Imposter by William W. Johnstone Page A

don’t even like you.”
    Frank smiled. “Want me to get up and leave?”
    Johnny chuckled. “Naw. I reckon not. What do I know about Dooley? Well, not much, really. He’s younger than us. You and him resemble a whole lot. I know he’s a woman-abuser. I don’t much hold with that.”
    Like many fast guns, Johnny Vargus operated under an odd moral code: It was perfectly acceptable to kill a man, but against the code to be disrespectful to a good woman.
    â€œWhat else, Johnny?”
    â€œNothin,’ I reckon. Well . . . nothin’ ’ceptin’ I don’t much like a lot of these men that’s come driftin’ into town. They’re worthless trash.”
    â€œYes. Thieves and murderers.”
    â€œAnd worser, Morgan. A lot worser.”
    â€œJohnny, I don’t expect you to turn on your friends, but if you hear of anything that these men are up to that turns your stomach, will you let me know?”
    Johnny Vargas stared at Frank for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “I reckon I could do that, Morgan. Yeah, I will.”
    â€œGood enough, Johnny. Thanks.”
    â€œBut I’m still gonna kill you, Morgan. Someday.”
    â€œLet me know when you’re going to try.”
    â€œOh, you’ll know, Morgan.”
    Frank pushed back his chair and walked away, out of the Purple Lily Saloon. He stood on the boardwalk for a moment, breathing the cool air, then walked across the street to the town’s other saloon, the Gold Nugget . . . the Nugget as the locals called it. It was the middle of the week and unlike the Purple Lily, the Nugget was nearly empty. Frank looked in over the batwings, then walked on up the boardwalk. He shook his head as he thought of Johnny Vargas.
    â€œStrange man,” Frank muttered.
    The town was shutting down for the evening, most of the stores already dark. Only O’Malley’s General Store was still open and doing business. Frank stepped inside, bought another sack of tobacco, and looked at the selection of men’s clothing for a few minutes. A suit caught his eye and he fingered the material. Nice.
    â€œThat’s a new style, Mr. Morgan,” O’Malley said, walking up behind Frank. “Got that in just the other day from Kansas City. I bet that’s your size too.”
    â€œIt’s nice. I’ll come in tomorrow and try it on.”
    â€œI’ll put it up for you.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Frank stepped back onto the boardwalk and stood in the shadows, watching as several men slowly walked their horses up the street. They stopped in front of the Nugget and dismounted, slowly looking all around them.
    They’re up to no good, Frank thought. And judging by their outfits, they aren’t working ranch hands. When the trio stepped up to stand in front of the windows of the saloon, letting the light bathe them, Frank could see the men wore their guns tied down.
    â€œHired guns,” he muttered. “Or outlaws. Going to be interesting here in Chance before long, I’ll bet. Real interesting.” Frank walked down to Doc Evans’s office and opened the door.
    â€œI put Big Ed to sleep with laudanum,” the doctor said. “He’s got some cracked ribs. Don’t worry about him escaping from this office. He’ll be out until midmorning. I assure you of that.”
    â€œGood enough, Doc. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    Frank went back to the hotel and went to bed.
    * * *
    Frank was up early the next morning, as was his habit. The Blue Bird Café had not yet opened when he walked down to the livery to check on his horses and Dog. He had bought several cans of bully beef and some bread the day before, and he fed Dog some beef and bread and filled up his water bucket. After Dog had eaten, Frank played with him for a time, and then walked up to the Blue Bird Café and had breakfast. He had the waitress fix a breakfast plate, and took the food