unmarked graves myself_, Frank added silently.
Frank and Jerry drew a blank at the hotel and the town's several rooming houses. At the hotel, Frank pointed out a name on the register: Robert Mallory.
'Big as brass,' Jerry said.
'He's proud of his name, for sure. Loves to flaunt it in the face of the law. Let's call it a night, Jerry. We'll start checking the town tomorrow.'
'OK, Frank. You off to bed?'
'In a little while.'
'You want me to make the late rounds? I'll be glad to do it.'
'No. I'll do it. Thanks for the help tonight, Jer. See you in the morning.'
Frank stepped into the Silver Slipper Saloon and ordered coffee. He stood at the far end of the bar and drank his coffee, looking over the now thinning-out crowd -- a quiet crowd, as many had gone home for the night. A few people spoke to Frank; most gave him a wide berth, accompanied by curious glances. By now everyone in town, newcomer and resident alike, knew that one of the last of the west's most famous, or infamous, gunfighters was marshal of the town.
Frank stayed only a few minutes, and when he left he used the back door, stepping out into the broken bottle and trash-littered rear of the saloon. He stood for a moment in the darkness, further deepened by the shadow of the building.
He heard the outhouse door creak open and saw a man step out, buttoning up his pants. Frank knew who it was, for few men were as tall as Big Bob Mallory.
'Big Bob.' Frank spoke softly.
Bob paused for just a couple of seconds, then chuckled. 'I know that voice for sure. Heard you was law doggin' here at the Crossin', Morgan.'
'You heard right, Bob. What are you doing in town?'
'None of your goddamn business, Morgan -- that's what!'
'I'm making it my business. Now answer the question.'
'Takin' a vacation, Morgan. Just relaxin'.'
'A vacation from what? All you do is back-shoot folks a couple of times a year. Doesn't take much effort to pull a trigger. I don't think you've ever had a real job.'
'Ain't nobody ever proved I shot anyone, Morgan. And you damn sure can't do it. And I do work now and then, and can prove it. I do odd jobs here and there to get by. Doesn't take much for me to live on.'
'Don't screw up in my town, Bob. You do, and I'll be on you quicker than a striking snake.'
'You go to hell, Morgan!'
'If you've a mind to, we can sure settle it right now.'
'You must be tired of livin', Morgan.'
'Anytime you're ready to hook and draw.'
'I think I'll let you worry and stew for a while longer.'
'What's the matter, Bob? Would it help you reach a decision if I turned my back?'
Frank watched the big man tense at that. For a few seconds, he thought Bob was going to draw on him. Then Mallory slowly began to relax.
'Good try, Morgan,' Bob said. 'You almost had me goin' then.'
'What stopped you?'
Bob refused to reply. He stood there, silent.
'Don't cause trouble in this town, Bob. Any bodies show up without explanation, I'll come looking for you and I'll kill you on sight.'
'That's plain enough.'
'I hope so.'
'Mind if I go back in the saloon?'
'I can't legally stop you, Bob. I could order you out of town. But' -- Frank paused -- 'I won't do that. Not yet.'
'Getting soft in your old age?'
'You want to keep running that mouth and find out?'
Bob laughed. 'I don't think so. Maybe later.'
'Anytime. Face-to-face, that is.'
'It'll be face-to-face, Frank. When the time comes. You can count on that.' Bob walked up to and then past Frank without another word. He opened the back door of the saloon and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The night once more enveloped Frank.
'Getting real interesting around town,' Frank muttered. 'Hope I can stay alive long enough to see how it all turns out.'
