The Last Gunfighter Hell Town

those things.”

“Does your husband know that you’re here?”

She shook her head. “No, certainly not, and I don’t want him to know. He doesn’t like for me to involve myself in his business affairs.” She laughed. “He says I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about such things.” A look of concern appeared on her face. “You won’t tell him, will you? You can look into Mr. Hammersmith’s actions without Hamish having to know that I talked to you?”

“I reckon I can try to keep your name out of it,” Frank promised.

She sighed in relief. “Thank you, Marshal. I’m just trying to help Hamish, not get him angry.”

“I can understand that, what with you being his wife and all.” Frank stood up. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I don’t believe so. You will try to find out what Mr. Hammersmith has been up to?”

“Yes, I will.” Frank didn’t tell her that he had already suspected Hammersmith before she ever came over here. He didn’t share her conviction that her husband was blameless in the matter, though. But she didn’t have to know that.

Jessica stood up and offered him her hand. “Thank you, Marshal. You don’t know what a load this is off my mind.”

“Might be a good idea not to say anything to Mr. Munro about Hammersmith,” Frank said as he took her hand. It was warm and supple. “Just let me look into it.”

“All right.” She smiled, making her face light up. “Good-bye, Marshal.”

Frank said good-bye and watched her walk out of the office. As he settled back down in his chair, he thought about what she had told him. The more he thought about it, the less sure he was that he believed anything she had said. Was she really so trusting that she thought Hammersmith would be carrying out that sabotage without her husband’s knowledge?

Just because she acted like a pretty, brainless fool didn’t mean she actually was one. Maybe she was trying to increase Frank’s suspicions not only of Hammersmith but of Munro as well. But why would she do such a thing?

Frank couldn’t answer that question just yet, but he was going to keep it in mind. It looked like Jessica Munro was playing some sort of game of her own. She might turn out to be just as dangerous as her husband and Hammersmith.

And the female of the species, Frank reminded himself, was often deadlier than the male….

Chapter 26

Frank went about his business in a normal fashion for the next couple of days, waiting to see how—or if— Hammersmith and Munro would react to the prodding he had given them. If anyone tried to kill him, he planned to capture the bushwhacker and force him to reveal who had hired him. Most hired gunmen would spill their guts when faced with the prospect of hanging—or having Dog turned loose on them.

On the evening of the second day, Frank was making his rounds when Colt flame suddenly spurted from the darkness of an alley mouth he was passing. He had heard a faint noise just before the gun went off, nothing solid enough to identify, but alarm bells had gone off inside his head anyway, sending him plunging forward. The bushwhacker’s bullet went just behind his head, close enough so that he felt the wind-rip of its deadly passage.

By the time Frank landed on one knee, his Peacemaker was already in his hand and he was twisting toward the spot where the muzzle flash had lit up the shadows. Aiming low, he triggered twice, in hopes that he could knock the would-be killer’s legs out from under him.

The gunman must have been moving as soon as he fired his first shot, though, because two more blasts came from the far side of the alley. Either that or there were two bushwhackers, Frank thought as slugs chewed splinters from the planks of the boardwalk—in which case his attempts to draw an ambush might have worked a little too well.

He dived off the boardwalk into the street as more bullets whistled around his head. As he landed on the dirt, he rolled fast to his left, a move that brought him behind a water trough. He came to rest on his belly with the Colt still clutched in his hand. Slugs thudded into the thick wood of the trough, but didn’t penetrate it.

Running footsteps pounded on the boardwalk from both left and right. Frank lifted his head and shouted, “They’re in the alley! Go around back!”

The men who had been running toward him darted into other alleys, heading for the narrow lane that ran behind the buildings. When Frank started on his rounds tonight, Clint Farnum had been about a hundred yards ahead of him, while Catamount Jack trailed him by an equal distance. Both deputies stayed hidden in the shadows as much as possible, so that anyone laying a trap for Frank would be less likely to notice them. Unknown to the bushwhackers, Frank had been setting his own trap, and the gunmen in the alley had sprung it.

As the shots fell silent, Frank heard a muttered curse and then a man said in an alarmed voice, “They’re gonna get behind us!” That confirmed there were at least two bushwhackers.

“Blast our way out the front!” a second man urged. “We gotta get to the horses!”

A couple of saddle mounts were tied to a hitch rail in front of the next building along the street. Frank figured the horses belonged to the two gunmen. The men must have reloaded, because they burst out of the alley firing their six-guns like they had an endless supply of bullets. Frank had to stay low, behind the water trough, or else the deadly storm of lead would have ventilated him.

The killers dashed for their horses. The one in front made a leap for his saddle. Frank rose up and snapped a shot at him. The other man returned the fire, and Frank felt a bullet tug at the side of his shirt. It missed the flesh underneath, though.

Frank must have missed the first man to try to mount up, because the hombre reached the saddle and jerked his reins loose as he twisted around and threw more lead. Bullets kicked up dust around Frank and forced him to roll