"As soon as you finish your breakfast we'll go over to the jail and see what you need for your living quarters, then go to the store for provisions."
"Sounds good to me."
"By that time the mayor should he in his office at the bank, and we'll get you sworn in. Jerry, you haven't asked about salary."
Jerry smiled. "I know what boom towns pay their lawmen. It will be more than adequate, I'm sure."
"I'll see that it is."
Angie came over and refilled their cups. The customers all had been served and were chowing down, and no one was calling for anything, so she pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Gonna be a law dog again, Jerry?" she asked.
"Beats the mines, Angie."
"I'm sure. Unless you're the owner."
"Frank Morgan!" the shout came from out in the street. "Get out here, you bastard!"
"What the hell?" Jerry asked.
Frank got up and looked out the window. A man was standing in the center of the wide street. He was wearing two guns, something that was becoming a rarity in the waning days of the so-called Wild West.
"You know that man, Frank?" Angie asked, standing just to Frank's left.
"I never saw him before, but he sure as hell is no kid."
Jerry joined them at the window. "I've seen him around town a time or two. Don't know his name."
"Morgan!" the man called. "You murderin' pile of coyote puke. Get out here and face me!"
"I don't think that fellow out there likes me very much," Frank said.
Jerry looked at Frank and smiled and shook his head at the marshal's calmness. "I think you'd be safe in sayin' that, Frank."
"Did you see anyone with the guy, Jerry, anyone at all?" Frank asked.
"No. Never. I never even seen him talkin' to anyone."
Both sides of the street had cleared of people within seconds. The few horses at hitch rails that early in the day had been quickly led away by their owners in anticipation of lead flying about.
"You either come out and face me or I'm comin' in there and drag you out, you yellow bastard!" the man in the street hollered. "By God, I mean it, Morgan!"
Frank slipped his pistol in and out of leather a couple of times. He didn't have to check to see if it was loaded. He knew it was. "Time to go see what that fellow wants," Frank said.
"Hell, Frank!" Jerry blurted. "You know what he wants. He wants to kill you!"
"Lots of people have tried that over the years, Jerry. I'm still here."
Angie put a hand on Frank's arm. "He may have someone in hiding, Frank. Not many men would face you alone. It's something to consider."
Frank cut his eyes to her. "I always take that into consideration. That's one of the reasons I'm still alive. But I'm marshal here. I can't afford to let something like this get out of hand. And it could, very easily. If it did, that would be the end of law and order in this town."
Angie opened her mouth to speak. Jerry held up a hand. "He's right, Angie. I know you've got a shotgun behind the counter. Give it to me, and I'll back him up."
"All right." Angie hurried behind the counter and returned with a long-barreled scattergun.
"It's got light loads in it," the cook said. "But at close range they'll sure put someone out of commission."
"Good enough," Jerry said, breaking open the scattergun to make certain both chambers were loaded up. He looked at Frank. "You ready?"
"You sure you want to do this, Jerry? Hell, man, you're not even on the payroll yet."
Jerry grinned at him. "Maybe you can arrange a bonus for me."
"Count on it."
"Come on out, you chicken-livered has-been!" the loudmouth in the street hollered.
"That does it," Frank muttered through suddenly clenched teeth, and moved toward the cafe door.
None of the principals noticed the young man across the street stop on the boardwalk and stand and stare. Dressed in his stylish business suit, he was as out of place as a buffalo turd in a crystal punch bowl.
"What in the world is going on?" he asked a clerk who had been sweeping the boardwalk.
"There's gonna be a gunfight."
"Why doesn't someone call the marshal?"
"Someone just did, boy. That fellow standin' in the street."
"My word!" Conrad said.
--------
*Ten*
Frank stepped out the front door of the cafe, taking his time while Jerry hustled out the back door and made his way to the street, coming up the narrow space between the two buildings. The small crowd that had gathered on the boardwalks moved left and right, out of the line of fire ... they hoped.
Frank looked more closely at the man in the street. He did not recognize him, and did not believe he had ever seen him before. "What is your problem?" Frank called.
"You! You're the problem, Morgan."
"Why? I've never seen you before. I don't know you."
"I know you."
"How?"
"You killed my brother up in Wyoming. Jim Morris was his name ... remember?"
"Can't say as I do. What's your name?"
"Calvin. The man who's gonna kill you, Morgan."
"Doubtful, Calvin, very doubtful."
"You callin' me a liar? Damn you, you back-shootin' lowlife!"
"I never shot anyone named Morris. Not in the back or anywhere else."
"You're a liar, Morgan. You ambushed him one night and shot him in the back!"
"Not me, Calvin. You have the wrong man."
"You're both a liar and a coward, Morgan!"
"You're wrong on both counts. Think about it. Don't throw away your life."
"Enough talk, Morgan. Walk out here and face me if you've got the guts."
That settled the question in Frank's mind about a second, hidden gunman. He and Morris were in full, open view of each other. So the hidden gunman must not, as yet, have a good shot at Frank. He hoped Jerry got the message.
"What's the matter, Calvin?" Frank asked. "Can't you see me? You need glasses, maybe?"
"I can see you, Morgan," Calvin said sullenly. "I don't need no damn glasses."
"Then let's get this over with. I'm tired of trying to save your life."
"Huh?"
"You seem determined to end your life this morning. I've tried to keep you from doing that. But you won't listen. So let's do it, Calvin. Enough talking."
Calvin looked up for just a second. That was all the signal Frank needed. The second gunman was on the roof of the cafe, or one of the buildings just left or right of the cafe. As long as Frank stayed under the awning, he was safe from the sniper.
"I knowed you was yeller, Morgan. I'm challengin' you to stop all this talk and step out here and face me."
"Hook and draw, Calvin," Frank said easily. "You can see me."
"You're yeller. I knowed all along you was yeller. Told everybody I'd prove it."
"And you're a loudmouth son of a bitch," Frank said without raising his voice.
That got to Calvin -- if Calvin was his real name, which Frank doubted. The man tensed, and Frank could see his expression change.
"You'll pay for that, Morgan."
"How? You going to have your buddy on the roof shoot me in the back?"
"Take him, Lou!" the man on the roof shouted. "Take him now. He's on to us!"
Calvin/Lou hesitated for just a second, then grabbed for his pistol.