'Hell with you, Morgan.' The Kid lifted his .45 and jacked back the hammer.
Frank shot him again. The impact turned The Kid around in the street. He stumbled a couple of times, but he just wouldn't go down.
Kid Moran straightened up and grinned at Morgan.
'Now you're dead, Morgan,' he gasped. 'Now it's my turn.'
The Kid lifted his pistol and Frank drilled him again. This time The Kid went to his knees, but didn't stay down long. He dropped his pistol and, bracing himself with that hand, struggled to his feet, drawing his second pistol.
'Damn you to hell, Morgan!' The Kid managed to spit out the words. Then he turned to one side and lifted and cocked his left-hand gun.
Frank dusted him with his fourth round, the bullet slamming into The Kid and blowing out the other side. This time Kid Moran went down and stayed down. He tried to rise, but just couldn't make it. His pistol slipped from his hand to lie in the dust.
Frank unconsciously twirled his pistol before holstering it. He walked over and looked down at the bullet- riddled young man. 'Sorry about this, Kid. I really am.'
'You really are ... fast, Morgan. I never ... seen nobody fast as you.'
Frank knelt down beside The Kid.
Kid Moran struggled to speak, then gave it up, gasping for breath. 'I'll get the doc, boy.' Frank looked around. Dr. Bracken was walking toward the fallen Kid, his black bag in his hand.
Frank stood up and met the doc halfway. 'I put four rounds in him, Doc. I don't see how he's still alive.'
'I saw and heard it all, Frank. You gave him every opportunity to surrender. You only did what you had to do.'
The men walked over to where The Kid lay. 'Let me take a look at him,' Bracken said.
'Forget it,' The Kid gasped. 'I'm done for and I know it. I'm fillin' up with blood. I feel it. Don't move me.'
'All right, boy,' Doc Bracken said.
'You got any kin, Kid?' Frank asked.
'Nobody that gives a damn.'
'Your mother and father?'
'Wherever they are' -- The Kid coughed up blood -- 'they can both go to hell!'
'You want some laudanum?' Doc Bracken asked.
The Kid didn't reply. His eyes were wide and staring in death.
Malone walked up. 'I know The Kid had money,' the undertaker said. 'What do you want on his tombstone?'
Frank thought for a moment. Then he said, 'Put on it: He died game.'
--------
*Twenty-five*
The bloody, bullet-riddled body of Kid Moran was carried off and stored with other bodies behind Malone's funeral parlor. The undertaker would get to Moran when time permitted.
Big Bob Mallory had been spotted leaving town. Frank checked his room at the hotel and found it bare. Big Bob was indeed gone, but where and for how long remained unanswered.
'Maybe he decided not to take me job,' Jerry opined. He and Frank were sitting in the jail office, the day after the attack on the town.
'Don't count on that,' Frank replied. 'Big Bob demands money up front. If he takes the money, he'll finish the job.'
'Wishful thinking on my part.'
'You ready to take over the marshal's job, Jer?' Frank abruptly tossed the question at his deputy.
Jerry almost spilled his coffee down the front of his shirt. He stared at Frank, his mouth open; then he shook his head and said, 'You goin' somewhere for a while, Frank?'
'As soon as it's ... over for Mrs. Browning, I'm pulling out. I think you'll make a fine marshal, Jer.' He smiled. 'You and Angie will be assets to this community, for sure.'
'You goin' after the Pine and Vanbergen gangs, Frank?'
'Yes.'
'Alone?'
'Yes.'
Jerry was silent for a moment, staring at the floor. He lifted his head and looked at Frank. 'That's crazy, Frank. That's suicide.'
'My mind is made up. You want the job, or not?'
