Reprisal by William W. Johnstone Page A

leaving Denver I saw people. Then . . . nothing.”
    â€œLots of time for a man to think.”
    â€œIntrospection.”
    â€œI reckon.”
    The trading post that Frank had mentioned was gone. It had burned down and not been rebuilt.
    â€œWell, I’ll just be damned,” Frank said, looking at the old ashes.
    â€œNow what?”
    â€œI reckon we ride into town after all.”
    â€œBuena Vista?”
    â€œNo. Salida’s closer. ’Bout five miles east of here. Down that road there. And it’s a tad calmer. They got a hotel too. We’ll get us a couple of rooms and sleep in a real bed.”
    â€œAfter we bathe, I hope,” Jeff said dryly.
    It was midafternoon when the pair rode into town. Just before the ride in, Frank had put Dog in the pouch on the packsaddle and told him to stay put. He took Dog into the hotel with him. The desk clerk at the hotel got real huffy about Dog staying in Frank’s room . . . until Frank signed the register, and the clerk stared at his name for a moment, swallowing hard a couple of times. When the desk clerk could finally speak, he allowed as to how it would be just fine for Dog to stay in Frank’s room.
    â€œYou go on up to the rooms and take Dog with you,” Frank told Jeff. “I’ve got to do a little banking. It won’t take long. Then we’ll get us a bath and new duds.”
    â€œAh, Frank . . . I think I’d better save my money.”
    â€œRelax. I have plenty of money. My treat.”
    â€œAre you sure? I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it, Jeff. I assure you, I have ample funds.”
    At the bank, Frank asked to speak to the manager and was shown into his office. There, Frank opened a canvas and oilskin pouch and took out one of several bank drafts he carried with him. “Cash this for me?” he asked the manager.
    â€œThis is for a lot of money, sir. Are you sure you want to carry this much cash with you?”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œWe’ll be happy to honor this draft, of course.” He again looked at the name. “Ah . . . are you really . . .” He pointed to the name on the bank draft.
    â€œI am,” Frank said. “In the flesh. You have a problem with that?”
    â€œOh, no, sir! Not at all. I shall be right back with your money.”
    â€œTold you it wouldn’t take long,” Frank said, walking into the adjoining hotel rooms. “You ready for a bath and some new duds?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œBring Dog.”
    â€œIs he going to get a bath too?”
    â€œHe sure is.”
    Frank bought them both new clothes at a general store; then they walked over to a barbershop that also advertised hot baths. After Frank finished washing off days of dirt, he dunked Dog several times in the hot soapy water. They both smelled better, although Dog didn’t seem to appreciate his bath nearly as much as Frank did.
    All decked out in new clothes and feeling much better, Frank stashed Dog in the hotel room with a big bowl of stew he’d ordered from the dining room and a washbasin full of water. Then he and Jeff went down to the hotel’s dining room for supper.
    The desk clerk and the bank employees had spread the word about Frank Morgan being in town, and a crowd had gathered in the hotel lobby, including the marshal and all his deputies.
    â€œYou create more of a stir than the mayor of New York City,” Jeff remarked.
    â€œWhich is why I try to avoid towns as much as possible. Ignore the people. Let’s get something to eat.”
    After a few minutes of nothing happening, much of the crowd began to drift away, but the marshal and one of his deputies stayed, seated at a table away from Frank and Jeff, drinking coffee and staying ready for trouble.
    Frank and his new partner ate a tough steak and some undercooked potatoes and overcooked bread, and left the dining room, retiring to