anymore.'
'What was the line you recited? 'What a tangled web we weave?' I knew several families name of Scott back home when I was a kid. One of them was always quotin' that fellow Shakespeare. Like to have drove the rest of us goofy. You reckon they might be related to that poet?'
* * * *
The next morning, Frank took a good bath and then carefully shaved. He blacked his boots and dressed in a new suit he'd bought just recently. No special occasion -- he just felt like putting on some fancy duds.
He stepped out into a beautiful day in the high country: a blue, cloudless sky and warm temperature. He walked up to the Silver Spoon and took a seat, ordering a pot of coffee and breakfast. Kid Moran was seated across the room, staring at him, smiling at him. The Kid had taken no part in the attempted kidnapping of Conrad and the killing of Hal ... at least, no part that could be proved. Kid Moran could come and go as he pleased.
Frank ate his breakfast and drank his coffee, ignoring The Kid. The Kid left the cafe before Frank, walking across the street and sitting down on a bench.
Angie came to Frank's table to clear off the breakfast dishes and said, 'Be careful, Frank. There's something in the wind this morning.'
Frank smiled up at her as he smoked his cigarette. 'What do you think it is, Angie?'
'Killing you.'
'You a fortune-teller? Maybe you can see the future?'
'Joke if you want to, Frank. But I've served half a dozen hard cases breakfast this morning.'
'Sometimes it's difficult to tell a hired gun from a drifting cowboy, Angie.'
'And sometimes it isn't.' She refilled his coffee cup and said, 'You watch yourself today. This town's become a powder keg, and the fuse is lit.'
She turned to leave, and Frank put out a hand. 'Angie, what is it you're not telling me?'
'Nothing that I can prove. It's just a feeling I get every now and then. But over the years I've seen the best and the worst out here. I saw Jamie MacCallister go into action once. I've seen his son, Falcon, hook and draw. I personally know Smoke Jensen and Louis Longmont. I've been working in Western cafes since I was ten years old.' She smiled. 'And I'm no kid, Frank. I've got more than a few years behind me. You just be careful today, all right?'
'All right, Angie.'
Frank looked out the window. The Kid was still sitting on the bench across the street, staring at the cafe.
Frank paid his tab and stepped out onto the boardwalk. None of his mental warning alarms had been silently clanging that morning, so what did Angie feel that he didn't? And why? The Kid was in town, probably to try to provoke a showdown with him. That was something that Frank had felt all along was bound to happen -- no surprise there. And it might well come to a head on this day. If so, so be it.
The hard cases she had mentioned? Did she personally know those bad ole boys, or had she just recognized the hard case look? _Probably the latter_, Frank concluded. And Frank knew that many toughs wore the same look, or demeanor.
Frank walked one side of the main street looking at the horses at the hitch rails. There were some fine- looking animals there, and none of them wore the same brand. But what did that prove conclusively? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Frank cut his eyes. Kid Moran was pacing him on the other side of the street. Maybe it was time for Frank to settle this thing. He hated to push it, but damned if he was going to put up with being shadowed indefinitely. It was already beginning to get on his nerves.
He looked up the street. Damned if more newcomers weren't pulling into town. Two wagons coming in, four outriders per wagon. And Frank felt that was odd. Most Indian trouble was over, so what could the newcomers be hauling to warrant eight guards? The wagons weren't riding that heavy.
Frank paused for a moment to watch the wagons as they rolled slowly into town. One wagon stopped at one end of the street; the other one rolled on and stopped at the far end of the main street.
'What the hell?' Frank muttered. He looked over at the bank building. The guard was just unlocking the front door, getting ready for another business day.
''Mornin, Marshal,' a citizen greeted Frank.
''Morning,' Frank responded.
The citizen strolled on, whistling a tune.
Frank looked at Kid Moran. The Kid was standing on the boardwalk, directly across the street, staring at Frank, smiling at him. Even at that distance, Frank could tell the smile was taunting, challenging.
'What the hell is with you, boy?' Frank whispered. 'What's going on here?'
Jerry walked up, smelling of bath soap and Bay Rum after-shave.
'Jerry,' Frank greeted him.
'Frank,' Jerry replied. 'You're lookin' spiffy this mornin'. You're duded up mighty fancy.'
'And you smell like you're goin' on a date,' Frank said with a smile. 'You got you a lady friend?'
Jerry laughed. 'Well ... me and Miss Angle might go for a walk this mornin'. We both been makin' goo-goo eyes at each other here of late. She's a nice lady.'
'Yes, she is. And a damn good cook, too.'
