*Eighteen*
Just as dawn was coloring the sides over the mining town, Frank approached the tent where the four men were reported to be living. A man stepped out of a ramshackle building across the rutted trail and waved to Frank.
'Those ole boys pulled out late yesterday, Marshal. Packed up ever'thing and rode out. I'm glad to see them go, personal. Unfriendly bunch, they was.'
'Did one of them have a bolt-action rifle?'
'A what?'
'A rifle with a piece of metal sticking out of the top of one side.'
'Oh. Come to think of it, yeah, one did. That rifle had a telescope on it, too.'
'They left their tent.'
'Naw. That tent belongs to whoever claims it. It's been there for a long time. Ain't worth a damn. Leaks.'
Frank pulled back the flap and looked inside the tent. The ill-fitting board floor was dirty and littered with bits of trash. The interior smelled foul. Frank backed out, wondering how anyone could live that way.
'Did any of them ever talk to you?' Frank asked the miner.
'Nope. Never said nothin' to nobody 'ceptin' themselves. They was a surly pack of yahoos. And I don't think they was up to no good, neither. Had a evil look about 'em. If you know what I mean.'
Frank rode back into town and went into the Silver Spoon for breakfast. Jerry had already been in, getting breakfast for the prisoners -- biscuits and gravy. Frank did not wish any conversation that morning, and took a table away from the other diners. He was edgy; in the back of his mind was the feeling that major trouble was looming just around the next bend in the road. And Frank had learned years back to pay close attention to his hunches.
He lingered over coffee, watching the town come alive. The smelter kicked into life, along with the steam whistle telling the workmen it was time for another day's labors to begin. Frank watched as two men rode into town. It wasn't the men who caught and held Frank's attention; it was their beautiful and rugged horses, bred for staying power. A few minutes later, two more men rode in, on the same type of horses.
Frank had wandered across the line onto the hoot owl trail several times in his life, and he knew what kind of horseflesh outlaws preferred: the type of horses he'd just seen, with plenty of bottom to them. Outlaws often rode for their very lives, and their horses had to be the best they could buy or steal.
Frank sipped his coffee and watched as two more men rode in on the same type of horses.
_The Pine and Vanbergen gangs_, he thought. _Part of them, at least. Coming in a few at a time. Getting ready to make their move ... but what kind of move?_
Frank knew how Ned Pine and Vic Vanbergen operated. Neither one would risk coming into a town this size -- now that there were more than a thousand people in and around it -- and pulling anything. At least, he didn't think they would. But then, time marched on, and people changed. Lawmen around the country were getting better organized, telegraph wires were damn near everywhere, and if a bank was robbed in Springfield, Missouri, people in Dodge City, Kansas, and Louisville, Kentucky, would know about it within seconds.
So was this a breakaway part of the gangs, or some new gang that had just heard about the rumored gold strike and decided to pull a holdup ... of what?
Frank sat straight up in his chair, his coffee forgotten and cooling.
The bank, of course.
'Damn,' he whispered.
Frank pushed back his chair and stood up, reaching for his hat. He paid his tab and headed for the jail. He told Jerry, 'Keep the rifles and the shotguns loaded up and within reach. Maybe stick another short gun behind your gunbelt. I think we've got some trouble riding in.'
'I saw those men on the fine horses, Frank. The animals were a dead giveaway.'
'Six of them so far. Might be more coming in. We'll keep our eyes open.'
'I'll check the livery and hotel and the roomin' houses, try to pick up some names. Not that it will do much good.'
'For a fact, they'll probably all be false.' He glanced at the wall clock. 'I've got to meet Mrs. Browning, Jer. I'll be over at her office if you need me.'
'See you later.'
Walking over to Viv's office, Frank noticed that the six men had all stabled their horses at the livery. _That means they're not going to pull anything immediately_, he decided. _They'll check on the town first. And maybe won't_, he amended.
Frank glanced at the bank building. He wondered how much cash Jenkins had in his bank. Thousands and thousands of dollars, for sure. It would be a tempting target for any outlaw gang. Jenkins had a bank guard, but the old man was more for show than effect. Frank doubted the man would be very effective against a well-planned bank holdup.
He couldn't go to Jenkins with a warning, for he had no proof. The six newcomers might well be looking to invest in mining property or some other business ... but Frank felt in his guts they were outlaws.
Vivian was not in her office. The office manager said she had sent word she was not feeling well, and was staying home that morning. Conrad was staying home with her. He added that Conrad was still very shaken from the events of the past night.
Frank walked over to the livery and took a look at the horses the six men had ridden in. Fine horseflesh.
