“I’ll think about it,” was all he said as they reached the saloon.
Before they could push through the batwings, a man who had just ridden up in front of the Silver Baron said, “Morgan? Frank Morgan?”
Frank stopped, stiffening as he recognized the tone of voice. He had never seen this hombre before, but he knew the man anyway, knew him as well as he knew his own face in the mirror.
“I’m Morgan.”
“I got a bone to pick with you, Morgan. Folks say you’re mighty fast with a gun, but I think I’m faster.” The man dismounted, dropped his reins, and faced Frank in a crouch, his hand hovering over the butt of his Colt, ready to hook and draw. “I aim to prove it,” he added.
Before Frank could respond, Tip Woodford said, “Then you’re a damned fool, mister. You know who this is?”
The gunfighter sneered. “Yeah, he’s Frank Morgan, but he don’t scare me. I can beat him to the draw.”
“No,” Tip said, “he’s the marshal of Buckskin, and he’s our friend. Even if you do beat him, which I seriously doubt you can, you’ll have to shoot me next. And then him—” Tip nodded toward the batwings, where Johnny Collyer had appeared carrying his sawed-off shotgun. “And him.” That was Leo Benjamin, stepping out onto the porch of the general store with a rifle in his hands. “And him.” Catamount Jack eased along the boardwalk, his gnarled old hand on the butt of the cap-and-ball pistol at his hip.
Tip pointed out half-a-dozen other townspeople whose attention had been attracted by the confrontation between Frank and the would-be fast gun. The stranger looked around, his face growing taut with worry as he realized he was surrounded by hostility.
“So you see, mister,” Tip concluded, “when you go up against the marshal o’ Buckskin, one way or another you’re gonna wind up blowed full o’ holes. Don’t you reckon the smartest thing to do would be to climb back on that horse and ride outta here while you got the chance?”
The man hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he snarled, “You’re the luckiest hombre I ever saw, Morgan.” He grabbed his reins, swung up into the saddle, and rode out.
Frank watched him go and said, “Yeah. I reckon I sure am.”
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2007 William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 0-7860-1976-X
