Cecil Tolliver frowned. “I don’t mean to sound ignorant, mister, but I don’t reckon I’ve heard of you.”
Ben came over and held out his hand to Frank. “That’s because you never read any dime novels,” he explained to his father. “Mr. Morgan here is a famous gunfighter.”
Tolliver grunted. “I never had time for such foolishness, boy. I was too busy tryin’ to build the Rockin’ T into a decent spread. You was the one who always had your nose in the
Frank shook hands with both of them and said to Ben, “Most of what’s been written about me in those dime novels and the illustrated weeklies was a pack of lies made up by gents who don’t know much about the real West.”
“You can’t deny, though, that you’ve had your share of gunfights,” Ben said.
Frank inclined his head in acknowledgment of that point. “More than my share,” he allowed.
“Well, we’re much obliged for the help, whether you’re famous or not,” Tolliver said. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, I reckon Almanzar’s boys would’ve done in me and Ben.”
“Almanzar,” Frank repeated. “I’m not familiar with the name. Is he the leader of that gang of
“You could call him that. He runs the rancho where those gunnies work.”
Now it was Frank’s turn to frown. He waved his left hand toward the sprawled bodies of the raiders and said, “Those don’t look like vaqueros or cowhands to me.”
“That’s because Almanzar’s a low-down skunk who hires killers rather than decent hombres.”
“Sounds like you don’t care for the man.”
“I got no use for him,” Tolliver said stiffly. “Him and me been feudin’ ever since I came to this part of the country, nigh on to thirty years ago. Almanzar specializes in wet cattle, if you know what I mean.”
Frank understood the term, all right. It referred to stock rustled from one side of the river and driven to the other. Down here in this border country, a lot of cattle had gotten their bellies wet over the past few decades, going in both directions across the Rio Grande.
Young Ben spoke up. “You don’t know that Don Felipe has been rustling our cows, Pa.”
“I know all I need to know,” Tolliver replied with a disgusted snort. “Almanzar’s a thief and a bloody-handed reiver, and this ain’t the first time he’s tried to have me killed!”
Obviously, there was trouble going on around here, Frank thought. Just as obviously, it was none of his business. But by taking a hand in this gun battle, he had probably dealt himself into the game, whether he wanted that or not. If Cecil Tolliver was correct about Don Felipe Almanzar sending those gunmen after him and his son, then Almanzar would be likely to want vengeance on Frank for killing several of his men.
“Another thing,” Tolliver went on angrily to Ben. “I don’t want to hear you callin’ that bastard by his Christian name again. He ain’t our friend and never has been.”
“What about when you first settled here, before I was born?” Ben asked. “I’ve heard you say more than once, Pa, that without Senor Almanzar’s help, the Comanches would have lifted your hair back in those days.”
“That was a long time ago,” Tolliver growled. “Things change.”
Frank wasn’t really interested in the history of the feud between Tolliver and Don Felipe Almanzar. He said, “Where were you men headed?”
“Back to the Rockin’ T,” Tolliver replied. “We’d been to San Rosa for supplies.” He shook his head in disgust. “All the boxes done bounced out back along the road, when that bunch jumped us and we had to take off so fast. We’re lucky the damn buckboard didn’t rattle itself to pieces.”
“San Rosa’s the nearest town?”
“Yep, right on the river about five miles upstream from here. The name’s fouled up—it ought to be Santa Rosa—but the fella who stuck the name on it didn’t savvy Mex talk. Still a pretty nice place.”
“I’ll pay it a visit,” Frank said. “I was looking for a place to get something to eat and somewhere to stay.”
“You don’t have to go to San Rosa for that.” Tolliver jerked a thumb at the buckboard. “Help us set that wagon up, and then you can ride on to the Rockin’ T with us. You’ll be our guest for as long as you want to stay, Mr. Morgan.”
“Call me Frank. And I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Impose, hell!” Tolliver had picked up his hat and now he slapped it against his leg to get some of the dust off. As he settled it on his head, he went on. “After what you done to help us, I’ll consider it a personal insult if you don’t let us feed you and put you up for a spell.”
Frank smiled. “In that case, I accept.”
He whistled and Stormy came out of the chaparral, followed by Dog. Tolliver and Ben looked with admiration at the big Appaloosa, but were more wary where Dog was concerned. “That critter looks a mite like a cross between a wolf and a grizzly bear,” Tolliver commented.
“He’s all dog,” Frank said with a grin. “Just be sure you’ve been introduced properly before you go to pet him. Unless you’re a little kid,” he added. “He’ll let kids wool him around like he’s still a pup.”
Frank took his rope from the saddle and tied one end to the buckboard. Ben saw what he was doing and brought over the surviving three members of the team. The rope was tied to their harness, and the horses did the work as the buckboard was soon pulled upright again. Frank hitched Stormy into the empty spot in the team. The Appaloosa didn’t care much for that, but he was willing to tolerate it if that was what Frank wanted him to do. Stormy turned a baleful eye on his master for a moment, though.
“I’d watch out for that horse if I was you, Mr. Morgan,” Ben said. “He looks like he might sneak up on you sometime and take a nip out of your hide.”
“I fully expect that he will,” Frank agreed with a chuckle. He grew more sober as he gestured toward the
