Showdown by William W. Johnstone Page B

You’re an amateur, boy.
    â€œIs the skunk dead?” Martin asked.
    â€œSure, he’s dead. Hell, I put three slugs in him.”
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” Martin suggested.
    â€œNaw. I like it in here. Let’s have a drink. We got room at the bar now.”
    Martin looked around at the room full of hostile faces, then reluctantly joined his cousin at the bar.
    Frank finished his coffee and stood. Immediately all eyes in the room turned to him. He slowly brushed back his coat, exposing the butt of his second six-gun. A dozen pairs of eyes were quickly averted. Frank began the slow walk toward the front door.
    â€œTurn around, Morgan,” a voice behind him shouted. “I feel lucky today and I got me a need for that money that I’ll get when I plug you.”
    Frank paused and slowly turned. He did not know the man who was facing him. The other men on both sides had made room. No one wanted to be caught in a cross fire.
    â€œYou sure the hunt has started?” Frank asked calmly.
    â€œNow’s as good a time as any to begin it,” the man said.
    â€œYou got a name?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI need to know what to put on your tombstone, that’s why?”
    â€œThe name is Tyler. And I ain’t figuring on bein’ planted any time soon, Morgan. I’m figurin’ on bein’ a rich man in about a minute.”
    â€œHere now!” a voice called from the hotel entrance to the saloon.
    Frank cut his eyes for an instant. It was the man who had been pointed out to him as Horace Vanderhoot.
    â€œThe hunt has not yet begun,” Vanderhoot announced. “Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan. I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I am Horace Vanderhoot. And these two men standing behind me, holding sawed-off shotguns, are my bodyguards.”
    â€œYou mean those two with shotguns pointed at me?” Frank asked with a half smile playing on his lips.
    â€œVery astute of you, Mr. Morgan.”
    â€œYou must be very afraid of me, Vanderhoot,” Frank said.
    â€œLet’s just say I believe in taking precautions.”
    â€œWhen does this here hunt get started?” a man tossed out.
    â€œIn a few days,” Vanderhoot said. “I want to wait until the weather clears.”
    â€œWhy?” another gunslick asked.
    â€œMr. Morgan might want to run, and I want to give him the opportunity to do so.”
    â€œMorgan don’t run,” a familiar voice called from a darkened corner of the saloon.
    Frank cut his eyes. It was Dolan.
    â€œHe might,” Vanderhoot replied.
    â€œNot Morgan,” Dolan persisted. “You don’t know him. I do. He ain’t gonna run.”
    Vanderhoot waved a hand in a very effeminate gesture. It was not lost on the room filled with hard-bitten men. Many of them smiled. Including Frank. “Whatever,” Vanderhoot said. He smiled. “Besides, the longer we wait, the more the tension will heighten. And when it reaches its zenith, the fun will really begin.”
    â€œWho the hell is zenith?” a man asked.
    â€œI ain’t got no idee,” another said. “I ain’t never heard of him.”
    A very pained look crossed Vanderhoot’s face. “No money will be paid for Frank Morgan’s death until I officially announce the start of the hunt.”
    â€œYou can be charged for this,” Frank said. “It’s against the law.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Vanderhoot acknowledged. “If there was any law out here. But the nearest sheriff is a week’s ride away . . . in good weather. And you’re a murderer, Mr. Morgan. Besides, there are others who have placed a bounty on your head, and you know it.”
    Frank looked at the man and remained silent. Vanderhoot had done his homework, for a fact. Frank shifted his gaze to Tyler. “Still want to lock horns with me, Tyler?”
    â€œI’ll wait for a spell, I reckon,” the