Imposter (19 page)

“Will do, Doc.”

Doc Evans sniffed a couple of times and frowned. “And you need to find yourself some good strong soap and a horse trough too.”

“Thanks a lot, Doc.”

Johnny Vargas stopped Frank before he got to the general store. “Lucked out again, hey, Drifter?”

“This time I'd have to agree with you about that, Johnny.”

“Did you get Val?”

“No. Or Little Ed.”

“Little Ed really hooked up with Val? That don't surprise me none. I heard they'd been plottin' something even before Little Ed got in trouble.” Johnny stared at Frank for a moment, then smiled. “You look rough, Drifter. You better get some rest and get cleaned up. You and me are gonna settle something tomorrow.”

“What?” Frank asked.

“Who's the fastest gun. I'll see you at noon tomorrow, Drifter.” He pointed. “Right out there in that street.”

“Can't you do something about this fight, Frank?” Doc Evans asked.

It was just after eleven o'clock. Frank and Doc Evans were sitting in the Blue Bird Café, having coffee. Doc Evans was watching the minutes tick away on the clock.

“I don't know what I could do, Doc. Johnny has been wanting a showdown for a long time. It had to happen.”

“Tom can arrest him.”

“On what charge? Johnny hasn't broken any laws that I know of.”

“Threatening a peace officer.”

Frank smiled. “This is still the West, Doc. A man gets called out, he either meets his challenger, or leaves town.”

“And you're not planning on leaving town.”

“Not because of Johnny Vargas.”

“Can you beat him, Frank?”

“It'll be close, Doc. Johnny's real fast. Doc? How about those young girls who were raped?”

“What do you mean?”

“The chances of them being with child.”

“I did what I could, Frank. Doctors, many of us, that is, keep a small amount of grain that has been contaminated by a certain fungus. It can induce labor. It doesn't always work, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “It's the best I can do.”

“And the woman who won't speak?”

“She's in shock, Frank. She might come out of it in the next five minutes, she might never come out of it. If you asked me to guess, I'd say she's heading for an asylum. And those are very grim places.”

“So I've heard.”

“Back to this Johnny Vargas . . .”

“He often misses his first shot.”

Doc Evans frowned and shook his head. “Frank, why not just get a shotgun and blow him out of his boots?”

“Because we're gunfighters, Doc.”

“What the hell has that got to do with the situation?”

“It's an unwritten code, Doc.”

“Nonsense!”

Frank smiled at the expression on the doctor's face. “Lara called it a man thing.”

“About you and Lara . . .”

“That's over, Doc. Before it even had a chance to properly begin.”

“Give her some time, Frank.”

“That won't solve a thing, Doc. She doesn't like the West. She wants to go back East where it's civilized.”

“I'm from the East,” Doc Evans said. “You couldn't get me back there with a sledgehammer and a pry bar.”

Frank looked at the clock, then motioned for more coffee. “You don't appear at all nervous, Frank,” the doctor observed.

“I've done this many times, Doc. Nothing to get nervous about.”

“It's life and death, man!”

Frank shrugged. “On another matter, the women gave me a list of names of the men who assaulted them.”

“And you'll be going after them?”

“You bet I will.”

“A personal vendetta, Frank?”

“You can call it that.”

Doc Evans sighed. “Where is this Vargas person? Getting drunk in the Purple Lily?”

“No. I assure you, Johnny will be cold sober when we meet. He's a professional.”

“The one thing I have never understood about the West: a professional gunfighter. How do you make a living doing that?”

That brought a quick laugh from Frank. Before he could reply to Doc Evans's question, he saw Johnny Vargas step out of the hotel and onto the boardwalk. Frank looked at the clock. It was not yet noon. “I guess Johnny got impatient. There he is.”

Without looking around, Doc Evans said, “So now you walk out and soon one of you will be dead.”

“That's the way it usually goes, Doc.”

“You don't appear to be in any hurry.”

“I'm going to finish my coffee. Let Johnny wait. He'll get a little jumpy when I don't immediately show.”

“You've given these showdowns some thought, haven't you?”

Frank slowly nodded his head. “I've had plenty of practice.”

Both men watched as the main street of town was quickly cleared of people and horses. Frank slowly drank his coffee. Doc Evans watched the man closely. The man known as the Drifter showed no emotion; no nervousness, nothing. His face was expressionless. His hands did not have the slightest tremor. But his eyes were like looking into the bony face of death. Doc Evans knew then why so many men were scared of Frank Morgan.

Frank drained his coffee cup and pushed back his chair.

“It isn't yet noon, Frank.”

“Oh, we'll stand on opposite sides of the street and have a stare-down for a few minutes. That's the way it usually goes.”

“One trying to intimidate the other?”

“Something like that.”

“I don't like this, Frank. Not at all. The town has plans for you to stay and be a part of this community.”

“I won't be staying, Doc. I'll be pulling out very soon. I've got some justice I've got to deliver.”

“Maybe we can change your mind about that.”

“Don't count on it.” Frank walked out of the café, then strolled over to the edge of the boardwalk and leaned up against a support post. He slowly rolled a cigarette, lit it, then looked over at Johnny Vargas.

Johnny lifted his cigar in greeting.

The men stared at each other in silence across the wide street. The townspeople who had remained on the main street quickly stepped into stores. Dozens of faces began appearing in store windows along Main Street, everybody wanting to witness this shootout between two of the West's most famous and feared gunslingers. Tiny dust devils began whipping and circling madly in the street.

Johnny stepped off the boardwalk and walked to the center of the street. Frank tossed his cigarette away and stepped out in the street, walking to the center and turning slowly to face Johnny Vargas.

“This has to be, Drifter,” Johnny said. “It just has to be. You know that, don't you?”

“No. But if that's what you think, so be it.”

“One of us has to be top dog, Drifter. There isn't room at the top for both of us.”

“If you say so, Johnny.”

“You're gettin' old, Drifter. You should have hung up your guns a long time ago. It didn't have to end like this.”

Frank smiled as he saw the fingers on Johnny Vargas's left hand twitch nervously. He knew then, sensed it, that he was going to beat Johnny. Knew because Johnny Vargas was scared.

“What are you smiling about, Drifter?” Johnny asked.

“What's the matter, Johnny?” Frank asked softly, in a voice so low that only Johnny could hear it.

“What do you mean, Drifter?”

“You're scared, Johnny. I can almost smell the fear on you.”

“That's a damn lie, Drifter,” Johnny whispered.

“No, Johnny. It's the truth. That's sweat running down your face. And it's a cool day. You don't see me sweating.”

“Damn you to hell, Drifter!” Johnny hissed the words.

“Walk away, Johnny. Do it now and live.”

Johnny hesitated, then whispered, “I can't, Drifter. I can't do it. I done made my brags and I've got to see it through.”

“Don't be a fool. Man, you've got a chance to live. Don't force me to pull on you. Don't do it.”

“No, Drifter. It has to be this way.”

“What's wrong, Johnny? Tell me what's the matter.”

“Nothin'.”

“You're lying.”

“I ain't lyin', Drifter. Don't push me on this.”

“No, Johnny. Something is wrong with you. What is it?”

Johnny sighed so heavily, Frank could hear him thirty feet away.

“Tell me, Johnny.”

“Damn you, Drifter. I got the cancer in my belly. The doctors say I'm dyin'. But I'm goin' out knowin' I got lead in you.”

“Who in town knows about it?”

“No one. And I'd be obliged if it stayed that way. Providin', of course, you somehow luck up and beat me.”

“I'll beat you, Johnny. I'll make my shot true and stop the pain.”

“You bastard!” Johnny whispered. “You arrogant bastard. I've always admired and hated you at the same time.”

“I never hated you, Johnny. Never had any reason to. Hate is a mighty strong word.”

“Yeah, I reckon it is. You ready, Drifter?”

“Only if you are, Johnny.”

There was thirty feet between them. The wind suddenly died away, the sighing ceased. No dogs barked. The town was very quiet.

“I'll see you in hell, Drifter.”

“Drag iron, Johnny.”

Both men grabbed for the deadly Big Iron.

Both guns spat fire and death, not an instant's difference in the speed of their draw. The bullet from Johnny's pistol nicked Frank on the arm. Frank's bullet hit Johnny Vargas in the center of the chest and knocked him down in the dirt.

Frank walked up to stand over the man. Johnny smiled at him and said, “Damn, you're good, Drifter. I thought sure I could take you.”

“Sorry about this, Johnny.”

“Least it was you who done me in. I'm glad about that. I'll see you, Frank Morgan.” Johnny Vargas coughed, closed his eyes, and died in the street.

Doc Evans was the first to reach the men. “You're hurt, Frank!”

“Just a nick, Doc. A little bit of horse liniment and it'll be fine.”

Doc Evans knelt down beside Johnny for a few seconds, then slowly rose to his feet. “He's dead, Frank. My God, I never even saw you men draw. I've never seen anything that fast.”

“I damn shore never seen nothin' like it,” a local stated.

“The telegrapher is right now wirin' up and down the line,” a man said, walking up to stare down at the body of Johnny Vargas.

“What's he wiring?” Doc Evans asked.

“That Frank Morgan killed Johnny Vargas in a stand-up-and-hook-and-draw in the middle of the street.”

Undertaker Pennybaker walked over and said, “You reckon he's got any money?”

“I'm sure he does,” Frank said.

“Then I'll give him a right nice funeral. If he's got fifty extra dollars, I'll have a band and some moaners and wailers too.”

“I think Johnny would have liked that,” Frank said.

“Consider it done, Mr. Morgan.”

“Come on over to my office, Frank,” Doc Evans said. “I want to look at that arm.”

Frank looked up at a hotel window. Lara was standing there. She frowned at him and turned away.

“So much for that,” Frank muttered.

Doc Evans had seen Lara at the window. “Give her time, Frank. She's had quite a terrible experience.”

The men began walking to Doc Evans's office. As they walked, Frank said, “I'd give her all the time in the world if I thought it would do any good. But it won't.”

Doc Evans had nothing more to say on the subject.

The nick Frank had received was cleaned out and a small bandage put over it. “You'll live, Frank,” the doctor said. “At least for now,” he added dryly.

“I'll be pulling out in the morning, Doc.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. With the news of my killing Johnny Vargas out over the wire, there'll be gunslingers heading this way to try their luck with me. It'll be better for the town if I ride out as quickly as possible.”

The doctor slowly nodded his head. “Reluctantly, I have to agree with you.”

“I'll go provision up now, Doc. Get the packsaddle ready to load. I'll catch you later at the café.”

Frank went to O'Malley's and bought coffee, bacon, flour, sugar, beans, potatoes, and a dozen cans of bully beef for Dog. Jack O'Malley refused to let him pay for any of it.

“No way, Frank. This town owes you too much. I'll be sorry to see you go.”

“Thanks, Jack. I'll see you again before I ride out.”

“I'm counting on it.”

Dog got all excited when he saw Frank start readying the packsaddle. He began running around in circles and barking.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Frank told the big cur. “We need to get on the trail. You're getting fat.”

Frank got his clothes from the laundry, then bought a bit of grain to take along for the horses. He was almost ready. He planned on going to sleep early and pulling out long before dawn. He walked the main street, stopping at various stores and shops to say his good-byes. Then he walked over to the marshal's office.

Tom had just made a fresh pot of coffee, and Frank poured a cup and sugared it, then sat down.

“I really hate to see you go, Frank. I was hopin' you might decide to settle down here with us.”

“It's a nice town, Tom. But settling down is not in the cards for me. Not yet anyway.”

“You told Lara you're leavin'?”

“She knows, in a way.”

“Whatever the hell that means.”

“I'll be pulling out before dawn.”

“Going after the men who kidnapped and raped the women?”

“Yes.”

“You know where I wish you'd shoot them?”

Frank smiled. “I can guess.”

“I 'spect the women have the same wish.”

“I imagine they would rather I'd use a knife on a certain part of their anatomy.”

“You're probably right about that.”

Frank drank his coffee, then stood up and stuck out his hand to Tom. “Good knowing you, Tom.”

Tom stood up and gripped Frank's hand. “Good knowin' you, Frank. Thanks for all your help and Godspeed and good luck.”

Frank walked out and closed the door behind him.

He had one more door to close.

* * *

Lara opened the door to her hotel room at Frank's knock. She stood for a moment, not speaking. Finally she said, “Good afternoon, Frank.”

“Lara. I know it's not proper for a man to enter a lady's hotel room, but . . .”

“Oh, pish-posh, Frank,” she said. “Come on in.”

Frank removed his hat, and Lara waved him to a chair. “I'll be pulling out in the morning, Lara. I wanted to say good-bye.”

“I'm glad you came by, Frank. I would have been hurt had you not done so.”

“I really didn't know if you wanted to see me.”

“I was hurt when you told me you would not come East with me. I'll admit that. But I see now that you would be terribly uncomfortable living back East. You're a man of the West; a man of direct action. You're a man's man, Frank.” She allowed herself a small smile. “And the perfect woman's man too, I must admit. Just not this woman, I'm sorry to say. I should have taken all those things into consideration before I asked you.”

“Will you be all right, Lara?”

“I have funds, Frank. But thank you for asking.”

“Do you know where you'll be staying back East?”

“Oh, yes. But I think that when we part today, this should be the end of whatever we were building between us.”

“If you say so.”

“You don't think so?”

“I really don't know, Lara. But you are probably right. I shall, of course, certainly respect your wishes.”

“I thank you for that, Frank. Will you be leaving early in the morning?”

“Very early, Lara.”

“Then I guess this is really good-bye.”

“I suppose so.”

“I enjoyed knowing you, Frank. However brief it was.”

“And I enjoyed our time together, Lara.”

“I shall miss you, Frank Morgan.”

“I'll think of you often, Lara.”

“And I you, Frank. But in time, all memories fade.”

“I suppose so. What about your son?”

“That is something that will have to be worked out before I leave.”

“Tom will help you, and so will Jack and Ginny O'Malley.”

“I'm sure they will.”

“Good-bye, Lara.”

“Good-bye, Frank.”

Frank turned and walked out of the hotel room, softly closing the door behind him. Just as the door closed, he heard Lara sob. Frank walked away without looking back. He couldn't afford to look back; Lara's crying might have induced him into going back East with her, and that was something he knew would be a disaster for him.

He stood outside the hotel for a time, smoking and looking around the main street of the town. A nice town, full of good, friendly people. If Lara had not decided to go back East, Frank might have tried to make this town his home.

If, if. Always an
if.

“Mighty fine shootin' this noon, Mr. Morgan,” a local said as he passed by Frank.

Frank smiled and nodded his head. That remark brought him back to reality.
You're a gunfighter, Frank,
he reminded himself. A
fast gun. A
pistolero.
A professional. You won't settle down. Not now, not ever. You can't afford to even consider it... even if you wanted to. Which you really don't.

Not really.

Frank's hand touched the butt of his Colt Peacemaker.