Angie put a hand on Frank's arm. 'He may have someone in hiding, Frank. Not many men would face you alone. It's something to consider.'
Frank cut his eyes to her. 'I always take that into consideration. That's one of the reasons I'm still alive. But I'm marshal here. I can't afford to let something like this get out of hand. And it could, very easily. If it did, that would be the end of law and order in this town.'
Angie opened her mouth to speak. Jerry held up a hand. 'He's right, Angie. I know you've got a shotgun behind the counter. Give it to me, and I'll back him up.'
'All right.' Angie hurried behind the counter and returned with a long-barreled scattergun.
'It's got light loads in it,' the cook said. 'But at close range they'll sure put someone out of commission.'
'Good enough,' Jerry said, breaking open the scattergun to make certain both chambers were loaded up. He looked at Frank. 'You ready?'
'You sure you want to do this, Jerry? Hell, man, you're not even on the payroll yet.'
Jerry grinned at him. 'Maybe you can arrange a bonus for me.'
'Count on it.'
'Come on out, you chicken-livered has-been!' the loudmouth in the street hollered.
'That does it,' Frank muttered through suddenly clenched teeth, and moved toward the cafe door.
None of the principals noticed the young man across the street stop on the boardwalk and stand and stare. Dressed in his stylish business suit, he was as out of place as a buffalo turd in a crystal punch bowl.
'What in the world is going on?' he asked a clerk who had been sweeping the boardwalk.
'There's gonna be a gunfight.'
'Why doesn't someone call the marshal?'
'Someone just did, boy. That fellow standin' in the street.'
'My word!' Conrad said.
--------
*Ten*
Frank stepped out the front door of the cafe, taking his time while Jerry hustled out the back door and made his way to the street, coming up the narrow space between the two buildings. The small crowd that had gathered on the boardwalks moved left and right, out of the line of fire ... they hoped.
Frank looked more closely at the man in the street. He did not recognize him, and did not believe he had ever seen him before. 'What is your problem?' Frank called.
'You! You're the problem, Morgan.'
'Why? I've never seen you before. I don't know you.'
'I know you.'
'How?'
'You killed my brother up in Wyoming. Jim Morris was his name ... remember?'
'Can't say as I do. What's your name?'
'Calvin. The man who's gonna kill you, Morgan.'
'Doubtful, Calvin, very doubtful.'
'You callin' me a liar? Damn you, you back-shootin' lowlife!'
'I never shot anyone named Morris. Not in the back or anywhere else.'
'You're a liar, Morgan. You ambushed him one night and shot him in the back!'
'Not me, Calvin. You have the wrong man.'
'You're both a liar and a coward, Morgan!'
'You're wrong on both counts. Think about it. Don't throw away your life.'
'Enough talk, Morgan. Walk out here and face me if you've got the guts.'
That settled the question in Frank's mind about a second, hidden gunman. He and Morris were in full, open view of each other. So the hidden gunman must not, as yet, have a good shot at Frank. He hoped Jerry got the message.
'What's the matter, Calvin?' Frank asked. 'Can't you see me? You need glasses, maybe?'
'I can see you, Morgan,' Calvin said sullenly. 'I don't need no damn glasses.'
'Then let's get this over with. I'm tired of trying to save your life.'
'Huh?'
'You seem determined to end your life this morning. I've tried to keep you from doing that. But you won't listen. So let's do it, Calvin. Enough talking.'
Calvin looked up for just a second. That was all the signal Frank needed. The second gunman was on the
