someone shoots it off his head.'
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*Twenty-six*
Frank had just finished a fresh cup of coffee and a smoke and had his feet propped up on the edge of the desk when a man walked into his office. 'Sorry to bother you, Marshal, but I found a body on the way into town.'
Frank's boots hit the floor. 'Where?'
'Just the other side of where them outlaws had the road blocked. I seen the buzzards circlin' and went to take a look. It's kind of bad, Marshal. The body's shore enough tore up somethin' awful. The ants has been workin' on it, as well as them damn buzzards.'
'I'll head on out there. Thanks, mister.'
'No problem.'
Frank picked up a spare horse at the livery and headed out. He was not looking forward to bringing the body back. Several days in the hot sun would have the body bloated and stinking. The ants and buzzards, and probably coyotes and other animals, had been working on it and would have left it in a real mess.
Frank saw the buzzards long before he reached the body, about a hundred yards off the road, and up a natural game trail. Frank could tell by what was left of the clothing that it was more than likely the body of the young bank teller, Dean Hall, or Hill, or whatever his name was.
The body was a mess, not at all pleasant to look at, or smell. Buzzards and ants had been at the face and the eyes, and facial identification would be impossible. Buzzards, more than likely, had torn the stomach open, and intestines were stretched out for yards.
'Damn!' Frank said, trying to breathe through his mouth and not his nose. The stench was awful.
He found a big stick and beat off the buzzards, some of them so bloated from eating the putrid meat they could not fly. They waddled off and stared at Frank, giving him baleful looks, no fear in them.
He got the body on the tarp and rolled it up, securing it tightly with rope, closing both ends. That helped with the stench. It was going to be a real job getting the body tied down on the horse, for the animal was not liking the smell at all, and was trying to break loose and back off.
Frank didn't blame the horse at all.
Frank was securing a loose end of the tarp, one foot of the body sticking out, when he saw his own horse's head jerk up, the ears laid back, nostrils flared. Frank quickly jerked his rifle from the boot and grabbed the ammo belt he had looped over the horn. The tarp-wrapped body forgotten, Frank jumped for cover, thinking, _Setup!_
Someone, maybe Ned Pine and Vic Vanbergen, maybe Dutton, _somebody_, had set him up for sure. And the setup had worked to perfection. He was damn sure set up, and boxed in.
Frank had just bellied down behind the rocks when the bullets started flying all around him. All he could do for several minutes was keep his head down and hope that no bullet flattened out against the rocks and ricocheted into him.
He wriggled into better cover during a few seconds respite in the firing. He hadn't made any attempt to return the fire, for as yet he didn't have any idea where the gunmen were. He didn't know if there were two or ten of them. He knew only that if it lasted for very long he was in for one hell of a mighty dry fight. His canteen was on his horse, and the animal had wandered several dozen yards away -- no way he could get to it. And there was little chance he could expect any help.
The firing began again, and this time Frank could pretty well add up the number of shooters he was facing, for not all of them were using the same caliber rifles. Five shooters, Frank figured. And several of them were slightly above him.
Two of the four assassins from the ambush in the valley and town were still alive; could they be a part of this?
Frank didn't believe so. But they could also very well be a part of a much larger picture. Maybe Dutton had hired an entire gang to rid himself of Vivian and Conrad. But why so much emphasis on him? Had Dutton found out that he was now a minor stockholder in the Henson Company?
'Damn,' Frank muttered. 'This is getting too complicated for a country boy.'
Frank got lucky. He caught a quick glimpse of what looked like part of a man's arm sticking out from behind cover and snapped off a fast shot.
'Goddamn it!' he heard the man holler. 'I'm hit. Oh, damn. I'm hit hard.'
'Where you hit. Pat?'
'My elbow. It's busted. Can't use my arm at all.'
'Hang on. I'm comin'.'
The man who was heading to help his friend jumped up, and Frank dusted him, the .44-.40 round entering the man's body high up on one side and blowing out through his shoulder. The second shooter never made a sound. He folded like a house of cards and went down, his rifle clattering on the rocks.
Another voice was added. 'Nick?'
Nick would never make another sound on this side of the misty vail.
'That bastard's got more luck than any man I ever seen,' a third voice called.
'Yeah,' a fourth voice shouted from off to Frank's left. 'Let's get out of here, Mack. Let that damn lawyer fight his own battles. I'm done.'
Frank waited for a few minutes, trying to pick up the sound of horses' hooves, but could hear nothing. They must have left their horses some distance away. Frank edged out of the rocks and ran a short distance to more
