“Hombre plan on stayin’ around Buckskin for long?”
“He didn’t plan on it, but I reckon now he won’t be leaving.”
Jack let out a cackle of laughter; then as Frank frowned, the old-timer said, “Sorry, Marshal. I know killin’ a man is serious business. But Good Lord, didn’t he know who he was goin’ up against?”
“He knew,” Frank said. “That’s why he came looking for me. His name was Harry Clevenger, and he had a reputation as a fast gun.”
“Not fast enough.” Jack was still grinning. His attempt at being more solemn hadn’t been successful.
“Do me a favor, would you, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“Find Mayor Woodford and ask him if he’d come over to the office, would you?”
“All right, but Tip’s liable to already be up at his diggin’s. I’ll check the Lucky Lizard office and his house, though.”
Frank went on to the marshal’s office while Jack went in search of the mayor. Earlier that morning, Frank had made some fresh coffee, and he was halfway through a cup of it when Tip Woodford came through the door of the office. He wore his usual overalls and slouch hat.
“Jack said you wanted to see me, Frank?”
“That’s right. Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I got to get up to the mine in a little while. What can I do for you?”
Frank sat down behind the table. “I guess you heard what happened out at the cemetery a while ago.”
“Jack told me,” Tip said with a casual nod. “Are you all right? That hombre didn’t wing you?”
Frank shook his head and said, “I’m fine. His bullet didn’t come anywhere near me. You don’t seem too bothered by this, Tip.”
The mayor shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Why should I be bothered? It wasn’t me the fella wanted to kill. And you said yourself that you’re fine, so I don’t have to go huntin’ another marshal….”
“It’s going to happen again,” Frank said.
Tip frowned. “Somebody comin’ here to draw against you, you mean?”
“That’s right. Harry Clevenger was only the first. To tell you the truth, I expected it to happen before now. The word’s getting around that I’ve settled down in Buckskin, so now every would-be shootist in these parts knows where to look for me.”
“There can’t be
“I know what you mean. Smoke Jensen and Matt Bodine are settled down with families and spend most of their time on their ranches. Nobody messes with them. But there are still a handful of old-timers, like this hombre Clevenger who showed up today, and more importantly, there’ll always be green kids who think they’re fast on the draw and want to prove it. Dime novels have been around long enough now so that some of them have grown up reading the blasted things. They think the West is nothing but shoot-outs and showdowns, and they want to get in on the action. I’m a prime target for youngsters like that, Tip.”
“I don’t doubt any of what you say, but I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at, Frank.”
“I’m saying that as long as I’m the marshal here, you’re going to have men riding into Buckskin for no reason other than to try their hand at killing me. That can’t be good for the town.”
Tip’s eyes widened. “You want to quit?”
“I don’t
Tip scratched at his jaw with a blunt finger and frowned in thought. “Listen here, Frank. When Dutton’s gang rode in here and took over, you were the one who came along and saved us. They might have killed all of us before they were through. Might’ve done even worse.”
Frank knew what he meant. The hired killers who had worked for Charles Dutton would have gotten around to raping Diana and the other women in town sooner or later, before murdering all the inhabitants and burning Buckskin to the ground.
“Buckskin’s just now turnin’ into a real town again,” Tip went on, “but it can’t do it without you. The folks who come here know that you’ll keep ’em safe. Without a good marshal to keep the lid on, you know how fast a boomtown can boil over. That’s no good for anybody.”
Tip was right about that too, but it didn’t ease Frank’s mind completely. He said, “You’re sure you’ve thought this over enough?”
“I don’t have to think it over for very long to know that I damn sure want Frank Morgan to be the marshal o’ my town,” the mayor declared. “Buckskin just wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Frank took a deep breath and then nodded. “All right, if that’s the way you want it. I felt like I ought to warn you, though, that the violence is liable to get worse before it gets better.”
“Shoot, that’s gonna be true whether you’re here or not,” Tip said with a smile. “Why do you reckon I asked you to pin on that badge in the first place?”
Several days of relative peace and quiet went by. Frank had to break up a few drunken fights in the Silver Baron and the other saloons, and once one of the combatants was so determined to keep the brawl going that Frank had to tap him on the head with the butt of his Colt and drag the fella down to the jail to sleep it off. That was the biggest ruckus that occurred.
Harry Clevenger had been dead broke when he got to Buckskin, so Amos Hillman sold the gunfighter’s horse to pay for his burial. Clevenger’s saddlebags contained a letter, from a woman in St. Louis named Ida Skillery. Frank
