Killing Ground. William W. Johnstone

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      “He’s right, Jack,” Frank told the deputy. “He hasn’t broken any laws, so I guess he’s got a right to be here. Why don’t you go on back over to the office, and I’ll see you later.”

      Jack looked like he was going to put up an argument, but after a moment he nodded.

      “All right, but watch yourself, Marshal,” he said. “This fella’s like a snake, all coiled up and just waitin’. You never know when he’s gonna strike.”

      “Don’t worry,” Frank said. “I’ve stomped plenty of snakes in my time.”

      Brighton stiffened at that, but he didn’t say or do anything. Still glaring darkly, Catamount Jack stalked out of the saloon, sort of like his namesake.

      “Well, Marshal, this has been a very informative conversation,” Brighton said when Jack was gone. “I knew that your deputy didn’t like me, and now I see that I have to regard you as an adversary, too, because of your connection to Woodford.”

      “I’m sworn to uphold the law, Brighton,” Frank said, echoing his earlier thought. “If the circuit judge supports your claim, you’ll have no trouble from me, regardless of what I might think of you personally.”

      “I hope that’s true, Marshal. I think you’ll see in time that we don’t have to be enemies.” Brighton turned to the table, tugged on the brim of his hat, and said to Rebel, “Ma’am, it was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I apologize for any discomfort or embarrassment I might have caused you.”

      Rebel gave him a cool smile. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Brighton. I’m not uncomfortable or embarrassed.” She paused, then added, “You see, I’ve stomped a few snakes in my time, too.”

      Surprise flared briefly in Brighton’s eyes before he controlled it. Rebel wasn’t the beautiful ornament that clearly he had taken her for. He managed to chuckle and said, “I’ll bet you have, ma’am.” Then he nodded to Frank and Conrad. “Gentlemen.”

      They waited until he was gone, then sat down again. The saloon had quieted down some during the confrontation at the rear table, as the Silver Baron’s patrons turned to watch. The noise level in the place gradually returned to normal as they realized that there wasn’t going to be a brawl or a shootout after all.

      “I don’t like that hombre,” Rebel said. “He’s got some of the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

      “But he certainly acts like a man with the law on his side,” Conrad said. “He seems confident of winning his case once the judge arrives.”

      Frank nodded. “Yeah, but if that’s true, why show up ahead of time like he did? Why not come into town with his lawyer just before the judge gets here?”

      “That’s a good question,” Conrad admitted. “Really, though, it’s none of our business.”

      “None of your business maybe. I’ve got to keep the peace here.”

      Conrad shrugged. “There’s no law against what he’s done so far.”

      “You almost sound like you’re on his side,” Rebel said.

      “Not at all. I don’t like the man either. But perhaps I’m more accustomed to dealing with his sort than either of you are. I’ve done business with plenty of men that I didn’t necessarily like or even trust.”

      “You won’t be doing any business with him,” Rebel snapped. “At least I hope not.”

      Conrad shook his head. “I don’t see any reason why I would be. If his claim has no legal standing and is thrown out of court, then he’s a nonentity as far as we’re concerned. If it’s upheld, then as he said, he’s a competitor. Either way, he’s got nothing to do with the Browning Mining Syndicate or the Crown Royal.” He smiled. “Which is a great relief, because it means that we can go ahead and get out of here and go home to Boston.”

      “So soon?”

      “We’ve been out here for two months. Isn’t that long enough?”

      “I wouldn’t mind staying out here for good,” Rebel said softly.

      Conrad frowned.

      Frank sensed that the question of where they should live was an ongoing discussion between Conrad and Rebel. It was also none of his business, so he stood up to leave.

      “Reckon I’ll go on over to the office and see if there’s any paperwork I need to catch up on. I knew I could trust Jack to keep the peace around here while I was gone, but he’s not much on reading and writing.”

      “We’ll see you later,” Conrad said. “We’ll be staying at the hotel tonight. Perhaps you’d like to join us in the dining room for dinner?”

      Frank would have preferred eating at the Chinaman’s hash house or the café run by Lauren Stillman, Ginnie Carlson, and Becky Humphries, the three soiled doves who had retired from the world’s oldest profession and settled down in the second-oldest—filling the bellies of hungry men.

      But he wasn’t going to turn down the invitation from Conrad, so he smiled, nodded, and said, “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

      He stopped at the bar on his way out to pay Johnny Collyer for the beer, even though the bartender tried to say the drinks were on the house. Frank had to pause and shake hands with several of the men at the bar, too, since they wanted to welcome him back to Buckskin. Claude Langley, the dapper, goateed Virginian who ran the undertaking parlor, said in his Southern drawl, “Things just haven’t been the same around here with you gone, Marshal.”

      “Not as many bodies to bury, huh?”

      Claude frowned. “Well, that’s not exactly the way I meant it, but now that you mention it…and I mean no offense, Marshal…”

      Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder.

      “I know you don’t, Claude. I’ll see you around.”

      And probably all too soon, Frank thought, if his past history was any indication.

      He went to the entrance and pushed the batwings aside to step out onto the boardwalk. The afternoon was well advanced by now, and night would be falling soon. Some of the workers from the mines would show up for an evening’s raucous entertainment. Quiet hung over Buckskin at the moment, though, almost as if the settlement was holding its breath.

      As the batwings flapped closed behind Frank, the quiet in the street was shattered by a hoarse shout. He looked around and saw a man running toward him.

      “Marshal, you’d better come quick!” the townie called in an urgent voice. “Tip Woodford’s about to kill that Brighton fella!”

      Chapter 4

      Frank caught hold of the man’s arm to stop him as he stumbled.

      “Take it easy,” he said. “Catch your breath and tell me what’s going on.”

      The man nodded and dragged in a lungful of air. Frank recognized him as Vern Robeson, СКАЧАТЬ