Montana Gundown Read online

  “All right,” she said with a smile. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  “It is,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

  Frank wondered if the reason Laura had decided to stay in Pine Knob was because he was here. That was possible, he supposed, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  She seemed to indicate that his hunch was right by turning back to him and saying, “I’m sure I’ll see you around town again, Frank.”

  Marshal Trask spoke up, saying, “No offense, ma’am, but I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I don’t think I much like the idea of having a gunman like Frank Morgan in my town.”

  “That’s not fair, Marshal,” Hal said. “You let Brady Morgan come into town any time he wants.”

  Trask scowled. “That’s different,” he insisted.

  “I don’t see how. Brady’s a hired killer.”

  Baldridge said sharply, “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Embry. Remember, this lady is Brady Morgan’s mother.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Hal said with a nod to Laura. “I mean no offense to you, but facts are facts.”

  “And who are you?” she asked coolly.

  “Hal Embry, ma’am. My father owns the Boxed E.”

  “What he means is, his father made a spurious, illegal claim on land that belongs to me,” Baldridge said.

  Hal’s jaw tightened and he stepped forward. Trask moved to get in front of him and held up both hands.

  “All right, that’s enough of this,” the lawman said. “Hal, you’ve taken care of the business that brought you to town. Why don’t you head on back out to the ranch?”

  “That’s right, the business that brought us to town,” Hal said as he continued to look at Baldridge. “Dropping off the bodies of two dead B Star gun-wolves at the undertaker’s.”

  Baldridge drew in a sharp breath. “What are you talking about? Two of my men are dead?”

  Trask grimaced, looking like he sure wished this subject hadn’t come up. “Royal and Dobbs,” he told Baldridge. “They’re over at Finnegan’s. I expect you’ll be getting a bill from Omar for their planting.”

  “My God! What happened?”

  Trask inclined his head toward Frank. “Morgan shot them.”

  Looking outraged, Baldridge said, “Then I expect you to do your duty, Marshal, and arrest this man immediately. I want him charged with murder!”

  “First of all, it happened out of my jurisdiction, so I’m not arresting anybody.”

  “And Frank killed them because they were about to rape my sister,” Hal said. Grudgingly, he added, “Sorry about speaking so plain, ma’am.”

  Laura nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Well, I simply don’t believe it,” Baldridge said. “Dobbs and Royal were good men. They wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  Salty said, “Sounds like he’s callin’ you a liar, Frank.”

  “He’s calling my sister a liar, too,” Hal said. “Faye backed up everything Frank and Salty told us. The question is, did you order them to do it, Baldridge?”

  The urbane exterior Baldridge cultivated vanished as he clenched his hands into fists and took a step toward the edge of the boardwalk.

  “If I was twenty years younger, I’d answer that impudent question with a thrashing, Embry!”

  “Settle down, settle down,” Trask said. “Everybody just stay calm. Mr. Baldridge, why don’t you show Mrs. Wilcoxon to the hotel? Hal, you and your men go on back to the ranch. There’s been enough squabbling for now.”

  “This is more than a squabble, Marshal,” Baldridge said. “I consider the killing of my riders an act of war!”

  “I don’t care what you consider it, you’d better keep it out of town,” Trask warned. He looked at Hal. “That goes for the Boxed E, too.”

  “We’re not going to start any trouble,” Hal said, “but we’ll damn sure defend ourselves.” He gave Baldridge a hard look. “You can count on that.”

  Trask stood between the two sides, looking back and forth at them and glowering until Baldridge took Laura’s arm and said, “Come with me, my dear. I’ll show you to the Territorial House.”

  “Pa will be expecting us back,” Hal said to Frank, Salty, and Carlin. “We might as well head that way.”

  Frank looked at Laura walking away arm-in-arm with Gaius Baldridge. She glanced back over her shoulder at him.

  “You fellas go ahead,” Frank said to Hal. “I’ll be along later.”

  Salty snorted and shook his head. “No such thing,” the old-timer insisted. “I ain’t leavin’ you here in town with nobody to watch your back, Frank. Not when there’s a snake under just about every rock.”

  Hal said, “I thought you were going to throw in with us, Mr. Morgan. Your gear and your other horses are still out at the ranch.” He paused. “But I guess since it looks like Brady Morgan really is your son, and he’s working for the other side ...”

  “That’s not it,” Frank said. “I still don’t have any use for hired guns.”

  Marshal Trask said, “That sounds a mite strange coming from you, Morgan. And I don’t want you here, either. You’re just trouble waiting to happen.”

  Frank’s voice was hard and flat as he said, “I haven’t broken any laws in your town, Marshal, and the last I heard, this was still a free country.”

  “And we ain’t et dinner yet, either,” Salty put in.

  “That’s right,” Hal said. “I could do with a surrounding before we start back to the Boxed E. How about you, Gage?”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Carlin replied, but from the faint smile that lurked on his face and in his eyes, it was obvious he was enjoying this confrontation. Trouble wasn’t exactly welcome, but it sure helped break up the usual monotony of frontier life.

  “All right, fine,” an obviously frustrated Marshal Trask said. “Go get your dinner. But if any ruckuses start while you’re here in town, you’re gonna be damned sorry you didn’t listen to me.”

  “We’re not going to start any ruckuses, Marshal,” Hal said.

  “But we might finish one or two if we have to,” Salty added.

  Trask glared at them, then walked away shaking his head.

  “That last comment probably didn’t help any,” Frank said to Salty.

  “I can’t abide a fence-sitter,” the old-timer said. “Sooner or later that fella’s gonna have to figure out which way he wants to hop.”

  The four men started toward the Feed Barn. There wasn’t any question about where they were going to eat.

  It was a little early for the midday meal, but the café was already busy, which was a testament to Solomon Storm’s cooking and Katie’s abilities as a hostess.

  She didn’t smile in welcome when the four of them came in and jingled the bell over the front door, though. She locked gazes with Hal for a second, then glanced away. When she looked at them again, she had regained her composure.

  As they took seats at the counter, Hal said, “Hello, Katie. You look mighty nice today.”

  “Save the flowery talk,” she told him briskly. She looked at Frank and went on, “And you ... no gunfights today.”

  He laughed and said, “Unless I’m forgetting something, there weren’t any gunfights in here yesterday.”

  “No, but there could have been. I’m just warning you, my uncle and I won’t put up with any trouble.”

  “Won’t be no trouble today,” Salty said. “That Brady Morgan fella ain’t in town.”

  Katie looked past them, her gaze evidently drawn by something she had spotted through the front windows. She paled as she said, “You’re wrong about that, Mr. Stevens. He just rode in.”

  Chapter 14

  Frank turned to look past the yellow curtains that were pushed back over the front windows. He caught a glimpse of several men riding past the café but didn’t really get a good look at them, so he stepped over to the closest window.

  “Blast it!” Salty said behind him. “I had
my stomach set for some more o’ that good grub!”

  Brady Morgan rode at the head of four other men, Frank saw. They clattered across the Loco Creek bridge into the western part of town and pulled rein in front of Corrigan’s Casino. They dismounted and went inside, with Brady still in the lead slapping aside the batwings.

  As the gunmen disappeared into the saloon, Frank turned away from the window.

  “You’re still going to get your dinner, Salty,” he told his friend. “They’re not looking for us.”

  That might change, though, Frank thought as he returned to the counter and took a seat on one of the stools. Salty sat to his right, Gage Carlin to his left, with Hal Embry on Carlin’s left.

  Rivalries between ranches such as the Boxed E and the B Star were common, Frank knew, and any time a settlement like Pine Knob sat perched in between two rival spreads, loyalties inevitably developed among the townspeople. He was sure that Gaius Baldridge had his supporters here in Pine Knob, and Jubal Embry probably did, too.

  A number of people had been on the street and on the boardwalks when the stagecoach rolled in and Laura Donnelly—Laura Wilcoxon now—climbed out of the Concord. Those people had seen and heard the confrontation that had taken place. They had heard that two of Baldridge’s men, Royal and Dobbs, were dead, shot down by the notorious gunfighter Frank Morgan.

  Frank figured that by now at least one hombre who wanted to curry favor with Baldridge had gone scurrying down to Corrigan’s place to tell Brady Morgan all about it.

  So it was only a matter of time before something else happened, but until it did, Frank wasn’t going to worry about it. He thumbed his hat back, smiled across the counter at a worried-looking Katie Storm, and said, “We’ll have four plates of whatever your uncle’s got on the bill of fare today.”

  “Four bowls, you mean,” Katie said. “Irish stew.”

  “Bring it on,” Salty told her with a whiskery grin.

  Katie nodded and went out to the kitchen. When she was gone, Salty leaned closer to Frank and said quietly, “The condemned men are gonna get a hearty meal, anyway. You know Brady Morgan’s gonna hear about what happened, and when he does, he ain’t gonna be happy about it.”

  “I know,” Frank said solemnly.

  “Appears to me you got some thinkin’ to do, Frank.”

  Frank shook his head and said, “Nope. If Brady starts anything, we’ll handle it. Whatever it takes.”

  Was that true, though, he asked himself? If it came to a showdown, would he hesitate for a fatal split-second before pulling the trigger? Would the knowledge that he was facing his own flesh and blood cause him to wait?

  Could he kill not only his son but Laura’s as well, with her right here in town?

  There was no way this was going to end well, Frank mused. No way in hell.

  Katie came out of the kitchen carrying two bowls of Irish stew, as well as plates with large chunks of cornbread on them. She set the food in front of Hal and Carlin, then returned to the kitchen for the other two meals.

  “Your uncle’s outdid himself today, miss,” Salty said after the first couple of bites. “This is mighty good.”

  “Thank you,” Katie said, but she seemed distracted. She kept glancing toward the windows and the front door, and Frank knew why.

  There was nothing he could do about it until the time came, though, except enjoy his dinner, so that was what he concentrated on doing.

  Suddenly, one of the men seated at a table near a window stood up and said in a loud voice, “Uh-oh. Brady Morgan’s headed this way, and he don’t look happy.”

  Those words started a mass exodus. Katie’s lips thinned as she watched the customers disappear out both front and back doors.

  “No offense, Mr. Browning ... I mean, Mr. Morgan ... but you’re bad for business,” she told Frank. “Unless it’s Omar Finnegan’s business, that is.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Miss Storm.” Frank took a double eagle out of his pocket and slid the twenty-dollar gold piece across the counter to her. “Maybe this’ll help make up for it.”

  She took the money without hesitation this time, saying, “I guess I’d better collect while I still can.”

  Salty, Hal, and Carlin frowned at the comment, but a grin split Frank’s face.

  “That’s the practical way to look at it, all right,” he said. He dipped a piece of cornbread in the stew and took another bite, then pushed his stool back and stood up. “We’ll do this outside. No point in risking a lot of damage in here.”

  The other three men were right behind Frank as he headed for the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he looked back at them.

  “This is my fight, fellas, not yours.”

  Salty let out a snort and said, “You know better’n that, Frank.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

  Frank opened the door and stepped onto the café’s porch. Brady Morgan and his men had mounted up again and were at the eastern end of the bridge. They rode on until they came to a stop in front of the Feed Barn.

  Brady and the other men stayed on their horses. They were all the same sort of lean, cold-eyed gunslingers Frank had seen many times before. Brady’s face was flushed, as if he had been drinking before they ever got to Pine Knob and went to Corrigan’s place.

  “I hear you’re my pa,” he said to Frank in a challenging voice. “I reckon that means you lied to everybody yesterday when you said your name was Browning.”

  Frank stood in an apparently casual pose, but his right hand was close to the butt of his Colt ... just as Brady’s was.

  “I figured it wouldn’t hurt anything to be a mite careful until I knew what was going on around here,” he said. “Now I know.”

  “And what is it that you know?” Brady demanded with a sneer.

  “That Gaius Baldridge has some mighty sorry hombres working for him. Two of them were about to molest a young woman yesterday until I stopped them.”

  Brady’s face darkened with anger. “We’ve got only your word that happened!” he shot back. “Dobbs and Royal wouldn’t do such a thing!”

  Hal said, “My sister tells the same story as Mr. Morgan here. I heard her with my own ears. Faye wouldn’t lie.”

  “Sure she would,” Brady snapped, “if she was actin’ like a slut and lured those two fellas over there to get killed.”

  The skin around Hal’s mouth turned white. He might have reached for his gun, but Frank said sharply, “Hold it.”

  “Why, Frank?” Hal demanded through clenched teeth. “These varmints have been wanting a showdown. I say we give them one.”

  There was a good reason not to let this turn into a gunfight if it could be avoided: all five of the men on horseback were professional killers. Of the four on the porch, Frank knew he was the only one who could be counted on to get a shot off. Salty, despite his loyalty and fierce tenacity, was no gunman. It would take too long for him to haul out the old hogleg on his hip. Frank didn’t know how fast Hal and Carlin might be, but he felt certain they couldn’t match the speed of Brady and his men.

  “There’s not going to be any shooting,” Frank said in a harsh voice. “Brady, you may not know this, but your mother is in town.”

  The young man was unable to completely conceal the look of surprise that flitted across his face.

  “She is?” he said. “I knew she was coming, but I saw the buggy and the buckboard and figured the stage hadn’t gotten here yet.”

  Frank glanced down the street at the stagecoach station. The Concord was gone. It had already rolled out of Pine Knob on its return trip to Great Falls.

  “She’s here,” he said. “She’s decided to spend a day or two at the Territorial House before going out to Baldridge’s ranch.”

  “I wonder why,” Brady grated.

  “You’d have to ask her that. She said she was tired, and I don’t have any reason not to believe her.”

  Brady sat there stiffly in his saddle, obviously torn about what to do next. He wanted to kill
the man who had gunned down Royal and Dobbs. The killings were a direct challenge to the man who ramrodded the crew of gun-wolves Baldridge had hired.

  But Brady now knew that the man responsible for those deaths was his own father. Frank knew better than to delude himself into thinking that Brady might have any affection for him; they had only seen each other twice, and before yesterday Frank hadn’t even known of Brady’s existence.

  But to look at your father over the barrel of a gun ... that had to give a man pause.

  Just like the thought of looking at your own son that way did.

  Also, Brady might not want to get mixed up in a gunfight with his mother in town, because then there was the possibility that she would emerge from the hotel to see his bloody corpse lying in the street. Frank didn’t know how close Brady and Laura were, but he figured no son would want to subject his mother to that.

  The silence stretched out until one of the other hired guns asked, “Brady, what are we gonna do about this?”

  Brady took a deep breath. “Where are the bodies?” he asked.

  “Over at Finnegan’s,” Frank told him.

  Brady turned his head to look at the other men. “Go talk to the undertaker,” he ordered. “Make sure he understands that Royal and Dobbs get the best treatment he can give them, got it? And Baldridge is paying.”

  “Brady, we’ve got to do something about this,” one of the other men said.

  “I’ve told you what you’re gonna do, damn it!” Brady burst out. “Now move!”

  The men didn’t look happy about it, but they turned their horses and rode slowly toward the undertaking parlor, leaving Brady to face Frank and his three companions alone.

  “Don’t think I give a damn that you’re my father,” Brady bit off as he glared at Frank.

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” Frank said.

  “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. All you ever gave me was a rep to live up to. I’ve done it, too. Maybe I haven’t killed as many men as the famous Frank Morgan, but my day’s coming, old man. My day’s coming!”