Read Online Showdown by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

said.”
    â€œYou know his name?”
    â€œSaid his name was Hill. From Texas.”
    â€œDon’t know that one. He dead?”
    â€œThey’ll plant him in the morning, I reckon.”
    The gunhand grunted and took a sip of his beer. “I done made up my mind ’bout this stupid hunt, Morgan.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYeah. I’m out of it. I’ll stick around till the road is open, then I’m gone.”
    â€œWhat changed your mind?”
    â€œA number of things. Mainly, though, ’cause this whole thing is sick. I’ve hired my gun out many times, for a lot of reasons. But never for nothin’ like this here. It’s stupid. And I just flat don’t like them damn Easterners.”
    Frank smiled. “Neither do I.”
    The gunslick laughed softly. “I reckon you don’t.” He looked down at his drink. “I know a way through the mountains. It’s a tough ride, but it’s passable. I’m headin’ out come first light. You want to come along?”
    Frank met the gunny’s eyes. “I should, I know that. But I just can’t. Do you understand?”
    The gunslinger slowly nodded his head. “I reckon I do, Frank. I shore do. I ain’t much for runnin’ myself. Just the thought of runnin’ away from a fracas sorta sticks in my craw.”
    â€œThat’s the way I feel about it.”
    The gunfighter lifted his glass. “Luck to you, Frank.”
    â€œThanks.” Frank watched the man drain his glass and then walk away.
    Through the front glass of the saloon, Frank watched lightning dart across the skies, listened as thunder rumbled, and then heard the rain increase in intensity.
    â€œWhen the hell are we gonna get this show goin’?” a man yelled out. “I’m gettin’ damn tired of waitin’.”
    â€œPatience, patience!” Horace Vanderhoot shouted from the doorway leading from the hotel to the saloon. “As soon as the rain ceases, the hunt will begin. Fifty thousand dollars will go to the man who kills the notorious murderer and gunfighter Frank Morgan. But if Frank Morgan is killed before I officially announce the start of the hunt, not one penny will go to that man. Here is something that might peak your interest. With the exception of Frank Morgan, the last man standing will be declared the winner of the hunt. At last count, there were almost sixty of you men in town. Only one will ride out fifty thousand dollars richer. Think about that and act accordingly. For now, I bid you all a very pleasant good night.”
    You bloodthirsty son of a bitch! Frank thought as he watched the foyer door close behind Vanderhoot. You have just opened the gates to hell.
    â€œWell, now,” a gunny said, stepping away from the bar. “Ain’t that a kick in the butt?”
    â€œDo that mean what I think it means?” another asked.
    â€œDamn shore does, Jimmy,” a redheaded gunhawk said, stepping away from the bar to face the speaker. “And I’m gettin’ tarred of lookin’ at your ugly mug.”
    Frank quickly glanced around the saloon. There was not a local in sight. They had all quietly left the watering hole. Three soiled doves were standing together, pressed up against a far wall. Fear was evident in their faces.
    â€œYou’re callin’ me ugly, Steve?” Jimmy asked. “Why . . . when you was a little boy you was so damn ugly, your momma had to tie a piece of salt pork around your neck so’s the dogs would play with you.”
    The saloon rocked with rough and profane laughter.
    Frank waited and watched, his coffee turning cold in the cup. The laughter slowly faded and the situation turned tense as the two men backed up a few steps, their hands poised for a hook and draw.
    â€œYou leave my ma out of this, you piece of coyote crap!” Steve responded.
    â€œSure will,” Jimmy replied. “ ’Cause you didn’t have