful it wasn't buckshot that hit you, fellow. You wouldn't have any ass left."

“Gimmie some more laudanum,” Bud mumbled.

“You've had enough,” the doctor told him.

Frank closed the door and sat down at his desk, bringing his jail book up to date. He checked all his dodgers for one on Bud Chase. There were no wanted fliers on Bud, but he did find the dodger on Lou Manning. He wrote out a wire to send to the Texas Rangers.

He glanced at the wall clock. He still had a few minutes before he was due to meet Viv. Frank leaned back in the wooden swivel chair. He did not delude himself about the likelihood of getting back with Viv. His chances were slim to none. Their worlds were too far apart now, and Frank was man enough to admit that. But they would enjoy each other's company while they had the opportunity. After that? Well, only time would tell.

Frank looked in on the prisoners, giving them a cup of coffee if they wanted it, then closed and locked the door to the cell block. He had given Jerry a set of keys to all doors, so he locked the front door upon leaving, too.

He strolled down the boardwalk, taking his time and looking over the town in broad daylight. A few of the stores that had been boarded up were already in the process of being reopened, getting ready to rent. He had been told the bank owned them. Mayor Jenkins didn't miss a bet. If there was a dollar to be made, as banker he was going to get a part of it.

Already new people were coming in from tiny communities that were close by, all of the newcomers riding in. Soon the wagons would be rolling in, and when the permanent structures were all taken—which wouldn't be long—wooden frames would be erected, and canvas fastened in place, forming roofs and sides. There would be a dozen makeshift saloons and eating places and what have you thrown up in less than a week. Hurdy-gurdy girls would be working around the clock, and so would the gamblers, and both spelled trouble with a capital T.

Frank walked into the Henson Enterprises building and past the workers in the front office just as Viv was coming out of her rear office. She saw him and smiled.

“Be with you in a moment. Marshal,” she called.

All very proper and correct
, Frank thought. He looked behind him. Hal was standing in the outer office. They nodded at each other. Jimmy would be working the outside, Frank figured. Every hour or so the men would swap up.

Viv motioned for Frank to come into her office. She closed the door and stood facing him. “Are you all right, Frank?"

“I'm fine."

“Conrad told me about the shooting incident."

Frank shrugged that off. “Where is Conrad?"

“At the mine. For his age, he's really a very responsible young man. He knows the business."

“I'm sure he is, Viv, and I'm sure he's a big help. He just doesn't much care for me, that's all."

“Give him time. Maybe things will change."

“Maybe they will. We'll see. Ready to take a stroll through town?"

“That will set some tongues wagging."

“That bother you?"

“Not in the least. I'll get my parasol."

With Hal and Jimmy hanging back a respectable distance, the two began their leisurely walk.
The gunfighter and the lady
, Frank thought with a smile.
That would make a good title for a dime novel.

Heads did turn as the two walked slowly toward the Silver Spoon Café. Vivian was dressed in the height of Eastern fashion, and was a beautiful woman. Frank wondered why women toted around little parasols and didn't open them. What the hell was the point, anyway? The sky was a dazzling, clear blue, and it sure wasn't raining. Besides, he didn't figure the dainty little thing would even do much to keep off rain.

He concluded that he would never understand women.

“Town's being reborn,” Viv remarked.

“Sure is. This your first boom town, Viv?"

“Yes."

“You ain't seen nothing yet. If this strike turns out to be as big as people are saying, there'll be a thousand more people packed in here before it's all over. Maybe more than that. It'll be a great big, sometimes uncontrollable, mess."

“You've worn a badge in other boom towns, Frank?"

“Yes. Several of them."

“I've tried to keep track of you over the years. But it hasn't been easy."

“I'm sure. I did move around a lot."

“And often disappeared for months at a time. Where did you go, and what did you do during those times?"

“Sometimes I worked on a ranch, under a false name."

“For thirty dollars a month?"

“Less than that a few times."

“But somebody would always come along who recognized you.” It was not posed as a question.

“Yes. Or someone would get their hands on one of those damn books ... all of them nothing but a pack of lies."

“I've read all of them."

Frank cut his eyes to the woman walking by his side. “You're joking, of course?"

“No. I swear it's the truth. I had to hide them from my husband, and from Conrad.” She smiled. “It was a deliciously naughty feeling."

“Oh? Reading the books about me, or hiding them from your family?"

She poked him in the ribs and giggled. “Did you really take up with a soiled dove named Hannah?"

“Oh, hell, no!” Frank chuckled. A few seconds later he said with a straight face, “Her name was Agnes."

This time Viv laughed aloud and grabbed Frank's arm. “And she died in your arms after stepping in front of a bullet that was meant for you?"