The Forbidden (12 page)

“Frank Morgan?” a man's voice called from the hall.

“Yes?” Frank's hand dropped to the butt of his Peacemaker.

“I'm friendly, Mr. Morgan. It's Jeff, from over at the livery. They's a boy outside, wants to talk to you and Miss Julie.”

“A boy? What boy, Jeff?”

“Donnie Bullard.”

J
ulie insisted upon walking down with Frank and confronting Donnie.

“I don't think that's wise right now, Julie,” he told her.

Her reply was to head for the door and step out into the hall. She looked back at Frank. “Are you coming?” Then she turned and walked on down the hall.

Frank plopped his hat on his head and went after her.

Donnie Bullard was standing on the boardwalk, his hat on his head.

Just a scared kid,
Frank thought.
Fifteen years old and in a peck of trouble
,
and knows it.

“Miss Julie,” Donnie said. “I disobeyed my dad and run off from home to tell you I aim to do the right thing.”

“What happened to your face, Donnie?” Julie asked.

“My dad, he hit me a couple of times when I told him what I was fixin' to do. Then he forbade me from comin' to see about Katie.”

“What do you think is the right thing to do, Donnie?”

Frank had stepped back into the shadows. This was between Julie and the boy.

“Well, me and Katie had talked abut it, ma'am. I aim to marry her.”

Doc Everett had walked to within hearing distance and stopped.

“I see.” Julie spoke softly. She looked at the boy in the faint glow of light from the lamps in the hotel lobby. “Your right hand is swollen and the knuckles raw, Donnie. What happened to your hand?”

Donnie shuffled his feet. “Well, Miss Julie, I hauled off and hit my dad after he punched me a couple of times and called Katie a dirty little whore. I mean, I knocked the stuffin' out of him. Knocked him flat on his behind, I did. Then I took off. I lit me a shuck outta there. That's how come my hand is kinda swole.”

Julie had to cover her mouth with a hand to hide her quick smile at Donnie's explanation. Frank cut his eyes to Doc Everett, and saw that the man had a wide grin on his face.

“Well, Donnie, how do you plan on supporting Katie?”

“I reckon I'll get me a job, Miss Julie. I don't rightly know where, but I'll work. I'm not a bit lazy.” He looked at Frank. “Mr. Morgan, ain't it?”

“That's right, Donnie.”

“Could I work at your ranch, sir? I'm a right good hand.”

“I'm sure you are, Donnie. And you've taken a big step toward becoming a growed-up man by coming here this morning. Your father should have been proud of you.”

“My dad stood at the door of the ranch house and disowned me,” Donnie said. “He screamed it out, real loud. Everybody heard it, 'ceptin' the hired guns, who was already on the move to attack this town. He said if I ever set foot on. 45 range again, he'd horsewhip me and leave me for the buzzards to eat my eyes.”

“How about your mother?” Julie asked.

“She's scared of my dad,” Donnie said. “She won't say nothin' against him.”

Frank glanced at the eastern sky. Silver was just beginning to push away the blackness of night.

“I'm worried about Betty Lou Gilmar,” Donnie said. “Scared about what her pa might do to her.”

“That's a legitimate concern,” Doc Everett said, finally stepping forward. “Ken Gilmar has a really bad temper.”

“I know Betty Lou's been goin' to see Doc Woods of late,” Donnie said. “Something's sure ailin' her.”

“Oh, my Lord,” Doc Everett muttered under his breath.

Julie looked heavenward and shook her head. “I wonder why,” she said, her words laced with sarcasm. “Come on, Donnie,” Julie said, holding out a hand. “Let's go see Katie. I'm sure seeing you will make her feel better.”

“I'd better get back to the wounded,” Doc Everett said, relighting the stub of a cigar. “I've still got some lead to dig out.”

Frank stood alone on the boardwalk for a few minutes. Fresh dirt had been scattered over the blood spots in the street, and the locals had returned home to wash up, have breakfast, and dress and get ready for the day's business.

Frank looked up the street and watched as a paint pony walked slowly into view, the rider slumping in the saddle as if asleep or very weary. As the pony drew closer, Frank could see that the rider was a woman. He stepped off the boardwalk and into the street, walking toward the pony and rider—he could now tell that the rider was a girl in her teens. He grabbed the reins just as she began to fall from the sad-die. Frank caught the girl in his arms. There was blood on the front of her red-and-white checkered shirt, and the back of the shirt was ripped and bloody.

“Get Doc Everett!” Frank yelled to a couple of men walking along the boardwalk. “Hurry!” Frank carried the girl to the boardwalk and set her down, holding her upright with one arm.

“Betty Lou Gilmar,” Doc Everett said, walking up.

“Her face is all swollen and bruised,” Frank said. “And her back is a mess.”

“I see that. Can you carry her over to my office?”

“Sure.”

Frank waited outside the doctor's office, and smoked a hand-rolled until Everett walked outside. “Her father beat that girl with his fists and then used a quirt on her back,” Doc Everett said. “The rotten son of a bitch!”

“Nice family. How bad hurt is she?”

“Nothing is broken that I could tell.”

“This is the girl who's been seeing the doctor in Hell?”

“The same.”

“And?”

Everett sighed and tossed his soggy stub of a cigar into the street. “Oh, I'd say she was about three or four months along.”

“I reckon we'll have us a double wedding.”

“It better be quick, Frank.”

“I'll talk to Julie about it.”

“Then there is the matter of what the hell a couple of fifteen-year-old boys are going to do to support a family.”

“They can farm and ranch.”

“For you?”

“I reckon so. With all the sections I've bought, I've got a hell of a spread. Nothing like the acreage the folks up at the north end have, but I figure it's close to two thousand acres. Maybe a little more than that.”

“Then you're really planning on staying?”

“I hope so, Doc. I'm sure going to try. If nothing else, I'll have me someplace I can return to now and then. For now, I'll arrange for a couple hundred head of cattle to be brought in for me and start the beginnings of a herd.” He smiled. “I've heard about a couple more sections of land that's up for sale. I'll look into that.”

Doc Everett looked at Frank for a few seconds, an odd expression in his eyes. He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a fresh cigar and fired it up. “Good, Frank. You need someplace to return to now and then.”

“You sound as if you don't think I can do it, Doc.”

“Do
you?”
the doctor asked, then turned and walked away.

Frank watched the doctor go, then went in search of Julie. He found her with the kids, all four of them, in the doctor's small infirmary. Two of the beds were filled, with Betty Lou and Phil, both of them sitting up.

Julie looked up when Frank opened the door, and waved him in. “We're going to have a double wedding, Frank.”

“That's, ah, wonderful, Julie. When?”

“As quickly as possible. Probably within two or three days. It'll be at the church.”

“Well . . . I'll certainly be there.”

“They'll all stay with me until they can find places of their own.”

Frank nodded, not sure exactly what to say. Things were happening awfully fast.

“Are you hungry, Frank?” Julie asked.

“I could eat.”

“Then let's leave the kids alone and have breakfast.”

“Fine with me.”

On the short walk over to the cafe, Julie said, “I don't know what else to do, Frank.”

“There isn't anything else. Except hope for the best for all of them.”

“Thank God you're here, though.”

Frank experienced some sudden and strange emotions at that statement. He wasn't sure how to respond. He figured the best thing he could do was keep his mouth shut, so he did.

“My house is going to be crowded,” Julie said.

“Sure will be.”

“You and I can work something out, though, right?”

“Ah . . . yeah. I mean, sure we can.”

“Good. That certainly takes a load off my mind.”

Frank helped her up onto the boardwalk, thinking:
Life can sure get complicated in a hurry.

A
fter breakfast Julie returned to the kids, and Frank walked to the livery to check on Horse. He was just leaving the livery when he heard someone shout.

Frank stopped and looked up the street. About a dozen men were riding slowly up the main street.

“Gilmar and Bullard in the front,” a local called. “And I don't think those men with them are regular cowboys.”

Frank stepped up onto the boardwalk and walked toward the approaching riders. From long habit he had slipped the leather thong from the hammer of his Peacemaker the instant he spotted the riders. As they drew closer, Frank could pick out several men in the group with the stamp of hired guns on them. He knew one of the men personally: Al Chambers. Al was quick and mean and had a dozen kills to his credit.

On the other side of the street, John Simmons was walking toward his bank. He stopped and turned, facing the street when Gilmar called out his name.

“Kenneth,” Simmons said. “I'm very surprised to see you in town.”

“I'm come to fetch my daughter home, John.”

“Well, that's up to her, Kenneth. Personally, I don't think she wants to return to your ranch.”

“She doesn't have a damn thing to say about it!” the rancher snapped, reining up.

“She can't travel yet,” Doc Everett called, stepping out of his office. “Won't be able to for several days. She's in a lot of pain and I've given her a sedative. So why don't you go away, and take your hired guns with you?”

“Why don't you go to hell, Doc?” Bullard said. “Nobody runs us out of any town.”

Frank was standing on the boardwalk, in a silent but very deadly stare-down with Al Chambers.

“And I've come to take my son back home,” Bullard said.

“No!” Donnie yelled from the second floor of the hotel. “You disowned me, remember?”

“Get your butt down here, boy!” the father yelled.

“Forget it!” Donnie yelled, and closed the window.

Suddenly, as if on a silent cue, both sides of the street were lined with citizens, all carrying rifles and shotguns.

“This town is dead,” Gilmar said. “I'll destroy it and everyone in it.”

The locals all raised their weapons.

“Easy, Ken,” Bullard cautioned his friend in a low voice.

Frank and Al Chambers were looking at one another, engaging in a silent exchange of potentially deadly glances.

“Betty Lou!” the father yelled. “Get out here. We're going home.”

“You go home!” the girl yelled from behind walls. “You go home without me.”

The owner of the Lightning brand sat his saddle and cursed.

Al Chambers slowly swung out of the saddle and stepped up onto the boardwalk. Frank Morgan faced the man, the wide street between them.

“Donnie!” Bullard yelled. “Come on, boy. Stop this silliness now. It's time for you to come on home.”

“Go to hell!” the son hollered.

The two ranchers exchanged glances. “This ain't workin',” Ken said. “I told you it wouldn't, Don.”

“Take your hired guns and leave this town,” Banker Simmons called. “You're welcome here anytime you want to come in peace.”

Bullard pointed a finger at Simmons. “Nobody tells me what to do in this valley, Simmons. And that sure as hell includes you.”

“Don't be a fool, Don,” the banker told him. “We could have the most prosperous communities in this territory if you'd stop trying to fight growth.”

The rancher cursed the banker.

“Yonder stands the reason these shopkeepers and sheepherders and clodhoppers all of a sudden got some courage,” Al Chambers called. He pointed toward Frank. “Mr. Bullard, you and Mr. Gilmar pull your men back some, out of the line of fire. I'll take care of Morgan right here and now.”

“Now see here!” Simmons said.

“Shut up, John,” Bullard called. “You got your gunslick, didn't you? Well . . . we got a right to ours, don't we?”

“It's all right, John,” Frank called. “I'll handle this. The rest of you citizens, stay out of this.”

“Back up, boys,” Gilmar called, waving a hand. “This is between Al and Morgan. We're out of it.”

“No matter how it turns out?” a gunhand called.

“No matter what,” Gilmar said. “That fair enough, John?”

“Fair enough,” the banker said. “If that's the way Morgan wants it.”

“It is,” Frank called, stepping off the boardwalk into the street.

The ranchers and their hired guns backed away, leaving Al Chambers standing alone, facing Frank. The long lines of civilians on both sides of the street began moving aside, not wanting to get caught in the line of fire.

“I've waited a long time for this, Morgan,” Al called.

“Well, your wait is over, Al. Make your play.”

“All in good time, Morgan. I want to see you sweat some.”

“Because I'm facing you, Al?”

Al nodded his head.

Frank laughed at him.

Al cursed him. “I'm gonna shoot you in the belly, Morgan. You're gonna die hard and long, you bastard.”

Frank made no reply.

“Did you hear me, Morgan!” Al yelled.

“Of course I heard you, Al,” Frank said. “Half the town did.”

“Then drag iron, Morgan. Damn you, pull on me.”

“After you, Al.”

Al cussed him.

Frank yawned. “This is boring me, Al. If you don't do something pretty soon, I'm going to doze off right here in the street.”

Julie and the kids were watching from a second-floor window. They were standing back so Frank could not see them and be distracted.

“Miss Julie,” Donnie said. “Al Chambers is awful fast. Him and some of the other gunfighters is gettin' triple fightin' wages to deal with Mr. Morgan.”

“I'm sure Frank knows that, Donnie.”

“He's a real nice man, Miss Julie. I'd hate for something bad to happen to him.”

“So would I, Donnie.”

Standing in the street, Al cussed and grabbed for his gun. Frank hooked and drew, the motion so smooth and quick the blinking of an eye would have missed it. The Peacemaker cracked in the morning air. A hole appeared in the center of Al Chambers's shirt. Al had not cleared leather. His .45 dropped back snugly into the holster, and Al staggered for a couple of seconds, then sank to his knees.

“Jesus God,” one of the hired guns whispered in awe.

“You bastard!” Al said. “You've killed me.”

“You started it,” Frank said, dropping his Peacemaker back into leather.

Al tried to get to his feet. He struggled for a few seconds, then sat back down in the dirt, blood beginning to leak from his mouth. He cussed Frank, spewing the blood-tinged profanity into the quiet air.

The ranchers, Bullard and Gilmar, sat their saddles and stared grim-faced at the scene before them.

Frank stepped back up onto the boardwalk just as Doc Everett walked out of his office and over to the downed gunhand. The doctor squatted down and tried to open Al's shirt. Al slapped his hand away.

“Leave me alone, you bastard!”

“With much pleasure,” Doc Everett said, standing up and backing away.

“Look at him, Doc,” Ken Gilmar said.

“He doesn't want me to check him,” the doctor replied.

Al fell over, facedown in the dirt.

“Maybe now you can check him out,” Don Bullard suggested.

The doctor knelt down and quickly checked the fallen gunfighter. He looked up at the mounted ranchers. “He's dead.”

“Couple of you boys pick him up and lay him across his saddle,” Bullard ordered. “We'll bury him back across the line.”

Frank was standing on the boardwalk, leaning against a support post, rolling a cigarette, watching the scene in the street.

Gilmar glanced over at Frank. “It isn't over, Morgan. Not by a long shot.”

Frank shrugged that off. “It should be,” he told the rancher. “You're fighting a losing battle. All that's going to happen is a lot of people, good and bad, are going to die.”

“We didn't have nothing to do with them night riders who tried to burn the town,” Bullard said. “You can believe that or not.”

“You're saying it was all Trainor's doing?” Simmons called.

“I'm sayin' we didn't have nothin' to do with it, that's all.”

Frank popped a match into flame and lit his cigarette.

Al Chambers's body was tied belly-down across his saddle.

“Let's go, boys,” Bullard ordered, lifting the reins. He glanced over at Frank. “It ain't over, Morgan.”

“I'll be around, Bullard.” Frank replied.

The ranchers and their hired guns galloped out of town. Doc Everett walked over to Frank, while the locals lowered their guns and went back to their homes and businesses.

“You believe what Bullard said about the night riders, Frank?”

“No. His son said their confrontation took place just after the riders left to attack the town. Bullard's a liar.”

“I've known that for years,” Doc said sourly. “How do you feel, Frank?”

“No different than I felt ten minutes ago, Doc.”

“I've seen a lot of death in my time,” Doc said. “I've never really become hardened to it. My so-called callous attitude is meant to cover that up.”

Frank smiled. “There's a question in there somewhere, Doc, right?”

“We've talked about this before, Frank. Killing doesn't seem to bother you.”

“First time I shot a man, Doc, I nearly puked my guts out. I was just a kid, 'bout Donnie's age. Second time it was easier. My philosophy is simple. I use a gun to protect my life, my loved ones, my property. I won't take much talking down to, and I won't tolerate people putting hands on me. If I pull a gun, I'm ready to use it, and usually do.”

“And if everyone shared your philosophy, Frank?”

“It would be a hell of a world.”

Doc Everett grunted and said, “See you later, Frank.”

“I'll be around.”

Frank watched the doctor walk away back to his clinic, then stood and watched as the town got back to normal and stores began opening for the day's business. Dirt was raked over the bloodstains in the street, and Al Chambers became another short-lived memory in a Western town. The incident would be talked about for a few days; then something else would happen to push it out of the citizens' memory.

Frank walked over to the hotel to have a chat with Julie. They had a lot of things to discuss and not much time to do it.