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  “You can have it,” the woman said. “I don’t want it.”

  “Me neither,” Danny said. “I want grass and trees and water. I don’t like this part of the country.”

  “The outlaws are running away,” Tess said, peeping out through a hole in the old wall. “They’re riding away.”

  Frank took a quick look. The desert floor was littered with dead and wounded men, many of them mangled from the dynamite blasts.

  “Is it over?” Jerry asked.

  “I think so, son,” Dewey replied. “At least this fight is.”

  “What do you think, Dewey?” Frank questioned. “Ride out or stay put?”

  “Why leave?” the mountain man asked. “We got good water and a good position.”

  “Suits me,” Frank agreed. “Let’s fix supper.”

  Out on the desert floor, several wounded outlaws moaned. The defenders of the old fort ignored them.

  Nineteen

  The victors of the fight at the ruins pulled out before dawn the next morning. They neither tended to the wounded nor buried the dead.

  “I’ll kill you someday, Morgan,” one wounded man gasped as Frank led the party out at predawn. “I swear on my mother’s eyes I’ll kill you for this.”

  “We left you some food and coffee in the ruins,” Frank told the man. “The girls’ idea. Not mine. If you can drag yourself over there, you might make it. The water’s cold and sweet. Personally, I hope you murdering, kidnapping, child-raping bastards all die and rot right where you fell.”

  “You’re a mean, heartless son of a bitch, Frank Morgan!”

  “I hope the ants get you all,” Dewey told another wounded man.

  “I hate you, you sorry old bastard!” the wounded outlaw hissed.

  Dewey smiled at him, lifted the reins, and rode away.

  “You gots to hep me!” the man who was still pinned under the giant saguaro cactus called feebly.

  “I don’t gots to do nothin’,” Dewey told him.

  “Val Dooley’ll kill you all!” another man called.

  Dewey answered that with an obscene hand gesture.

  “Mr. Morgan,” Tess said when they were on the road south, “you and Mr. Dewey are hard men.”

  “It’s a hard land, Tess,” Frank told the girl. “I have no sympathy for men like those we left back at the ruins.”

  “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” Sarah asked.

  “Probably.”

  “I hope so,” Susan said. “I hope they die hard. They’re cruel and evil people.”

  Frank cut his eyes to Julie, who was riding along beside him. The woman’s expression did not change at her daughter’s words.

  “Well, I guess I do too,” Tess said.

  “Me too,” Sarah said. “But us leaving them food just proves that we’re better people than they are.”

  “You girls are good people,” Dewey told them. “But if them men we left back yonder ever get another chance to do to you what they done before, they will. Don’t never doubt that. Trash is trash. You can pour a bottle of perfume on garbage, but it’s still garbage.”

  “Keep your eyes open for any dust,” Frank told the group. “This is Apache country and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

  “Is Tucson a big city?” Tess asked.

  “It ain’t no little town,” Dewey replied. “I ’spect they’s probably six or eight thousand people all jammed up there.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked.

  “Damned if I know, child,” Dewey said. “I never have understood why people want to act like sheep and all crowd together. When was the last time you was in Tucson, Drifter?”

  “It’s been several years, Dewey. More years than I like to think about really.” Frank took off his hat and used his bandanna to wipe the sweat from his face. “And it sure hasn’t gotten any cooler.”

  “Dust to the south of us,” Dewey said, squinting against the fierce glare of the sun.

  “A lot of it,” Frank said. “I don’t think it’s Injuns.”

  The column of dust drew closer and Dewey said, “Soldier boys. A whole mess of ’em.”

  “They’re a long way from Fort Huachuca,” Frank said.

  “Them ain’t Buffalo Soldiers,” Dewey said as the column of cavalry came into clear view. “Them boys is white. Must be a special detail sent out here to fight the ’Paches.”

  The long column of cavalry, complete with supply and hospital wagons, stopped and waited for the slim line of riders to approach.

  “Are you people aware this road has been closed to civilians?” the officer at the head of the column said.

  “If that’s the case, how are we ’posed to get from one place to the other?” Dewey asked. “Fly?”

  The colonel gave the old mountain man a very jaundiced look. “You were supposed to stay put, old-timer. For your safety.”

  “Well, we decided to take a little ride, General,” Dewey told him. “We wanted to see the sights, I reckon you might say.”

  “I don’t care for your attitude,” the colonel replied.

  “Tough titty, as the kitty said. But the milk was good.”

  Several junior officers smiled at that. One glance from the colonel wiped the smiles from their faces.

  “It was very irresponsible on your part, bringing children into a zone of hostility,” the colonel told him, looking at Tess, Sarah, Susan, and Jerry.

  “That’s Frank Morgan!” one cavalaryman blurted out from the ranks.

  The colonel looked at Frank. “Is that true, sir?”

  “That’s my name,” Frank told him.

  “The shootist?”

  “I been called worse, I reckon.”

  “Where are you going, Morgan?”

  “That’s my business, Colonel.”

  “I’m making it my business, Morgan.”

  “I’m taking a pleasant ride through the cool countryside.”

  “Why are you so reluctant to answer a simple question?”

  “I don’t like the way you asked it, Colonel.”

  The colonel and Frank Morgan spent the next full minute staring at each other. The colonel blinked first.

  “Very well, Morgan,” the colonel said. “The well-being of these innocent children is in your hands. I’ll hold you responsible for them.”

  “I been looking after them and Mrs. Barnes for the past month, Colonel.”

  The colonel shifted his gaze to Julie. “You are Mrs. Barnes?”

  “I am. And what Mr. Morgan just told you is quite true.”

  “Are all these children yours?”

  “Not hardly, sir. Only Susan.”

  Susan raised a hand. “I’m Susan.”

  “And the others, ma’am?”

  “We rescued them from the Val Dooley gang north of here. The Val Dooley gang killed my husband and kidnapped me, Susan, and her sister, Rebecca. Frank Morgan single-handedly rescued Susan and me. We are looking for Rebecca.”

  “I . . . see,” the colonel said hesitantly. He looked at Frank. “You are to be commended, sir. You believe Rebecca is being held in the southern part of Arizona Territory?”

  “I do, Colonel.”

  “And you intend to rescue Mrs. Barnes’s other daughter?”

  “I intend to rescue all the children who are being held at a certain spot not far from Tucson. Furthermore, I intend to kill every man who is a member of the Val Dooley gang and also those who buy, sell, or have a hand in the kidnapping.”

  The colonel blinked at the bluntness of Frank’s words. “Well, sir, don’t you think you should alert the authorities rather than take matters into your own hands?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “You’re not from this part of the country, are you, Colonel?”

  “No, Mr. Morgan, I am from New England.”

  “That explains it.”

  “Oh? What does it explain, sir?”

  “You folks got rules and written codes and laws and pol
ice officers and the like. Don’t no one where you come from tote a gun, do they?”

  “No. Absolutely not. Only officers of the law are permitted to carry pistols.”

  “You’d have a damn sight less crime if everybody packed a pistol. Then if you saw someone breaking the law, you could just shoot them and be done with it.”

  “I . . . see. That’s the way you handle it, sir?”

  “That’s about the size of it, Colonel.”

  The colonel of cavalry saw a very slight smile crease Frank’s lips, and realized then that Frank was putting one over on him . . . at least to some degree, he thought. He nodded his head. “Very good, Mr. Morgan. You had me going there for a moment.”

  “If you say so, Colonel.”

  “If I might make a suggestion, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s time for us to rest our horses and perhaps make some coffee and have some hardtack. Would you and your party join us?”

  “Coffee sounds good, Colonel. We’ll pass on the hardtack.”

  “I can’t blame you for that, Mr. Morgan.” He pointed. “Over there, if you will.”

  As the fires were built for the soldiers’ coffee, Frank squatted down and waited for the colonel, Dewey with him.

  “What you reckon that stuffed shirt’s got on his mind?” Dewey asked.

  “No way of knowing, partner. Here he comes, so I reckon we’ll soon know.”

  “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes, gentlemen,” the officer said. “By the way, my name is Clayton. Thomas Clayton. Let’s dispense with the formal titles, shall we?”

  “I’m Frank and this here is Dewey. What’s on your mind, Tom?”

  “The safety of the females and the boy, Frank.”

  “Colonel,” Dewey said, “back up this road a few miles you’re gonna come to the ruins of an old army fort.”

  “I’m familiar with it, sir.”

  “I’m glad you is. Well, by now the buzzards is havin’ a feast on the bodies of the outlaw scum that attacked us yesterday.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Colonel Clayton said stiffly.

  “Bodies, Colonel. All shot up . . . by us. They was about twenty-five or thirty of ’em when they attacked us. I reckon maybe a dozen rode out, and some of them was wounded. Miss Julie and her daughter accounted for several of them dead and wounded. You get my drift?”

  “I do, sir. You know who these men are . . . were?”

  “Part of the Val Dooley gang,” Frank said.

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “They mentioned his name.”

  A sergeant walked over with three cups of coffee and passed them around. Colonel Clayton thanked him and the sergeant backed off.

  The coffee was hot and strong, and both Frank and Dewey sipped theirs gratefully.

  “And you are going to attack the Val Dooley gang, Frank? You and Dewey and the lady and the girls?”

  “And Danny and Jerry,” Frank said with a smile.

  “Of course,” Clayton acknowledged. “And Danny and Jerry.”

  “That’s the plan, Tom.” Frank had decided not to tell the army officer anything about the rancher, Big Max Collins.

  The colonel shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I don’t have the authority to stop you. All I can do is wish you good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Frank replied.

  “I have tried to stay out of civilian affairs,” Colonel Clayton said after a moment of silence. “However, I can tell you this. I have heard that a rancher name of Max Collins is involved in the buying and selling of men and women. I do not know if there is any truth in the report.”

  “We heard the same rumor,” Frank said.

  “I’ve met the man,” Clayton continued. “He is a very disagreeable sort. Very crude and obnoxious. Somewhat of a bully, I would say.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing,” Frank said.

  The colonel stood up. “I have to say that it is my belief the world would be a much better place without Max Collins.” He smiled. “If you get my drift. Good day, gentlemen, and good luck to you all.”

  Orders were shouted and the cavalry rode off.

  “Interestin’ sort of feller, that colonel,” Dewey remarked.

  “Yes,” Frank agreed. “He is that.”

  “You sort of have to think some on his words, don’t you?”

  “Being a military man and having to live under a hard set of rules and regulations, he has to be careful about what he says. But I do believe I got his message.”

  “We ought to go kill Max Collins.”

  “Somebody should.”

  “Well . . . I been sayin’ that for years.”

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  “For you to git up and let’s ride.”

  Frank stood up. “I’m up.”

  “Let’s ride.”

  Twenty

  Tucson was crowded, busy, hot, and dusty. After they stabled the horses and Dog with them, then got rooms at a hotel, Julie and the girls called for a hot bath. Leaving Danny and Jerry to look after the privacy of the women, Frank and Dewey went in search of the seediest-looking saloon.

  “When them females git nekkid, no peekin’ now,” Dewey told the young men, bringing a flush of color to their cheeks.

  Frank laughed at the young men.

  On a side street, Frank spotted a likely-looking watering hole. “That looks about right for a place to have some trouble.”

  “It shore do, Drifter. For a pure-dee fact. Wonder if that feller layin’ out front is passed out drunk or dead.”

  Frank looked up into the sky and then pointed. “No buzzards.”

  “Hell, he might smell so bad even they don’t want to have nothin’ to do with him.”

  “That would be some powerful, Dewey. You ready to cut this dust from our throats?”

  “I figure a bottle might do it.”

  “I’ll leave the rotgut to you,” Frank told him. “I’ll settle for a couple of beers.”

  It was smoky but cool inside the dimly lighted saloon. About a third of the tables were occupied, with half a dozen men at the bar. Frank and Dewey took a spot at the end of the bar and waited for the barkeep.

  “What’ll it be, boys?” a big man in bad need of a shave and wearing a very dirty apron called from the other end of the bar.

  “A bottle for my friend and a beer for me,” Frank called. “You got anything to eat in this place?”

  “Beans and tortillas.”

  “Bring a couple of plates, will you?”

  “Comin’ up.” The barkeep paused and looked back at Frank. He frowned. “Don’t I know you, Mister?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I think I do. It’ll come to me in a little while. You sure look familiar.”

  Frank sipped his beer and Dewey knocked back a shot of red-eye while they waited for their food. When the food came, it was surprisingly good. The beans were spicy and the tortillas were hot and fresh.

  Frank caught the bartender’s eye. He motioned toward the food. “Good, real good.”

  The barkeep pulled a beer for himself and walked down to the end of the bar, leaning against it. “My old woman’s a good cook.”

  “She shore is,” Dewey mumbled around a mouthful of food. “This here is damn good grub.”

  “You boys look like you’ve come a piece.”

  “Phoenix.”

  “That road’s closed,” a young man standing a few yards away from Frank said. “Nothin’ movin’ north or south in days.”

  “Except for us,” Frank said quietly. The man was hunting trouble; Frank picked up on that immediately. But Frank was not the sort to back down from anyone, much less a loudmouth.

  “I say you didn’t come from Phoenix.”

  “And I say I don’t much give a damn what you say.”

  “Nobody talks to Ted Collins like that, mister,” the young loudmouth said, pushing back from the bar to face Frank.

  “I just did, T
ed,” Frank said softly, picking up on the name Collins.

  “You ain’t never heard of me?” Ted demanded.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Then you ain’t been around much, have you?”

  Frank smiled and picked up his beer mug. With his left hand. A motion that did not escape the barkeep’s eyes. “I’ve been here and there, Teddy.”

  “Don’t call me Teddy!”

  Frank carefully set the mug down on the bar. “That’s your name, isn’t it? I bet your mama called you Little Teddy, didn’t she?”

  “Damn you!” Ted hollered.

  The patrons in the saloon fell silent.

  “Ted’s a bad one, mister,” a cardplayer called. “He’s fast.”

  “Some people say I am too,” Frank replied, never taking his eyes off Teddy.

  “You got a name?” Teddy demanded.

  “Don’t we all,” Frank asked, adding, “Teddy?”

  “I told you not to call me that, damn you!”

  “All right, Teddy. I won’t call you Teddy anymore. Does that suit you, Teddy? Oh, excuse me, Ted.”

  “Well?” Ted demanded.

  “Well, what?” Frank asked.

  “What’s your damn name, mister?”

  “Frank.”

  The bartender straightened up and blinked. “Oh, hell,” he muttered.

  “Frank don’t tell me squat!” Ted almost shouted the words. “Frank what, damn you?”

  “Morgan,” the bartender said. “That there’s Frank Morgan.”

  “These here beans are shore good,” Dewey said. “You reckon your wife would tell me how she fixes ’em?”

  “Man, this ain’t no time to be discussin’ beans,” the barkeep said.

  “I don’t believe that there’s Frank Morgan.” Teddy said.

  “Now you’re calling the barkeep a liar, Ted,” Frank said. “You really should watch your mouth.”

  “You ought to watch your own damn mouth,” Ted snapped. “And you ain’t Frank Morgan neither. Frank Morgan’s old as dirt.”

  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled, aren’t you, Dewey?”

  “What’s been settled?” Dewey asked.

  “I’m not Frank Morgan.”

  “You’re not? You shore could have fooled me.”