Hell Town. William W. Johnstone

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      “I care about staying alive. Whether or not that means I’m faster on the draw than some other fella…” Frank shook his head. “I haven’t lost a minute of sleep worrying about that for years now.”

      Clevenger stared at him for a long moment in silence, then finally grunted in surprise. “Huh. That ain’t what I expected out of you, Morgan, but it don’t change anything. I heard you’d taken to toting a badge, but that don’t mean anything either. I’m still here to kill you.”

      “Clevenger,” Frank said, “right back there behind me is a brand-new grave. The young fella lying in it thought he was a dangerous man, fast on the draw. He’ll be a long time dead because he felt that way. You and I have both lived longer than we had any right to expect, the sort of lives we’ve led. Why don’t you climb back on that horse and live a while longer?”

      Face set in stubborn lines, Clevenger shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “Not while the famous Frank Morgan is still drawing breath. One of us has got to go down, Morgan.”

      Frank sighed, knowing that Clevenger wouldn’t be talked out of this. The man had been a gunfighter almost as long as Frank had, with plenty of kills to his name. He fought fair, but he had a reputation as being a cold-blooded bastard too, who had been known to finish off a man once he was wounded and down. There was not an ounce of mercy in him.

      “All right,” Frank said. “It’s your play. You want to dance, you start the ball.”

      Clevenger sneered, and less than the blink of an eye later, his hand flashed with blinding speed toward the gun on his hip.

      It came as no surprise to Frank that Clevenger was fast. The gunman wouldn’t have lived this long if he hadn’t been. Their guns came out of leather at the same time, but the barrel of Frank’s Colt leveled out just a hair ahead of Clevenger’s. Smoke and flame geysered from the Peacemaker’s muzzle. Clevenger fired half a heartbeat later, but that was too late for him. His gun had already dropped toward the ground as he was driven backward by the slug from Frank’s gun that smashed into his chest.

      Clevenger landed on his back. He struggled to rise for a second, then sagged down into death. His hat had fallen off, and the breeze tugged at the long gray hair and moved it around in front of his face.

      Frank took a fresh cartridge from one of the loops on his shell belt and replaced the spent one in the Colt’s cylinder, then pouched the iron. Behind him, he heard Claude Langley call to the gravediggers, “Better get started on another one, boys.”

      Chapter 5

      Catamount Jack met Frank about halfway back to the marshal’s office. He had a shotgun in his hands.

      “I got to thinkin’ maybe I shouldn’t’a sent that feller out to the graveyard when he come by the office lookin’ for you,” Jack said. “Figured I’d go out there and make sure ever’thin’ was all right, but then I heard a couple o’ shots. Reckon he must’ve found you all right.”

      “He did,” Frank said.

      “Hombre plan on stayin’ around Buckskin for long?”

      “He didn’t plan on it, but I reckon now he won’t be leaving.”

      Jack let out a cackle of laughter; then as Frank frowned, the old-timer said, “Sorry, Marshal. I know killin’ a man is serious business. But Good Lord, didn’t he know who he was goin’ up against?”

      “He knew,” Frank said. “That’s why he came looking for me. His name was Harry Clevenger, and he had a reputation as a fast gun.”

      “Not fast enough.” Jack was still grinning. His attempt at being more solemn hadn’t been successful.

      “Do me a favor, would you, Jack?”

      “Sure.”

      “Find Mayor Woodford and ask him if he’d come over to the office, would you?”

      “All right, but Tip’s liable to already be up at his diggin’s. I’ll check the Lucky Lizard office and his house, though.”

      Frank went on to the marshal’s office while Jack went in search of the mayor. Earlier that morning, Frank had made some fresh coffee, and he was halfway through a cup of it when Tip Woodford came through the door of the office. He wore his usual overalls and slouch hat.

      “Jack said you wanted to see me, Frank?”

      “That’s right. Coffee?”

      “No, thanks. I got to get up to the mine in a little while. What can I do for you?”

      Frank sat down behind the table. “I guess you heard what happened out at the cemetery a while ago.”

      “Jack told me,” Tip said with a casual nod. “Are you all right? That hombre didn’t wing you?”

      Frank shook his head and said, “I’m fine. His bullet didn’t come anywhere near me. You don’t seem too bothered by this, Tip.”

      The mayor shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Why should I be bothered? It wasn’t me the fella wanted to kill. And you said yourself that you’re fine, so I don’t have to go huntin’ another marshal….”

      “It’s going to happen again,” Frank said.

      Tip frowned. “Somebody comin’ here to draw against you, you mean?”

      “That’s right. Harry Clevenger was only the first. To tell you the truth, I expected it to happen before now. The word’s getting around that I’ve settled down in Buckskin, so now every would-be shootist in these parts knows where to look for me.”

      “There can’t be that many gunfighters left. I mean—”

      “I know what you mean. Smoke Jensen and Matt Bodine are settled down with families and spend most of their time on their ranches. Nobody messes with them. But there are still a handful of old-timers, like this hombre Clevenger who showed up today, and more importantly, there’ll always be green kids who think they’re fast on the draw and want to prove it. Dime novels have been around long enough now so that some of them have grown up reading the blasted things. They think the West is nothing but shoot-outs and showdowns, and they want to get in on the action. I’m a prime target for youngsters like that, Tip.”

      “I don’t doubt any of what you say, but I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at, Frank.”

      “I’m saying that as long as I’m the marshal here, you’re going to have men riding into Buckskin for no reason other than to try their hand at killing me. That can’t be good for the town.”

      Tip’s eyes widened. “You want to quit?”

      “I don’t want to. I like it here. But I don’t want to be the cause of bringing trouble down on the town.”

      Tip scratched at his jaw with a blunt finger and frowned in thought. “Listen here, Frank. When Dutton’s gang rode in here and took over, you were the one who came along and saved us. They might have killed all of us before they were through. Might’ve done even worse.”

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