Moran?'
'Disappeared. I looked around and he was nowhere to be seen. Come on, I'll have coffee while you eat.'
'Not looking a gunfight in the eyes, Jer. I changed my mind. A big meal slows you down. I'll eat later.' Frank smiled. 'Providing I still can eat, that is.'
--------
*Twenty-four*
With Jerry walking a dozen yards behind him, carrying a rifle and covering his back, Frank strolled down to the cafe. The front windows had been knocked out, and were now boarded up, but the horrible events of that day had not affected the quality of food. The delicious odors drifting out into the street made Frank's mouth water, bringing home the fact that he had not eaten all day. But he did not want to eat a large meal and then have to face a very fast gunslick. And Kid Moran was very fast.
Frank settled for a piece of pie with his cup of coffee. Then he had a cigarette with his second cup in the Silver Spoon Cafe. He was stubbing out the cigarette butt when Jerry came in and took a seat.
'Kid Moran's waiting for you, Frank. He's standing on the corner. He's got a third pistol shoved in his gunbelt.'
'He must be figuring I'm going to be hard to put down,' Frank said as he rolled another smoke.
'Don't forget he usually misses his first shot,' Jerry reminded him.
'Yeah. And sometimes he doesn't. Always expect the unexpected in these things, Jerry. I've learned that the hard way over the years.'
'I'll never have a stand up and hook and draw fight, Frank. I know better. I'm as slow as cold molasses.'
'I hope you never do, Jer.'
'Frank, let's you and me take him alive,' Jerry suggested. 'We'll get a couple of Greeners from the office and take him that way. How about it?'
'It wouldn't work.'
'Why?'
'He'd fight, and we'd both run the risk of getting plugged. What he's calling for right now is still legal out here, and probably will be for some years to come. Have you seen Big Bob anywhere?'
'No. This smells like a setup to me, Frank.'
'The Kid drawing me out, and Big Bob shooting me in the back?' Frank shook his head. 'No. No, I don't think so. Bob Mallory works alone. Always has.'
'There's always the first time.'
Again, Frank shook his head. 'No. The Kid's looking for a reputation, and Bob is getting paid by somebody -- probably Dutton -- to kill me.' Frank paused in his lifting of his coffee cup. 'Or maybe it's Conrad he's after. Jer, go check on Conrad. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?'
'If you order me to do so, Frank, I will.'
'Do I have to order it done?'
'No. Of course not. I'm gone.'
Frank finished his coffee and stood up, slipping the hammer thong off his .45. Angie was watching, and frowned.
'Frank, isn't there another way?'
'No, Angie. There isn't. Not with The Kid. He wants a reputation.'
'He's lightning fast.'
Frank smiled. 'I'm no tenderfoot, Angie.'
She returned the smile. 'Of course, you're not. I didn't mean to imply -- '
Frank held up a hand. 'I know what you meant. Angie. Keep the coffee hot, will you?'
'Just for you and Jerry. And I'll have some supper for you, too.'
Frank picked up his hat, settled it on his head, and stepped out of the cafe. He looked to his left. There was The Kid, waiting at the end of the block.
'Might as well get this over with,' Frank said, thinking: _One way or the other._ He touched the brim of his hat in a salute to The Kid, a signal that he was ready, and stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.
Kid Moran did the same.
The word had spread about the pending gunfight. The main street was deserted of carpenters and other workmen. In only a few more years, stand up, hook and draw showdowns such as this would be mostly a thing of the past, but for now, it was still legal in most small towns in the West. If not legal, at least accepted by many.
Louis Pettigrew, the book writer from the East, was standing in the lobby of the hotel, watching it all and scribbling furiously in his notebook. He had written about dozens of shoot-outs, but this was the first actual gunfight he had ever witnessed. It was enthralling and exciting. What a book this would make: the aging king of gunfighters meeting a young, but fast, upstart prince in the dusty street for the title of the best of the fast guns. Wonderful!
