The Forbidden (14 page)

T
he news of the assault on the Trainor mansion and the shooting of the colonel in the butt spread quickly all over the south end of the valleys. Actually, Colonel Trainor was not shot in the ass: a piece of rock knocked loose by the. 44-40 round was what was found embedded in his butt. But to those in the south part of the valleys, the original story was just too funny to die.

Everyone in the town of Heaven felt sure it was Frank Morgan who assaulted the Trainor estate, but Frank never admitted it. He would just smile when asked about it.

Frank decided he would not replace the broken windows in his house; too much danger of them being shot out again. He boarded up the windows and left it at that.

The double wedding went off as planned, but without the attendance of anyone from the north end of the valleys. The kids went off to an undisclosed destination for a honeymoon, while Frank hired a crew of workmen to build a house for the kids on some of his property. The boys would work the land on shares.

“It's a fine thing you're doing, Frank,” Julie told him. “I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“The odds are against the kids making it, Julie. You know that. It's the least I could have done to make things a bit easier for them.”

The big three ranchers in the north end built bunkhouses and line shacks for their remaining full-time cowboys and moved them out of the ranch areas. The old bunkhouses were now occupied by hired guns.

“It's going to blow wide open pretty soon,” Frank said to Julie a few days after the wedding. “The Lightning, Snake, and .45 brands are hired on full with gunfighters, or men who think they're gunfighters. Mostly the latter. Although there are a few really bad hombres all mixed up in the bunch.”

“And you think they'll do what?”

“I don't know for sure. But I suspect they'll start raiding farms and driving people out.”

“Or killing them?” Julie asked in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should just sell out to them and get out, let the ranchers have it.”

“Nobody runs me out of anyplace, Julie.”

“They've offered good money for the farms, or so I was told.”

“Good money is nothing compared to what these farms will bring over the years. Nothing at all.”

“Of course, you're right, Frank. I was just talking to hear my head rattle.”

Frank put his arm around her and held her close. “And you were thinking about the kids too, right?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“They've made their own beds now, Julie.”

“And now they have to lie in them, right?”

Frank smiled. “I 'spect they've been doing quite a lot of that the past few days.”

“Oh ... you!” She pulled away and poked him in the ribs.

Frank grabbed her and pulled her down on the sofa. One thing led to another....

* * *

The Robert Clements family lived and worked a farm in an isolated area miles from their nearest neighbor and half a day's ride from the town of Heaven. The hired guns of the big three ranchers struck there one week after the assault on Colonel Trainor's mansion. The entire Clements family was killed and the house and barn burned. The incident was not discovered until two days after the occurrence. Frank was one of the half dozen men who rode out to the Clements place to help dig for the bodies.

“The oldest girl is missing,” a local farmer, the Clementses' nearest neighbor, said.

“Laura?” a man asked.

“Yes. She was about fourteen or fifteen. Pretty girl.”

“Them bastards dragged her off and took turns pokin' it to her,” another farmer said. “I knowed it would come to this sooner or later.” He shook his head. “My wife was scared somethin' like this was gonna happen. That's just about gonna do it for us. She'll insist we move on and I'm ready.”

Frank stood for a time and listened to the men talk. “I'll see if I can pick up a trail,” he finally said. “There is no more I can do here.”

“I'll go with you,” a farmer named Richard said.

Frank found tracks and began following them. Of course the hoofprints headed north. Frank found the body of the young girl a few miles from the burned-out home. She was naked and had been used badly.

“Dear God Almighty,” Richard said, looking down at the battered body of the girl. “Looks like they broke her neck after they done it to her.”

“Go back and get a wagon,” Frank told the farmer. “Tell the others what we've found. Have someone ride into town and get Doc Everett and the preacher. We'll bury her alongside what's left of her parents.”

“This is just about gonna do it for some folks, Frank,” Richard said.

“Are you among them?”

“I don't know. Depends on what my old woman has to say about it.”

“Give it some thought before you decide to leave.”

“Oh, I will. But my woman won't. I'd better go get the wagon.”

Frank waited until the men arrived with the wagon, and then took off, following the tracks. When he got to the crossroads, he headed west, toward a general store/saloon about five miles away. The old store was a favorite hangout for those hands north of the line. There were three horses tied out front, all wearing brands Frank was not familiar with. The horses all had bedrolls behind the cantles and full saddlebags.

Frank tied Horse in the rear of the store and walked into the saloon section through the back entrance. There were three men bellied up to the bar. The barkeep almost swallowed his cigar when he saw Frank. He got so excited he couldn't speak, only stammer.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” one of the gunslicks asked.

The barkeep pointed and the men turned their heads.

“Who wants to start it?” Frank asked.

“Nobody, Morgan,” one of the men answered quickly. “We're ridin' out of here. We stopped here for a drink and supplies.”

“You boys worked for Trainor?”

“No,” another said. “Gilmar. But one's just as bad as the other. We packed up and give our notice soon as we heard what happened a couple nights ago. Don't none of us want no part of nothin' that evil.”

“You boys the only ones leaving?”

“Far as we know, Morgan. Drawin' fightin' wages to protect range is one thing. Even runnin' out homesteaders is all right with us. But killin' and rapin' is something else.”

“How many others who are taking fighting wages feel the same?”

The trio exchanged glances. “None,” one finally said. “I reckon we're it.”

“Then you boys made the right decision.”

“I think so.”

“Who raped and killed that young girl?”

Again the three men exchanged glances. “It was men from the big three ranchers. All mixed up.”

Frank moved closer to the men. They could all see that Frank was ready for a showdown, and that made them nervous. One of the three was sure to get lead into Morgan if it came to gunplay, but they all knew that before Morgan went down, he was sure to get lead into all of them. No one wanted to risk that.

“Give me some names,” Frank said.

The trio rattled off half a dozen names, one of them finally adding, “Jules Trainor.”

“Trainor's son was in the bunch?” Frank asked.

“You bet he was. He's been part of nearly every raid that's taken place against the sodbusters. He's kill-crazy, Morgan. He likes to hurt people.”

“And his father ain't much better,” another said.

“Yeah,” the third hired gun said. “The apple sure didn't fall far from the tree in that family. The onliest one with any sense at all is Trainor's wife. But she's so addled on laudanum she don't know where she is a lot of the time.”

“There are two other kids, Vinson and the girl, Martha. How about them?”

“Just as bad. Vinson is sneaky and the girl is wild as a drunk buck. She'll head for the bushes with just about anyone, if you get my drift. Somethin' is wrong with that whole family.” He tapped the side of his head. “Up here.”

Frank tossed some money on the bar. “You boys have a couple of drinks on me, and then ride out.”

“We'll do it, Morgan. Thanks. And you have good luck in your hunt, 'cause you're sure gonna need it.”

“Morgan?” one of the three said.

“Yes?”

“The colonel is killin' mad about you attackin' his mansion the other night.” He smiled. “And about havin' to have Doc Woods dig out that piece of rock from his ass. He's done told his men to shoot you on sight.”

Frank lifted a hand in farewell and went out the back door without another word. He rode a few hundred yards away, to a small stand of timber, and dismounted, waiting and watching the old general store. He felt that sooner or later some men from the big three would make an appearance. He would be ready when they did.

Frank watched as the three hands walked out of the store and rode away. They were the smart ones, for Frank intended to find those who killed the farm family and then raped and killed the girl. And when he found them, or any who sided with them . . . he would let his .45 Peacemaker mete out justice.

It wasn't the legal way, but there was no law in the valleys, and not much law outside the valleys . . . at least not for the farmers.

But there was Frank Morgan.

I
t was not a long wait. About half an hour after the three men rode away, three others rode up to the general store/saloon. Jules Trainor was one of the three. The young man was dressed all in black, from his hat to his boots. His gunbelt was studded with silver dollars and he carried twin pistols, low and tied down.

“Quite a fancy outfit,” Frank said. He stepped into the saddle and rode down to the store, reining up in front. He walked in nonchalantly and stepped up to the bar. “Whiskey,” he told the barkeep.

Jules and the two men with him were so stunned at seeing Frank, they stood for a moment, speechless and staring.

“What's the matter, boys?” Frank asked. “Cat got your tongues?”

None of the three made any reply. Frank noticed there were scratches on Jules's face, maybe made by fingernails.

“What happened to your face, boy?” Frank asked. “You run into a briar patch?”

“Huh?” Jules blurted out.

“Your face, you stupid bastard!” Frank snapped at him.

Jules's mouth dropped open in shock. He was Colonel Trainor's son; no one had ever talked to him in such a manner. The two men with Jules started to step away from the bar.

“Stand still!” Frank said.

The pair froze in place.

“That's better,” Frank told them. He lifted his glass of whiskey with his left hand and took a tiny sip. “This is rotgut,” Frank said, tossing the glass on the bar, the booze spilling out. “Nobody but a rummy would drink crap like that.”

“I'll pour you some of my special stock, Mr. Morgan,” the barkeep said. “Sorry about that.”

“Forget it,” Frank replied. “I didn't really come in for a drink.”

“Then why did you come in?” one of the gunnies with Jules asked.

“I wanted to get a good close look at the scummy son of a bitch who would rape and kill a young girl.”

“Them's hard words, Morgan,” the other gunhand said.

“If you don't like it, drag iron,” Frank said, tossing the challenge out.

“You push hard, Morgan,” his partner said.

“Yeah, I reckon I do,” Frank said with a smile. “Now it's up to you.”

“I didn't rape nobody,” the gunslick said.

“Maybe not. But your pet pig there did. Didn't you, Jules?”

“She was askin' for it!” Jules shouted. “Ever'time I seen that girl she was sashaying around, shaking her butt at me and battin' her eyes. Flirtin' with me. Then when I called her on it, she put up a fight.”

“After you had a hand in killing her mother and father and brothers and sisters, you sorry piece of crap.”

“To hell with you, Morgan!” Jules screamed.

Frank stepped away from the bar, his right hand near the butt of his Peacemaker. “Make your play, Trainor.”

“I don't want to have to kill you, Morgan!”

“Oh, but I want to kill you, Jules. I want to kill you so bad I can taste it. You're a damned coward. No, you're worse than that, you're a mommy and daddy's boy. You hide behind your name. You're nothing but a rotten son of a bitch!”

“Don't force me to kill you!” Jules shouted.

Without taking his eyes off Jules, Frank asked, “You boys in on this?”

“We didn't have nothin' to do with no rape, Morgan. We left the girl with Jules and a couple of others and headed on back to the ranch after we set the place on fire. We thought the nesters would get out. I didn't like it when I heard they burned up. As for Jules, he can saddle his own horses and stomp on his own snakes. He's a growed-up man.”

“What others? Give me names.”

“You shut up, Storey,” his saddle pard said.

“You go to hell, Garner. It was Mike Reeves and some guy called Cullen.”

“You got a yellow streak in you, Storey,” Garner said, stepping away from the bar. “I'm with you, Jules. Let's take him.”

Storey backed away, holding his hands up in front of him. “I'm out of this, Morgan.”

“Fine. You ready to die, Garner? If so, make your play.”

“Damn you, Morgan!” Garner shouted. “Pull iron!” Garner's hand dropped to the butt of his gun.

Frank hooked and drew cleanly and swiftly. His bullet hit Garner in the chest, and the hired gun folded and sat down hard on the saloon floor, his own pistol still in leather.

“I'm gone, Morgan!” Storey said. “I mean, I'm clearin' out.”

“Fine. Hit the trail and don't look back,”

Storey walked out of the saloon and rode away.

Garner sat on the floor and cussed Morgan, both hands pressed against the bleeding hole in his chest.

Frank slid his Peacemaker back into leather and looked at Jules. “Your turn, Jules. Make your move.”

“You leave me alone, Morgan!” Jules yelled.

“Kill the bastard, Jules,” Garner moaned.

“I'm goin' home,” Jules said.

“Back to hide behind your mommy's skirts, Jules?” Frank taunted him.

“You shut up! My dad will take care of you.”

Frank laughed at him.

“You can take him, Jules,” Garner said. “Do it!”

“Shut up!” Jules screamed at the dying gunman.

“Drag iron, Jules,” Frank said.

“No!” Jules shouted.

Frank stepped toward the young man, smiling as he walked. “Come on, Jules. Show me how fast you are”

“You stay away from me, Morgan!” Jules yelled. “Damn you, now you leave me alone, you hear?”

Frank took another step. “You're real brave when it comes to beating up and raping young girls, Jules. But you got no guts when it comes to facing men, do you?”

“I'm as much a man as you! And I'll kill you someday, Morgan!” Jules's shrill words were almost a scream.

“Why not today, Jules?” Frank told him. “The Indians would say it's a good day to die. Are you afraid to die, Jules?”

“Kill him, Jules,” Garner said as he collapsed on the floor. “Kill him for me. I'm done for, boy. Kill him.”

“You shut up!” Jules screamed. “Don't tell me what to do.”

But Garner couldn't hear him. He was dead.

“Just you and me now, Jules,” Frank said. “You better draw. And you'd better make your first shot count:”

Jules backed up.

Frank moved toward the young man. The bartender stood and watched in silence. He wasn't about to get involved in this fracas.

Jules backed up against the wall. He was trapped.

Frank smiled at him. “Now, you damned worthless piece of crap. Now what are you going to do?”

Jules lunged at Frank, in hopes of knocking him down and getting to the open door of the building. Frank slugged him, a hard right to the mouth that put Jules butt-down on the floor, his lips bloody.

“How many times did you hit that young girl, Jules?” Frank asked.

“Goddamn you!” Jules screamed, crawling to his knees. “They wasn't nothin' but nesters. They got what they deserved. They ain't worthy people.”

Frank put the toe of his boot in Jules's belly, knocking the wind out of him and laying him back on the floor, gasping for breath. Frank reached down and hauled the young man to his feet. He reached down and jerked Jules's guns from leather, hurling them across the room. Then he proceeded to beat the crap out of Jules Trainor.

When he finished, Jules Trainor's looks had been forever altered. The young man's face was ripped and mangled. His nose was flattened against his face. One ear was hanging down, held by only a thin strip of skin.

Jules lay on the saloon floor, puking from all the blows he'd taken in his belly. He was crying in pain and frustration and humiliation.

The bartender had not moved during the brief one-sided but brutal and bloody fight. Now he said, “Good God A'mighty. Morgan, you better haul your ashes out of this state. The colonel is sure to come gunnin' for you.”

“I hope he does. I really hope that arrogant bastard does.”

The barkeep pointed toward Jules. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Throw him out in the road if you want to. I don't care. Right now, pull me a beer. I'm thirsty.”

“You better clear out now, Morgan. And I mean right now. I'm tellin' you that for your own good.”

“Why should I?”

“'Cause a bunch of them boys drawin' fightin' wages from the .45, the Snake, and the Lightnin' ranches like to come here for a drink near'bouts ever' day, that's why.”

“Good. I'll just wait then. Now pull me that beer.”

“Oh, Lord,” the barkeep moaned, shaking his head. “My place is gonna be shot all to pieces, I just know it.”

“We'll all make sure you get compensated for any damages.”

“Compen . . . what?”

“Paid.”

“Oh. How can you pay me if you're dead?”

“I don't plan on being dead.”

“Trainor yonder didn't plan on gettin' his gizzard stomped out neither.” The bartender pointed to the nearly unconscious Jules. “But he damn shore did.”

“Are you going to pull me that beer?”

“Shore, shore. Right now. Don't get your dander up, Morgan. I'm just a poor store owner, that's all. I ain't got no di-rect hand in none of this.”

“Fine. I'll be sitting over there.” Frank pointed to a table by the window. “Bring the beer to me.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Jules moaned on the floor and tried to get up. He didn't make it, falling heavily back to the boards.

“I hope he don't die in here,” the barkeep said. “That would be bad for business. Not to mention my health.”

“He'll probably bleed on your floor some more. But you can mop that up. He's not going to croak.”

Frank's beer was placed on the table, and the barkeep moved quickly back behind the counter. “Mr. Morgan?”

“What?”

“Don't you think we ought to do something for young Trainor?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Patch him up, or something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I ain't no doctor.”

“Then leave him lay where he is.”

“You 'bout the coldest man I ever seen.”

“So I've been told.”

“Son of a bitch!” Jules mumbled through smashed lips and loose teeth.

“Are you talking to me, buffalo turd?” Frank asked.

“I'll kill you,” Jules said.

“Sure you will.”

“My daddy will horsewhip you and then hang you.”

Frank laughed at him and took a swig of beer.

“Oh, Lord, Morgan!” the barkeep said.

“What's the matter?”

“Riders coming from the north. I hear them.”

“Good,” Frank said. “Now it'll get interesting.”

“You're crazy, Morgan!” the barkeep said. “They'll kill you.”

“I doubt it.” Frank finished his beer in two swallows and stood up, walking to the front door and looking out. “Only four of them.”

“Only four?” It was then the barkeep noticed the short-barreled. 45 tucked behind Frank's gunbelt, at the small of his back.

“Help!” Jules hollered weakly and very mush-mouthed. “Help me, boys.”

“They can't hear you, you pissant,” Frank told him. “And nobody is going to help you. So why don't you just shut your dirty lying mouth.”

“My daddy will get you for this, Morgan!” Jules gasped.

But Frank had already stepped out onto the wide porch.

The Snake riders reined up in front of the store and sat their saddles, staring in silence at Frank.

“Any of you named Reeves or Cullen?” Frank asked.

“I'm Reeves, Morgan,” a stocky rider said. “What's it to you?”

“Where's Cullen?”

“Back at the ranch, if that's any of your business, which it damn shore ain't.”

Before Frank could speak, another Snake rider asked, “Where's Jules and Storey and Garner?”

“Garner's in the bar part of the store, with ants crawling across his dead eyes. Storey lit a shuck out of the country. Mama's little boy Jules is inside, on the floor, where I stomped his face in and kicked a few of his teeth out.”

“You're a goddamn liar, Morgan!” the Snake hand said. “No two like you could kill Garner and make Storey take water.”

“Kill him!” The weak voice of Jules could be heard from inside. “Kill the bastard for me, boys. He hurt me bad.”

“Your play, boys,” Frank said calmly.

Two of the Snake hands reached for iron.