'You have the money on you?'
'Half of it. Get ... the other half ... when you're dead.' The drifter's head lolled to one side.
'Talk to me, damn you!'
But the drifter was past speaking. He was dead.
'Dear father-in-law,' Frank whispered, rage and disgust filling him. 'I knew you disliked me, but I didn't know your hatred was so intense.'
Frank went through the drifter's pockets and then loaded the man's body across his saddle and lashed him down. Leading the skittish horse -- who didn't like the smell of blood -- Frank rode into the nearest town and up to the marshal's office. The much smaller town was miles closer than the fast-growing town of Denver.
Frank explained what had happened, sort of -- leaving out who hired the drifter, and why.
'Any reason why this man would want to kill you, Morgan?'
'No. I don't have any idea. I've never seen him before. As you can tell by looking at me, and smelling me, I suppose, I've been working cattle most of the day.'
The marshal smiled. 'Now that you mention it...' He laughed. 'All right, Morgan. Did you go through the man's pockets?'
'Yes, I did. Trying to find some identification. I didn't find any papers, but he had fifty dollars on him. The money is in his front pants pocket.'
Frank had taken two hundred and left fifty to bury the drifter and to throw off suspicion.
The marshal did not question Frank further on the shooting. 'We'll get him planted, Frank. Thanks for bringing in the body. Most people would have just left him.'
Frank rode back home, arriving late that night. He did not tell Viv about the shooting -- how could he? She wouldn't have believed him. He spent a restless night, wondering how to best handle the wild hate her father felt for him.
The next day he went to see his father-in-law. Frank tossed the two hundred dollars on the man's desk.
'There's your blood money, Henson. I left fifty dollars in the man's pockets to bury him.'
The successful businessman/lay preacher looked up from his desk. Frank had never seen such hatred in a man's eyes. 'You filth!' Henson said. 'Worthless gunman. Oh, I know all about you, Morgan. You're a killer for hire.'
'That's a lie, Mr. Henson. I've killed men, yes. I won't deny that. But it was in self-defense. Not for hire.'
'You're a liar!' Henson hissed. 'And you're not worthy to even walk on the same side of the street as my daughter. You're a hired killer, a gunman. You're filth, and always will be.'
Frank stared at the man in silence for a moment. 'I'm going to prove you wrong, Mr. Henson.'
'No, you won't. You can't. I've had detectives tracing you all the way back to your miserable, hardscrabble beginnings, you white trash. And I know all about the rape charges that were brought against you in Texas.'
'Rape!' Frank blurted. 'What charges? There are no rape charges -- there have never been any.'
Henson smiled cruelly at Morgan. His eyes glinted with malevolence. 'There will be when my men get through doing their reports.'
Frank got it then. Viv's father was paying detectives to write false reports. He was speechless.
'Leave,' Henson urged. 'Leave on your own, and I won't use those reports against you. I give you my word on that. Just saddle up and ride away.'
'Leave? Vivian is my wife. I love her.'
'Love!' Henson's word was filled with scorn. 'You don't know the meaning of the word. You're a damned rake! That's all you've ever been. I'll destroy your marriage, Morgan. I will make it my life's work. I promise you that.'
Frank started to speak, and Henson held up his hand. 'Don't bother begging, you trash. It won't do you a bit of good. Leave. Get out. Get out of my office, get out of my daughter's life, and get out of town.' He smiled. 'Before my detectives return and I have the sheriff place you under arrest.'
'I'll tell Viv about this,' Frank managed to say.
'Go right ahead. I'll just tell her I knew all about it and was trying to protect her. See who she will believe. Me, naturally.'
'I can beat the charges.'
'No, you can't. I'll see you tried, convicted, and carried away in chains, just like the wild animal you are. My detectives have found, ah, shall we call them 'ladies,' who will testify against you. And they will be believed.'
Frank was boxed, and knew it. Henson had wealth and power and position, and could very easily destroy him. He sighed and said, 'All right. But I have to know Vivian will be taken care of.'
'Of course she will be. I'll see to that personally. She'll never want for anything. You're making a very wise decision, Morgan. Do you need money? A sum within reason, of course.'
'I wouldn't take a goddamn dime from you, you sorry-assed, mealymouthed, self-righteous, sanctimonious son of a bitch!'
'Get out!' Henson flared. 'Get out of town right now. Don't go home. Don't see Vivian. Just get on your horse and ride out of here. For Vivian's sake, if not for your own.'
