Showdown by William W. Johnstone Page B

you.”
    â€œI’ll be here, Dolan. You got any kin you want me to notify after we plant you?”
    Dolan’s smile was hard, devoid of any humor. “You can’t outdraw me, Morgan. I’ve had too many people tell me that.”
    â€œYou’ll be betting your life on it.”
    â€œSo I will. See you around, Morgan.”
    The gunfighter walked away, out the front door of the saloon.
    â€œCan he take you, Frank?” Bob asked.
    â€œHe’s fast,” Frank conceded. And that was all he had to say about it.
    * * *
    Frank stood on the boardwalk as night wrapped her dark arms around the countryside. It was a wet darkness, for the rain continued without any signs of abating. Frank had seen nothing of the Easterners that day, and had no idea where they were or what they might be doing. Neither had he seen Doc Raven since the shooting in the saloon. There were lamps on in the doctor’s office, but Frank didn’t want to disturb him, figuring he might be busy with patients.
    Just as Frank started to pop a match into flame, to light a fresh-rolled cigarette, he caught a glint of light off something in the alley across the muddy street . . . something that appeared to be about shoulder high. Frank quickly stepped back into the shadows and stuck the unlit cigarette and match into his jacket pocket.
    He silently made his way down the boardwalk, keeping close to the buildings. He stepped off and ducked into an alley, then made his way behind a couple of buildings and dashed across the street, working his way up to the rear of the alley where he’d seen the flash of light off of metal. He cautiously looked around the corner of the building, and could just make out the dark shape of a man standing near the mouth of the alley, facing the street.
    The man was holding a rifle.
    Frank eased his way up the alley, the rain covering any small sound he might make. When he was close enough to the man to touch him, Frank said, “You looking for me?”
    The man spun around, the muzzle of the rifle coming up. Frank hit him on the side of the jaw with a gloved right fist, and the man dropped to the littered ground. Frank dragged him out of the alley and up onto the boardwalk, then dragged him to the marshal’s office and unlocked the door, using the key Doc Raven had given him earlier in the day. Frank had spent some time in the office that afternoon, sweeping it out and building a fire in the potbellied stove. There were living quarters in the jail, and Frank had moved his gear into the small room. Dog came out of the living quarters and sniffed suspiciously at the unconscious man.
    Frank slapped the man awake and stood over him. He did not think he had ever seen the man before. “Do I know you?” he asked.
    â€œHell with you, Morgan.”
    â€œWell, obviously you know me. I hate to tell you but the hunt hasn’t started yet. It’s doubtful it ever will.”
    â€œDamn the hunt! I didn’t come here to collect no money. I been looking for you for months. I aim to kill you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œ ’Cause you killed a buddy of mine, that’s why.”
    â€œYou sure I did it?”
    â€œDamn right.”
    â€œWhere and when and why?”
    â€œHuh?”
    Frank sighed. “The man’s name and where did it happen and why did it happen.”
    â€œBarney Hampton was his name. It happened in Missouri and you called him out into the street and gunned him down.”
    â€œWrong on all counts, partner. You’ve been tracking the wrong man.”
    â€œYou say!”
    â€œThat’s right. I say. Now, if I turn you loose, what are you going to do?”
    â€œGit me another rifle and shoot you.”
    Frank walked over to the stove, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down in a wooden swivel chair at the battered old desk. He stared at the man sitting on the floor. “That’s unacceptable, partner.”
    â€œThen you’re gonna