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A few moments later, after the sounds of a horse’s hooves had faded, Sims called, “All right, Morgan. All right. How about the rest of us?”

  “What about you, Sims?”

  “Can we give it up and ride out?”

  “Without your guns, yes.”

  “This is ’Pache country, Morgan! You can’t take our guns away from us. That’d be like handin’ us a death sentence.”

  “Take it or leave it, Sims.”

  “I’ll take it,” one of Sim’s men called. “That damn shore beats a-layin’ here waitin’ for a bullet.”

  “How about you, Sims?” Frank called.

  “All right, Morgan,” Sims said. “You win. We’re comin’ out.”

  “Do it slow and easy, boys,” Frank cautioned.

  Outlaws began rising up from out of their scant cover on the other side of the camp, hands in the air.

  “Don’t shoot them, ladies,” Frank called. “Let’s keep our word.”

  “Ladies?” Sims yelled. “You mean them others with you is wimmen?”

  “That’s right, Sims. Pretty good shots, aren’t they?”

  Sims started cussing.

  Julie and Susan began laughing.

  Frank stood up.

  Sims looked at him for a moment and grabbed for his six-gun.

  Ten

  Frank shot him from the hip with his .44-40. Sims turned around once as if spun by a mighty hand, then crumpled to his knees, dropping his pistol. He cussed Frank for a few seconds, then toppled over face-first in the rocks, hard hit but still alive.

  The other outlaws made no attempt to grab for their weapons. They stood silently, hands in the air.

  “That one tried to be nice to me,” Susan said, pointing at a young man.

  “Which one?” Frank asked.

  “The one wearing the black-and-white-checkered shirt. His name is Danny.”

  “Get over here, Danny,” Frank said. “The rest of you get facedown on the ground.” Danny walked slowly toward Frank. “On the ground, I said.”

  The outlaws hit the ground.

  “How did this one help you, Susan?” Julie asked when Danny drew closer.

  “He didn’t rape me. When he wouldn’t, the others laughed at him and called him names.”

  “Is that right, Danny?” Julie asked.

  “He’s a yeller-bellied, wet-behind-the-ears kid,” Sims said with a groan.

  “I was in jail when Harwood and Nick broke out,” the young man explained. “They made me go with them. Said they’d kill me if I refused.”

  “What were you in jail for?” Frank said.

  “I broke into a general store and stole some clothes back in the spring. I was cold and didn’t have no money and couldn’t find a job. Judge give me a year in jail. I didn’t mind that. Least I was warm and had something to eat ever day.”

  “Stinkin’ coward,” one of the bellied-down outlaws said.

  “Shut up,” Frank told him. He cut his eyes toward Danny. “Get over here and sit down and be quiet.”

  “Yes, sir!” Danny said quickly.

  “If just one of them on the ground starts moving, ladies,” Frank said, “start shooting.”

  “We ain’t gonna move!” one yelled.

  Frank quickly collected all the guns and dragged the wounded outlaws into the clearing.

  “I hurt somethin’ awful,” the outlaw with the shot-off leg complained. “You ain’t a decent man, Morgan, draggin’ me like I was a dead hog.”

  “When we leave,” Frank told him, “you can get someone to heat a runnin’ iron and cauterize that stump.”

  “Oh, Lord!” the man hollered.

  “How ’bout me?” Sims groaned.

  “You’re done for,” Frank told him.

  “I ain’t neither!” Sims said. “I’m gonna live to kill you, Morgan.”

  “Get the horses,” Frank told Julie and Susan. He looked at Danny. “You go get you a horse and saddle up. Get ready to ride.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Frank did not like the idea of turning men loose in Apache country without means to defend themselves . . . even these men. But he couldn’t take them with him, and he wasn’t going to cold-bloodedly line them up and kill them. So what else could he do? The nearest sheriff ’s office was several days’ ride away.

  When the women had returned with the horses, Frank asked Susan, “Did any of these men rape you?”

  “Yes. But they’re paying for it. Sims did, and so did the man called Charlie. Noah raped me several times, and so did the man Mama shot in the leg. There were others, but they aren’t here with this bunch.”

  “All right. Mount up.” He looked at Danny. “Do you know where the next camp is located, boy?”

  “No, sir. I ain’t been with this bunch very long. Harwood and Nick was regular members. Way I heard it told, they was with this feller named Mason when Val Dooley come along. They plotted with Dooley to have Mason killed.”

  “Take the lead, Danny. Head south.”

  “Yes, sir. Does that dog of yours bite?”

  “Only if you mess with him.”

  “I can promise you, I ain’t gonna do that.”

  “Good. Move out.” Frank swung into the saddle.

  “Mean-lookin’ dog,” Danny muttered.

  “I play with him all the time.” Susan grinned at Danny.

  “You’re welcome to do it,” Danny said.

  As Danny was leading the women and the packhorses out, Frank turned to the men on the ground. “You all know what’s going to happen if I ever seen any of you again, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” several of the outlaws said. “We’re dead men.”

  “You got that right. See to it that you don’t ever meet me again after today.”

  “I’m gonna meet you,” Sims groaned. “I’m gonna kill you when I do.”

  Frank lifted the reins and rode out without looking back.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, after the horses had been allowed to roll and graze, Frank rigged up a picket line close to camp. Susan was helping her mother fix supper, and Danny was sitting off to himself, his back to a tree.

  Frank got a cup of coffee and sat down. “We were real lucky today, ladies. So don’t get cocky and think all the outlaw camps will be as easy as this one was.”

  “We won’t,” Susan said. “Me and Mama been talking about just that very thing.”

  Frank looked over at Danny. “Get yourself some coffee, boy. Join us.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” he said, getting up and walking over, pouring a cup of coffee. “Coffee would taste good.”

  “Where are you from, Danny?” Frank asked.

  “Up in Iowa.”

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  “Pa was mean as a snake, Mr. Morgan. When he’d get tired of beatin’ on Ma, then he’d turn on me. I run off when I was just thirteen years old.”

  “How many years ago was that?”

  Danny thought for a moment. “Six years ago, near as I can figure. I heard from some movers last year that Pa died. I been thinkin’ of headin’ back up that way to see if maybe Ma would take me back in. I could help her on the farm.”

  “Your ma would take you back in, Danny,” Julie assured him. “You can count on that, believe me.”

  “Going to give up on a life of crime, boy?” Frank asked.

  Danny smiled, and the smile made him look even younger than he was. “I wasn’t much of a criminal, Mr. Morgan. First time I ever tired to steal anything I got caught. I didn’t know what them men was doin’ when I agreed to come along with them. And I didn’t do no kidnappin’, neither. I was back with the horses and the wagon when they attacked the wagon train.”

  “That’s true,” Susan said, verifying his statement. “Danny talked to me whenever he got the chance. I didn’t tell him I was going to run away the last time because I didn’t know when I was going to do it. When my chance came, I just took off.”

  Frank nodded his head. “You r
ide with us for a time, Danny.” Frank got to his feet and went to the pile of supplies, most of them still packed up in canvas. When he returned, he handed Danny a gun belt with holster and a .45. “Susan says you’ll do to ride the high country with, boy. And from what I’ve seen, I have to agree. You can get you a rifle for your saddle boot when you’ve a mind to. You know where they are.”

  Danny looked at the pistol for a moment, then stood up and buckled it around him. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Morgan. I promise you that.”

  “You can use that pistol, can’t you?”

  “I can shoot, sir. Yes, sir.”

  Frank nodded his head and leaned forward, hottening up his coffee from the big pot. He added a dab of sugar and stirred it. “Danny, you think those men I cut loose back yonder will rejoin the group?”

  “Yes, sir, I sure do. Most of them will anyway. They’re a sorry lot. The whole bunch of them.”

  “I figure they will too. But I don’t think they’ll be stupid enough to try to ambush us on the trail.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past them, sir. I think we’d better keep a close eye on our back trail.”

  “Oh, I plan to do just that, Danny,” Frank said with a smile. “I sure plan to do that.”

  * * *

  Frank hung back, watching their back trail. On the second day out from the outlaw camp, his hunch paid off. He spotted four men dogging their trail. He rode up and told the others to hunt cover in the brush and stay put. He left Stormy and Dog with the group and taking his rifle, climbed up a small knoll and got into position. Frank waited.

  Since he had not gotten a good enough look at those who had pulled out from the outlaw camp to identify any of them, he didn’t want to start blowing some innocent riders out of the saddle. He waited until the four men were only about a dozen yards from his location, then stood up and called, “Hold it, boys. Right there.”

  The quartet reined up abruptly. “Morgan?” one asked.

  “You got it. I warned you boys about following me.”

  “Now hold on, Morgan,” another said. “We wasn’t gonna cause you no trouble. We was headin’ down to Tucson, that’s all.”

  “Right,” Frank said dryly. “And if I hang my socks out on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus will come down the chimney and fill them up with goodies.”

  “So what now, Morgan?” another asked.

  “I see you boys got hold of some guns. Where’d you get them?”

  “That ain’t none of your damn business, Morgan,” the fourth one said, a very surly note to his voice.

  Frank pointed the muzzle of the .44-40 at the man’s chest. “This says I’m making it my business, hombre.”

  “We had them hid out,” one of the men said quickly.

  “You’re a damn liar!” Frank said. “So shuck them, boys. Right now.”

  “The hell we will!” the surly one snapped. “You go right straight to hell, Drifter.”

  Frank shot him. The .44-40 slug lifted the man out of the saddle and dumped him in a heap on the ground.

  Frank shifted the muzzle to the first man. “Now you tell me: Where did you get those guns?”

  “A couple of mover families and two driftin’ cowboys, Morgan. We kilt them cowpokes when they made a fuss over givin’ up their guns. But we didn’t hurt them movers none.”

  “Except for their women maybe,” Frank said, a very cold note to the statement.

  “Well . . . one of them had a right good-lookin’ daughter, and she was loath to lift them petticoats so we sorta lifted ’em for her.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Oh . . . I reckon twelve or thirteen. She wasn’t built up good at-all. Just had a couple of little knobs, that’s all.”

  Frank’s hands tightened on the rifle and he came very close to killing the man on the spot. Frank took a couple of breaths and forced himself to relax.

  “Shut up, Al,” one of the others said. “Shut your damn stupid mouth.”

  “What’s your problem, Waddy?” Al asked. “I was just answering a question, that’s all. That’s all I was doin’, wasn’t it, Jeb?”

  Jeb sighed. “Hush up, Al. Just hush up.”

  “Was the girl alive when you left?” Frank asked, his voice tight.

  “Oh, sure she were,” Al said. “Squallin’ and bawlin’ a bit. But she was alive.”

  “And the girl’s mother?”

  Al grinned nastily. “We done her too. That was fun. Me and Waddy held her down and Jeb—”

  “Shut up!” Frank snapped. “I’ve heard enough. Just shut your mouths.”

  “Hell with your orders!” Al yelled, and grabbed for his pistol.

  Frank blew him out of the saddle, then shifted the muzzle of the .44-40 just as the other two were dragging iron. Their horses were rearing and bucking in panic, preventing either of them from drawing smoothly. That was all the time Frank needed.

  He shot Waddy in the head, and the man fell out of the saddle as lifeless and boneless as a rag doll. Jeb cussed Frank and managed to get his pistol out of leather and trigger off one shot. His shot missed. Frank’s didn’t.

  Frank’s bullet struck Jeb in the chest and that was it for Jeb.

  Julie, Susan, and Danny came riding up just as Frank was climbing down from the knoll.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Danny called.

  “I’m a damn sight better than those four on the ground,” Frank said. “Gather up their guns and get those horses calmed down.”

  “We’re going to have enough guns to equip an army,” Julie remarked.

  “It might just come to that,” Frank replied. “You never know.”

  Eleven

  “Gone,” Frank said, looking around the deserted camp. He had checked the long-cold ashes of several campfires, and then inspected the horse droppings in what had been a makeshift corral. “Several days, at least. Maybe longer.”

  “They didn’t leave nothin’ behind neither,” Danny said. “This place has been stripped plumb bare.”

  “It’s a hard ride to the next camp,” Frank said. “We’ll follow the East Verde down to the tip of the Tonto Basin. Half a day’s ride past that there’s an old trading post. I told you about it, Julie.”

  “The one owned by your friend, Dewey?”

  “That’s it. He’ll tell us if any outlaws are within a hundred miles of there.”

  “How would he know?” Susan asked.

  “Indians tell him. He gets along with Indians. One of the few whites that do get along with the Apaches. He doesn’t bother them, they don’t bother him.”

  “You want to make camp here, Frank?” Julie asked.

  “No. We’ll ride a few miles farther. But fill up the water bags and the canteens from the creek yonder . . . just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Julie asked.

  “In case the spring I’ve got in mind has somehow dried up.” And he would say no more on the subject.

  Relaxing and drinking coffee at the campsite late that afternoon, Frank jerked his thumb and said, “There’s a stage road over to the east about twenty-five miles from here. But there isn’t but one town: Payson. Gold-mining town. No more towns on that road that I know of anyway. And the stage don’t run on a regular schedule. We’re going to stay on this route for a time. Even though the ’Paches—some of them—are on a rampage through this part of the country. We’ll provision up with some potatoes and onions and the like at Dewey’s trading post.”

  “Is there a faster route?” Susan asked.

  “Yes. But it’s desert a lot of the way. And water is scarce. This way is better.”

  “Sure is a lot different from where I was born,” Danny said, a wistful note to his statement.

  “I’ve never been to Iowa, Danny,” Frank said. “What’s it like?”

  “Pretty and green,” the young man replied. “Corn and wheat country. And you can grow a garden near’bouts anywhere. Ma and me has us a garden. Potatoes and green beans and peas and such as that. We’d have us
some corn on the cob and new potatoes and green beans, cooked with a big hunk of sowbelly for flavoring.” He smiled. “That and some corn bread sure was some good eatin’.”

  “I’d like to have me a big platter of that right now,” Frank said. “Tomorrow I’ll try to bring down a deer. We’ll have us a feast on venison steaks from the back strap.”

  Danny grinned. “You kill it, Mr. Morgan, I’ll clean it and skin it.”

  “You got a deal, boy. But for right now, those beans in the pot and that bacon in the skillet smell pretty damn good.”

  “Another few minutes for the beans,” Julie said. “The biscuits are ready now.”

  “We had butter too,” Danny said softly. “I used to help Mama churn.” He shook his head. “That sure seems likes a long time ago.” He looked at Frank. “I just recalled something, Mr. Morgan. Do you know a man named Cory Raven?”

  “Heard of him. He’s a hired gun. Why do you ask?”

  “He’s after you.”

  Frank set his coffee cup on the ground and looked at the young man. “How do you know that?”

  “I heard some of the men talkin’ about it. They said this Raven fellow had been hired to kill you.”

  “Did they say who hired him?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think they knew. Just that he was after you. And that he always got who he was huntin’.”

  “He’s a bad one, for a fact. Last I heard tell of him he was up in Montana.”

  “Faster than you, Mr. Morgan?” Susan asked.

  “I’ve heard he’s quick, honey,” Frank said. “But I’ve never seen him work, so I don’t know for sure. He’s gone up against some fast guns in his time, though. And he’s always walked away. That tells me he’s real good.”

  “Who would hire someone to kill you, Frank?” Julie asked.

  Frank smiled. “Any number of people, Julie. The families of men I’ve killed. Stockholders in the many companies I have a piece of . . .”

  “You have stock in big companies, Mr. Morgan?” Danny asked, a startled look on his face.

  This time Frank laughed. “My ex-wife saw to that, boy. I hold stock in banks, factories, mines, railroads, land . . . Hell, I don’t know exactly what all I own. I have lawyers taking care of all that.”

  “But . . . you’re out here roaming around like . . .” Danny paused and nodded his head. “Now I get your nickname, sir. The Drifter.”