But he did catch a glint of reflection off the barrel of a rifle.
"They ain't huntin' ducks this time of night," Frank muttered.
_But are they hunting me?_ he questioned silently. _And if so, why?_ He was sure they weren't the three young hotheads he'd seen back in the saloon.
He was further intrigued as he watched the men slip back into the alley and disappear from sight. Just then a door opened on Frank's side of the street and bright lamplight flooded the street and illuminated the alley he'd seen the men walk into.
But they were gone without a trace.
"What the hell?" Frank muttered. "What in the hell is going on here?"
The door closed, and Frank sprinted across the wide street and darted into the alley. He paused, listening. He could hear nothing.
He moved on, to the end of the alley, stopping as he heard the low murmur of men's voices.
"I told you that bitch wasn't in her office this late. I told you both that."
_What bitch?_ Frank asked himself.
"So OK, so you was right. We'll grab her tomorrow night."
"Oncest we get the big boss lady, that brat kid of hern will gladly hand over the silver."
"Yes," the third man said. "Shore a lot easier than waitin' for them to ship it."
_Viv! They're after Viv._
"So what do we do now?"
Frank stepped out of the alley, his hands wrapped around the butts of both .45's. "You stand right where you are, is what you do."
The three men whirled around and the night exploded in gunfire.
--------
*Eight*
As soon as the words left Frank's mouth he sidestepped back into the alley. The three men fired where Frank had been, their bullets hitting nothing but the night air.
Frank hunkered down next to the boarded-up building and fired at the shadows to his right. One man screamed and went down to his knees. The other two fired at the muzzle flashes, and Frank was forced to duck back.
He crawled under the building. Built about two feet off the ground, it was damp, smelled bad, and was littered with trash. He slithered along like a big snake until he was only a few feet away from the two men still left standing.
"I think we got him!" one said.
"Think again," Frank said from the darkness under the building, and opened fire.
The two men went down in an awkward sprawl. Frank rolled out from under the building and got to his boots.
"My leg's broke," one of the men moaned. "Oh, crap, it hurts bad."
"I'm hard hit," another one said. "Where is that bastard?"
"Right here," Frank said. "And if either of you reaches for a gun you're dead."
"Sam?" said the one with a broken leg said. "Sam? Answer me, boy."
There was no response. The only person Sam was going to answer to was God.
"He's dead," Frank told the would-be kidnapper just as a crowd began to gather, some of them with lanterns.
"Who the hell are you?" The other outlaw groaned the question.
Frank ignored that. "Get the doctor." He tossed the command to the gathering crowd. "And someone else get the undertaker."
"Who are these men?" someone in the crowd asked. "And what did they do?"
"They're part of the Pine and Vanbergen gangs," Frank told him. "They were attempting to kidnap Mrs. Browning for ransom."
"Good God!" a man said.
"How the hell did you know that?" one of the wounded outlaws asked. "And who the hell are you?"
"Somebody talked," the other outlaw said. "That's how he knew. Man ... Ned is gonna be pissed about this."
"Who are you?" the outlaw persisted.
"Frank Morgan."
"Oh, hell!"
The town's doctor pushed his way through the growing crowd and ordered lamps brought closer to the wounded men. "That one's dead," he said, pointing. "This one's got a broken leg." He moved over to the third man. "Shot in the side. Bullet went clear through. Some of you men carry these men over to the jail. Where is Mr. Malone?"
"Right here," a tall thin man said, pushing his way through the crowd. "How many dead?"
"One. The other two will live, I'm sure."
"One is better than none," Malone the undertaker said. "If he's got the money to pay for my services."
"You bastard!" the outlaw with the broken leg said. "You give him a decent sendin' off, damn you."
"He'll get planted," Malone said. "How solemn and dignified will depend on the cash in his pockets."
"Get the living out of here," the doctor told the volunteers.
Frank spotted Willis in the crowd. "I'm going to need some extra blankets from your store."
"I'll get them and bring them over to the jail," the store owner said. "Anything else?"
"Laudanum," the doctor said.
"I'll get it from Jiggs at the apothecary."
Doc Bracken stood up. "I've done all I can do here."
"I'll be at the jail," Frank told him.
When the wounded outlaws were patched up and locked down, Frank went looking for Hal and Jimmy. He found them in their room at the hotel.
"Big doin's, huh, Frank?" Jimmy asked.
"Shaping up that way. How tired are you boys?"
"Not tired at all," Hal replied. "Matter of fact, we had just finished washin' up and was thinkin' of findin' us an all-night poker game."
Frank told them about the planned kidnapping, and that got their attention.
"What can we do to help?" Jimmy asked. "Name it, Frank. We owe you more'un one favor."
"You'll be well paid for this, I assure you. Want to stand guard at the Browning house?"
"Consider it done. Have you talked to Mrs. Browning about it?"
"I'll do that right now. You boys get dressed and we'll walk over together." Frank smiled. "That is, as soon as I find out where she lives."
* * * *
It was the grandest house in the town, naturally, with a sturdy iron rail fence around it. The gate was locked. A cord was hanging out of a gap in the fence, and Frank pulled on it.
A man dressed in some sort of uniform came out and stood on the porch. "Yes? What do you want?"
"I'm Marshal Frank Morgan. Here to see Mrs. Browning on a matter of great urgency."
"I'll tell her, sir."
"Got to be one of the servants, I guess," Frank said to Hal and Jimmy.
"Must be nice," Hal said.
"I reckon," Frank replied.
"I never been in a house this grand," Jimmy said. "Y'all stomp your boots a couple of times to get any horseshit off of 'em."
Frank smiled. "Good idea. We don't want to leave tracks on the carpet."
Conrad came out onto the porch and down the walkway to the gate, and he took his time doing it. As he was unlocking the chain he said, "I do hope this is important, Marshal. We were in the middle of dinner."
"Hell, it's eight o'clock," Hal said. "Y'all hadn't et yet?"
"Eight o'clock is when most civilized people sit down for dinner," Conrad told him.
"Pardon the hell outta me," Hal muttered.
The interior of the home was elaborately furnished. There were paintings on the walls, and vases and various types and sizes of sculptures on itsy-bitsy tables and pedestals.