The Forbidden (17 page)

On his ride back to his place, Frank met and passed several local farmers and their families, heading into town to shop. None of them spoke to him or waved at him. Their actions began to amuse Frank and his dark mood lifted. He was feeling much better as he rode up to his place and Dog ran out to greet him.

“Well, someone is glad to see me,” he said, as he paused to pet the big cur. “I can always count on you, can't I, fellow?”

Dog barked happily and licked his hand.

“You feel like traveling?” Frank asked.

Dog jumped around and wagged his tail.

“Yeah? Well, me too. Two drifters, that's us.” He looked up as a buckboard rattled down the road and turned into Frank's place. Julie was at the reins, her blond hair shining in the sun.

“This ought to be interesting.” Frank muttered. “And final.”

“I
owe you an explanation, Frank,” Julie said.

I'll make it easy for you, Julie. I'm too violent. It sickens you. You can't bear to be around me anymore. Am I on the right track?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But you're a good man, Frank. There is a decent streak in you. I've seen it. If only you would take off those guns.”

“I'd be dead in a month.”

“You won't even try, Frank? Not even for us, for what we had?”

Frank shook his head. “You want to be a widow again, Julie?”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes turning chilly. “You can live with the gun or you can live with me, Frank. But you can't have it both ways.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“I will be eternally grateful for everything you've done for the kids and for me, Frank. And a part of me will always love you.”

“Good-bye and good luck, Julie.”

That startled her. She was visibly shaken when she said, “That's all you have to say about it, about us?”

“There is nothing else to say. Would you like me to see you home?”

“I can manage quite well, Frank.”

Frank touched the brim of his hat. Julie spun around and walked away, back to her buckboard. She drove away without a backward glance.

Frank walked back into the house, Dog padding along beside him. He made a pot of coffee and filled a cup, then sat on the porch in his rocking chair and smoked and drank his coffee.
Odd, he thought, I don't feel any great sense of loss about Julie. Actually, I don't feel anything. Maybe that means there wasn't anything of substance between us to build on. That's a good thought to maintain,
he concluded.

“Better to find out now than later,” Frank said aloud. “Later would have really been a big mess.”

Dog looked up at him, then left the porch in a run, to bark and chase at some chattering squirrels in the side yard.

“The next few days just might prove to be interesting,” Frank muttered. “It will all depend on what Trainor and the other ranchers have up their sleeves now that many of the hired guns are pulling out.”

Frank went back into his house and fixed another cup of coffee. “To hell with it,” he said as he sugared and stirred. “I'm better off alone.”

* * *

Frank stayed close to his house the rest of that day. The dozen or so gunfighters who had pulled out made up less than a quarter of the men the three ranchers had hired to fight the farmers. Frank was sure there would be more attacks. . . but when and where those attacks might occur was something he could not answer.

“It's none of my affair any longer,” he murmured. “The people have spoken, so to speak. The locals don't want me around, so I guess that means they can damn well handle their own troubles.”

But he knew if called upon for help, he would not hesitate.

Late that afternoon, Frank was sitting out on the porch enjoying the cool breeze that was blowing down from the distant mountains. He heard the sounds of horses coming down the road, and took his Peacemaker and laid it in his lap. The horses turned into his road, and Frank tensed when he recognized three men from the Snake brand; three hired guns.

“Take it easy, Morgan,” one called. “We ain't here to make no trouble.”

“Ride on in and have a seat on the porch then.”

“New, we'll just say what we come to say and then head on out.”

“You boys pulling out?”

“You betcha,” another gunny said. “And we ain't alone. 'Bout a dozen more pullin' out right behind us. In the mornin', I think.”

“Why?”

“This ain't workin' out, Morgan,” the third rider said. “I don't mind ridin' over crops or killin' hogs or whatever, but burnin' people to death and rapin' young girls and abusin' women ain't my style. I don't hold with that.”

“Good for you.”

“But the ones that are stickin' are mean, Morgan. They got no inner feelin's 'bout nothin'. They'd as soon kill a child as look at one.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for telling me.”

“We heard you was pullin' out too. That true?”

“Yep. Next week probably.”

“Maybe we'll see you around someplace, have a drink.”

“Maybe. You boys sure you don't want some coffee? I just made fresh.”

“Well . . . sure! Why not? It's a long ride for us.”

Frank rose from his chair as the gunhands dismounted, and all three were quick to notice the Peacemaker. One smiled and said, “Don't worry, Morgan. We done drawn our time and was ordered off Snake range. Old Colonel Fancy-Pants give us a good cussin', he did.”

Frank smiled. “I bet he did. That man doesn't like to lose. Have a seat. I'll get cups and the pot.”

“'Preciate it, Morgan.”

Over coffee and cigarettes, one of the hired guns said, “This is a nice place, Morgan. Peaceful. Damned if I don't think I could make a go of it if I had me a place like this.”

Frank smiled. “And hang up your guns too?”

The man returned the smile. “Folks like us can't never do that. Yeah, for a fact, I see what you're gettin' to. Damn shame, though.”

“Where are you boys heading now?”

“South. Down Texas way. Folks in West Texas are hiring; payin' fightin' wages.” He shrugged. “It's what we do. It's a job of work.”

The guns-for-hire finished their coffee and stood up. “You watch yourself, Morgan,” one said just before swinging into the saddle. “Trainor is turnin' 'bout half crazy. Course with him, that probably wasn't no long journey. Whole damn family's crazy, 'ceptin' for Viola, and she's so addled on drugs she don't know where she is most of the time. But there's no tellin' what the colonel's apt to do in his frame of mind.”

“I'll keep that in mind. You boys take it easy.”

Frank watched them ride away, then poured him another cup of coffee and returned to his rocking chair. Dog came around from behind the house and lay down beside the chair. “Only the real bad ones are left, Dog,” Frank said as the late afternoon shadows began to slowly creep over the land. “Someone's going to be coming after me, bet on that.”

Dog looked up at him, as if to say, “What else is new?”

“Yeah,” Frank whispered to the dying day. “Right.”

Frank sat for a few more quiet minutes, finishing his coffee. “I think, ol' fellow,” Frank said, “I'll just take me a ride into town come the morning. But I'll take the long way in and check on Julie and the young people. Give them some warning about what might be coming at them. I'll leave early, before good light.”

Far away, an owl hooted.

“Now some Indians would say that was a bad sign,” Frank said. “While some others would say it was a good omen. I guess we'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”

F
rank was on the move an hour before dawn, arriving at Julie's place just in time to smell the coffee boiling and the mouth-watering aroma of bacon sizzling in the skillet and fresh-baked biscuits just out of the oven.

But he doubted he would be invited in.

Julie met him at the door, and her eyes were glacier cold and her tone not much warmer. “You're out very early, Mr. Morgan.”

Frank sat his saddle and smiled at her. She was behaving like a little schoolgirl. But damned if he was going to tell her that. “Yes, I am, Miss Julie. I came to tell you of some new developments in the valley war.”

“I'm listening.”

Frank quickly brought her up to date, closing with: “I'd advise the boys to pack iron wherever they go.”

“Of course, you would, Mr. Morgan. That's how you settle everything. With violence.”

Frank sighed. “Where are the kids?”

“The boys drove their wives into town for an early appointment with Dr. Everett. They have to get back as quickly as possible. It's harvest time here. Or weren't you aware of that?”

“Yes, Julie. I know it's time to harvest. I may not know much about farming, but I do know that.”

She stood in the door and glared at him.

“I have a cup in my saddlebags, Julie. Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? Or would that be too much bother?”

“Give me your cup. I'll rinse it out for you and bring the coffee out to you.”

“Do you mind if I dismount?”

“Not at all. Just stay out here. I'll bring your coffee out to you.”

“Of course.” Frank swung down from the hurricane deck and gave her his tin cup.

“I suppose you'd like some bacon and biscuits too?”

“That would be right neighborly of you.”

She frowned at him, then turned and walked back into the house without speaking and closed the door.

The line about hell having no fury like a woman scorned sprang into Frank's mind. He thought:
Whoever wrote that sure must have pissed off some lady. The fellow damn sure knew what he was writing about.
He couldn't recall who penned that line.

Julie stepped outside with a plate of food and a cup of coffee. She handed it to him without speaking, then turned to walk back into the house. Frank's words stopped her cold.

“Julie, don't you think you're behaving a bit childish?”

She spun around, her eyes glowing with a cold fire. “I'm not the one who refuses to change, Frank.”

“Really, Julie? I'm one hundred percent wrong and you're one hundred percent right. Is that the way you see things?”

That made the woman so mad she began spitting like a cat. Frank backed up a step, the plate of bacon and biscuits in one hand, the cup of coffee in another. “Easy now, Julie,” he said with a smile he could not stop. “You wouldn't hit a nice, gentle person like me, would you?”

“Oh ...” she sputtered. “You . . .” She fought to find words. Unable to speak at the moment, Julie spun around and flounced back into the house, slamming the door.

Frank breathed a silent sigh of relief, and took his food and coffee over to a homemade bench under a tree and sat down. “I will never, ever understand women,” he said after taking a sip of coffee. “Horses and dogs, yes, but not women.”

Frank ate his bacon and biscuits and sipped his coffee. Before he could finish his coffee, the front door was jerked open and Julie came storming out, marching up to Frank. Frank quickly looked around; he was hemmed in.

“Give me the damn plate!” she demanded.

Frank handed her the empty plate.

“Just leave the cup on the bench when you're finished.”

“It happens to be
my
cup. Unless you want something to remember me by.”

“Frank!”

“All right, all right. Just making a small joke.” He drained his tin cup. “I'll be on my way, Julie.” He stood up and started toward Horse.

“Frank?”

He turned around.

“I appreciate everything you've done. More than I can ever put into words. I want you to understand that.”

“All right, Julie. I do.”

“But I can't live the way I know you think you must. Do you understand that?”

“I guess so.”

“I'm sorry. So very sorry.”

“Me too, Julie. Me too.” He mounted up and rode away, without looking back.

Frank rode into town and reined up in front of Doc Everett's office. Donnie and Phil were sitting in the waiting room. “Boys,” Frank said. “Is everything all right with the girls?”

“Yes, sir,” Donnie said. “Everything is fine. They're getting dressed now. The nurse is in there with them. Doc Everett is seeing another patient.”

“Crops look real good.”

“They're going to be bumper,” Phil said. “Why do you have to leave, Mr. Morgan?” he abruptly asked.

“Because it's time, Phil. That's the best answer I can give you.”

He nodded his head. “I know that Mama is not real easy to get along with at times.”

“She's a good woman, Phil. She just really doesn't know anything about a gunfighter's life, that's all.”

“It must be tough to hang up those guns, Mr. Morgan.”

“It's almost impossible, Phil. Look, good to see you, boys. Tell the girls I said hello and we'll see each other again before I pull out.”

Frank left the office and sat down on the shady side of the street, out of the glare of the morning sun. Once again the thought came to him that this was really a nice town. The town was clean and free of trash. The streets were graded often; a water wagon was used when needed to cut down on dust.
This town is probably going to make it,
Frank thought.
Those in the north part of the valley will not succeed in destroying the town of Heaven, no matter how
many
gunfighters they bring in. The good people will prevail.
Frank was suddenly certain of that.
Maybe someday I can come back and live out my remaining days here. I would like that.

Frank watched as a dozen or so horsemen appeared on the edge of town. He stared, trying to identify them, then tensed when he recognized Don Bullard and Ken Gilmar, accompanied by some of their hired guns. The group rode en masse up the main street, stopping when they reached the center of town, across from where Frank was sitting under the awning, in the shade. One of the men pointed at the buckboard in front of Dr. Everett's office.

Frank watched as Doc Everett came out of his office to stand and glare at the ranchers and their paid shooters.

“Our kids in there, Doc?” Ken Gilmar asked in too loud a voice.

“What if they are?” the doctor questioned. “What business is that of yours?”

“They're our kids, damn you!” Don Bullard yelled. “That makes it our business.”

“They're married legally and in the sight of God,” Doc Everett came right back. “As far as I know, that makes them adults according to the laws of this territory.”

“We don't give a tinker's damn about the laws of this territory. I want my boy out here right now!” the owner of the Diamond .45 hollered. “Don't make me walk all over you to get him, Doc!”

“And I want my girl out here!” the Lightning owner shouted. “And by God, I'll tear that office down if I have to.”

“Both of you can go to hell,” Doc Everett said calmly. “And take your damned hired guns with you.”

“I'm warnin' you, Doc,” Ken said. “Don't make this no shootin' issue.”

“You going to shoot me, Ken?” Doc Everett challenged. “Shoot me down in cold blood? I don't carry a gun and you all know it.”

“Doc,” Don said in a calmer tone of voice. “We're not going to shoot you. You know better than that. But we're the parents of that boy and girl in yonder. We got a right to talk to our kids.”

“You both disowned them. You gave up your rights when you did that.”

“Them was hard words spoken in heat. You know we didn't mean it.”

Doc Everett said nothing as he stood on the boardwalk, staring at the heavily armed group of men.

Frank felt eyes on him and studied the mounted men. He met the eyes of two men: Lee Brown and Able Wainwright, two gun-handlers out of Arizona. Frank knew that both of them were experienced and both of them were fast and better-than-average shots.

Donnie Bullard and Betty Lou Gilmar Wilson stepped out of the doctor's office. Donnie was carrying a rifle and Betty Lou was toting a pistol. A .44, it looked like to Frank.

“What are you kids doin' with them guns?” Don asked.

“That depends on you, Dad,” the son replied. “It's all up to you.”

“And you, girl,” Gilmar said to his daughter. “You ain't never shot a pistol in your life. You try to fire that thing and you're apt to blow your own foot off.”

“I've been firing a pistol for two years, Daddy,” Betty Lou said. “Phil taught me with a pistol that Donnie loaned him. And I'm a pretty good shot.”

“Is that right?” the father demanded.

“That's right, Daddy. And I'll tell you something else that's right. This is your grandbaby I'm carrying. A part of me and I'm a part of you.”

The Lightning owner put both gloved hands on the saddle horn and took a deep breath. He sat his saddle and stared at his daughter.

“So you're not comin' home with your pa, right, girl?”

“I'm going home with my husband, Pa. And you and Mother are welcome to visit us anytime you like.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, Pa. That's right.”

“Well, damn!” the rancher said, and took off his hat and shook his head. “You do have a fair amount of sand in you, girl. You take after me, I reckon.”

“I reckon I do, Pa.”

“Pa,” Donnie said. “Let me tell you something.”

“Go ahead, boy,” Bullard said.

“I never wanted to be just like you. I mean . . . you're a good man in your own way. But I knew what I wanted to be the first time I seen a field of wheat in the sun. And when me and Katie first started battin' eyes at one another, I knew I was gonna farm the land with her. For the rest of my life. I love this country and I love the land. I like to see things grow. And I like the people south of the line. I'm proud to be a part of them.”

“You through, boy?” Don asked.

“No, I'm not, Pa. You won't beat us. You can't. 'Cause we're in the right, and you're in the wrong. And if I have to, I'll shoot you personal. God forgive me for sayin' that. But I will, Pa. I mean it.”

“I believe you do mean that, son.”

“I do, Pa. Standin' right here beside my wife.”

The two ranchers looked at each other for a moment. Then both of them slumped in the saddle. Don Bullard was the first to speak. “It's over,” he said. “The war is over, far as I'm concerned. You, Ken?”

“I'm done,” he replied. He looked around him at the hired guns. “Any of you boys that have time comin' see the foreman and pack your gear. This war is over.”

“Same with me,” Don announced. “I got no more use for pistol-handlers. Draw your time and ride.”

“Hell, Trainor's still hirin',” Lee Brown said.

“After we finish up in this town,” Able Wainwright, his saddle pard said.

Lee cut his eyes to Frank. “Yeah. You be right about that.”

The other gun-handlers silently turned their horses and rode out of town. Lee and Able dismounted, tied up at a hitching post, and walked to the saloon.

Two more looking for a reputation,
Frank thought just as John Simmons walked up.

“By golly, Frank,” the banker said. “I believe the war is just about over.”

“Tell the women to gather up their kids and get off the street,” Frank told him.

“What?”

“Brown and Wainwright. The two gunhands who walked over to the saloon.”

“What about them?”

“They're going to brace me. Clear the street.”

“Are you sure, Frank? They've just been dismissed by their employers. I heard Don and Ken tell them.”

“This has nothing to do with money, John. Clear the street.”

John walked away and Frank waited on the boardwalk, in the shade. When Brown and Wainwright had knocked back enough whiskey to bolster their nerve, they'd step out and challenge Frank.

Don Bullard and Ken Gilmar had walked into the doctor's office with their kids. The boardwalk on both sides of the street was rapidly clearing of foot traffic. Frank waited. His wait was not long;
maybe three quick shot glasses of bad whiskey,
he thought as the batwings were pushed open and Lee and Able stepped out.

“You ready, Morgan!” Lee hollered, Able standing beside him.

“Make your play,” Frank said.

The two gunmen grabbed iron.