"Hell," a man said, his voice unnaturally loud in the silence, "his name ain't Logan. I don't give a damn what he told you, Booker. That's Frank Morgan!"
_Booker must be the young man from the livery_, Frank thought. _Well, it's all out in the open now._
The two outlaws at the far end of the bar turned to stare. Frank ignored them.
"Well, well," one of the outlaws said. "If it ain't the man all them books was writ about. I thought you had done up and died of old age, Morgan."
"Not hardly," Frank said softly, struggling to remember the man's name. Then it came to him: Davy something-or-another. Jonas was the other fellow's name. They were cousins.
"I know some folks who will be awful happy to hear you're in town, Morgan," Jonas said. He grinned, exposing a row of yellow teeth.
"I imagine so, Jonas. But how are you going to get the news to them?"
"Huh? Why I'll just ride out of here, you dummy!"
"You'll have to go through me to do that. You feel up to that?"
"They's two of us, Morgan," Davy said.
"I can count, Davy," Morgan replied, lifting the mug of beer with his left hand. His right hand stayed close to the butt of his .45. "But I don't care if there's five of you. You still won't get past me."
The men seated at the nearest tables began pushing their chairs back, getting away from what they were sure would turn into gunplay any second.
"You got no call to do this, Morgan," Jonas said. "We ain't done nothin' to you."
"Not personally, Jonas. But you both offend me."
"We both does what?" Davy asked, quickly adding, "What the hell does that mean?"
"You offend a lot of people, Davy. And you both are wanted by the law for murder."
"That's a damn lie!" Jonas said.
"No, it isn't, boys. I've seen the dodgers on you."
Davy's right hand started moving slowly toward the butt of his pistol. Frank's voice stopped him.
"Don't do it, Davy. I'll kill you where you stand."
Davy put his hand back on the bar.
Without taking his eyes off the two outlaws, Frank raised his voice and said, "One of you men go get the keys to the jail. Right now! Move!"
Several men rose from their chairs and left the saloon.
"What do you aim to do with us, Morgan?" Jonas asked.
"Put you in jail."
"Mayhaps we don't want to go to jail," Davy said. "What then?"
"Then I'll kill you," Frank replied, taking several steps closer to the pair of outlaws.
"You're just foolin' yourself, Morgan, if you think you're man enough to take both of us," Jonas told him.
Frank just smiled and moved closer.
"You stop right where you is!" Davy shouted. "We don't want no trouble, Morgan."
"That's up to you, boys," Frank said, stepping closer. "But if you don't want trouble, drop those gunbelts and stand easy."
"You go to hell, Morgan!" Jonas said, and he grabbed for his pistol.
Frank hit him with a fast, hard left, connecting squarely with the outlaw's jaw and dropping him to the floor.
Davy cussed wildly, then panicked and tried to run. Frank tripped him as he attempted to push past, and he hit the floor. Frank jerked the outlaw's pistols from leather and, using one of them, popped Davy on the noggin, dropping him into dreamland for a few minutes.
Jonas was groaning and trying to get to his boots. Using Jonas's gun, Frank laid it against the man's head, and Jonas joined his partner, unconscious.
Frank took Jonas's gun from leather and laid all three pistols on the bar. The batwings were shoved open, and the men who had hustled from the bar reentered, one of them carrying several sets of handcuffs.
"The jail's unlocked, Mr. Morgan," one of the men said, placing the cuffs on the bar. "The keys to the cells are on the desk."
"And the mayor's on the way to talk to you," another citizen added.
"What's he want?" Frank asked, bending down and fitting the cuffs on the outlaws.
"Durned if I know. But he'll be along any minute now."
"Name's Jenkins," another citizen said, looking down at the two murderers.
"He's president of the bank," the third man offered.
"Wonderful," Frank said. "We'll wait until these two yahoos can walk, then escort them to the jail. There's a telegraph office in this town, isn't there?"
"Oh, you bet, Mr. Morgan. If the wire's up, that is."
"It's up," a citizen called from the tables. "I seen Mrs. Browning send some wires this mornin'."
_Vivian_, Frank thought as something invisible and soft touched his heart....
"And that damn brat son of hers was with her," the citizen added.
"Way he keeps that snooty nose of his stuck up in the air, he's gonna drown if he's caught out in a hard rain," another citizen said.
"Sort of an uppity young man, is he?" Frank asked.
"Uppity?" one of the men blurted. "Conrad thinks he's better than everyone."
"Conrad?" Frank questioned.
"Conrad Browning. Sixteen or seventeen years old, I'd say. Big kid. And doesn't treat his mother with the proper respect, neither."
Another man summed it up. "He's a turd."
_Vivian's father must have had a hand in raising the boy_, Frank thought.
"You know, Mr. Morgan," a citizen pointed out, "them outlaws is rumored to be part of the Pine and Vanbergen gangs?"
Frank shrugged. "I know both of those no-counts. Why hasn't the law around here done something about them?"
"For one thing, the law can't catch them. For another, nobody is willin' to step up and point the finger at any of them. They always wear masks and dusters when they're robbin' people. The third thing is, law is scarce in these parts. We ain't had a marshal here in this town for months."
"And the pay is real good, Mr. Morgan. I'm Will Moncrief, a member of the town council. The town may not have long to live as a silver boom town. Another two, three months, maybe. But while it does, we pay good money for a badge-toter. Why don't you take the job? You've wore a badge before."
"And I'm on the council, too," another citizen said. "You want the job, Mr. Morgan?"
"Maybe. But it'll take more than the two of you to OK me, won't it?"
"There's four of us on the council, and the mayor," Moncrief said. "And -- "
The batwings were pushed open, interrupting Moncrief. A man stepped inside the saloon. "And I'm the mayor of Barnwell's Crossing," the neatly dressed man said. "Mayor Jenkins. What's going on here?"
The crowd hushed up, and all eyes turned toward Frank.
"These two hombres on the floor are wanted men, Mayor," Frank said. "They're both murderers. Rewards out for them. I want to hold them in your jail until they're picked up."
"Sounds all right to me," Jenkins said. "You took them without firing a shot?"
"Yes."
"I know you. Seen your picture. You're Frank Morgan."
"That's right. You have a problem with that, Mayor?"
"Oh, no. Not at all. You're not an outlaw. You've never been wanted anywhere for anything, as far as I know. And you've worn a badge a number of times, as I recall."
"Yes, I have."