Frank smiled up at her as he smoked his cigarette. "What do you think it is, Angie?"
"Killing you."
"You a fortune-teller? Maybe you can see the future?"
"Joke if you want to, Frank. But I've served half a dozen hard cases breakfast this morning."
"Sometimes it's difficult to tell a hired gun from a drifting cowboy, Angie."
"And sometimes it isn't." She refilled his coffee cup and said, "You watch yourself today. This town's become a powder keg, and the fuse is lit."
She turned to leave, and Frank put out a hand. "Angie, what is it you're not telling me?"
"Nothing that I can prove. It's just a feeling I get every now and then. But over the years I've seen the best and the worst out here. I saw Jamie MacCallister go into action once. I've seen his son, Falcon, hook and draw. I personally know Smoke Jensen and Louis Longmont. I've been working in Western cafes since I was ten years old." She smiled. "And I'm no kid, Frank. I've got more than a few years behind me. You just be careful today, all right?"
"All right, Angie."
Frank looked out the window. The Kid was still sitting on the bench across the street, staring at the cafe.
Frank paid his tab and stepped out onto the boardwalk. None of his mental warning alarms had been silently clanging that morning, so what did Angie feel that he didn't? And why? The Kid was in town, probably to try to provoke a showdown with him. That was something that Frank had felt all along was bound to happen -- no surprise there. And it might well come to a head on this day. If so, so be it.
The hard cases she had mentioned? Did she personally know those bad ole boys, or had she just recognized the hard case look? _Probably the latter_, Frank concluded. And Frank knew that many toughs wore the same look, or demeanor.
Frank walked one side of the main street looking at the horses at the hitch rails. There were some fine-looking animals there, and none of them wore the same brand. But what did that prove conclusively? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Frank cut his eyes. Kid Moran was pacing him on the other side of the street. Maybe it was time for Frank to settle this thing. He hated to push it, but damned if he was going to put up with being shadowed indefinitely. It was already beginning to get on his nerves.
He looked up the street. Damned if more newcomers weren't pulling into town. Two wagons coming in, four outriders per wagon. And Frank felt that was odd. Most Indian trouble was over, so what could the newcomers be hauling to warrant eight guards? The wagons weren't riding that heavy.
Frank paused for a moment to watch the wagons as they rolled slowly into town. One wagon stopped at one end of the street; the other one rolled on and stopped at the far end of the main street.
"What the hell?" Frank muttered. He looked over at the bank building. The guard was just unlocking the front door, getting ready for another business day.
"'Mornin, Marshal," a citizen greeted Frank.
"'Morning," Frank responded.
The citizen strolled on, whistling a tune.
Frank looked at Kid Moran. The Kid was standing on the boardwalk, directly across the street, staring at Frank, smiling at him. Even at that distance, Frank could tell the smile was taunting, challenging.
"What the hell is with you, boy?" Frank whispered. "What's going on here?"
Jerry walked up, smelling of bath soap and Bay Rum after-shave.
"Jerry," Frank greeted him.
"Frank," Jerry replied. "You're lookin' spiffy this mornin'. You're duded up mighty fancy."
"And you smell like you're goin' on a date," Frank said with a smile. "You got you a lady friend?"
Jerry laughed. "Well ... me and Miss Angle might go for a walk this mornin'. We both been makin' goo-goo eyes at each other here of late. She's a nice lady."
"Yes, she is. And a damn good cook, too."
Jerry patted his belly. "I know!"
"Going to get serious, Jer?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Luckily we're both adults, and have been up and down the road a time or two. It isn't something new to either of us. So we're cautious." Jerry paused and looked at the wagons that had just rolled into town. "What the devil are those wagons doing, Frank? Looks to me like they're going to block both ends of Main Street. My God, they _are_ blocking both ends."
Frank looked first at one end of the street, then the other. The wagons were not long enough to completely block off the wide streets, even with the teams, but it looked as if they were sure going to cause some major problems for other wagons trying to get past.
"Frank, they're folding back the canvas on both wagons. Heck, maybe it's some sort of circus come to town, or some minstrel show. You reckon?"
"I don't know what's going on, Jer. But I damn sure intend to find out."
"I'll take this end," Jerry said, pointing. "You take the other."
"Marshal Morgan," Jiggs said, walking up. "What in the world is happening? Those wagons are blocking the street. That can't be allowed."
"We were just about to straighten out this mess, Jiggs."
"I swear, Marshal, some people have no consideration for others, do they?"
Before Frank could reply, Jerry said, "Frank, what is that machinery those guys are uncovering? I never seen no minin' equipment that looked like that."
Frank looked and felt cold sweat break out on his face. He blinked, thinking he was surely mistaken. He stared. No doubt about it: his first look was correct. "Those are Gatling guns, Jer!"
"Gatling guns?" Jiggs blurted. "Good God! Are you joking?" He stared at first one wagon, then another. "By the Lord, you're right, Marshal. What are those people going to do? Put on some sort of a demonstration?"
A couple of seconds after Jiggs asked his question, a tremendous explosion rocked the town. A huge cloud of dust enveloped the road leading out of the main street and up to the mines. The immense explosion was so powerful it cracked windows and sent some people stumbling off the boardwalk and into the street.
"The road's blocked!" an excited man yelled from the other end of the street a few seconds after the explosion. Then he started coughing when the enormous cloud of dust began settling over the main part of town, covering everything.
The men in the wagons began cranking the Gatling guns, and lead started flying all up and down Main Street. Several men and women were hit and knocked spinning by the gunfire.
Pistol fire joined the rapid fire from the Gatling guns.
On his belly on the boardwalk, Frank watched as half a dozen men, all carrying guns and cloth bags, entered the bank.
"Bank robbery!" Frank yelled, and rolled off the boardwalk and into the street just as the carriage from the Browning estate turned onto the main street from a side street. Frank could do nothing except stare in horror as a dozen rounds of lead raked the carriage. Vivian was knocked out of the carriage to lie still and bloody in the dirt.
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*Twenty-one*
Frank snapped off a lucky shot that hit the gunner in one of the wagons in the shoulder, knocking him back. But in a heartbeat another man had taken his place and was cranking out the lead, spraying death in all directions. Frank tried to get up and make his way to Vivian, but the intense fire from the Gatling guns forced him back. He crawled behind a water trough as the bullets howled and whistled all around him.