The Forbidden by William W. Johnstone

few seconds. “My God, boys!” he hollered. “It’s him. He’s here. Right in this saloon.”
    â€œWho’s here?” someone called.
    â€œWho’s him?” another yelled.
    â€œFrank Morgan! ” Jake shouted. “Standin’ right in front of me at this bar.”
    The men on both sides of Frank suddenly moved to one side in a hurry. The men standing by Rob did the same. Only the long, empty expanse of bar was now between the gunfighter and the bigmouth.
    Frank sipped his whiskey and stared straight ahead.
    â€œWell, there he is, Rob,” a man called. “Poor old gray-headed, raggedy Frank Morgan.” He began to laugh. “Are you drunk and shaking in your boots, Mr. Morgan?”
    â€œNot likely,” Frank said softly.
    â€œWell, I think you’re a coward,” Rob said. “What do you think about that, Morgan?”
    â€œI think you ought to run back home and get your mama to change your diaper and tuck you into your little bed,” Frank said, turning to face Rob. “Either that, or shut your goddamn flapping mouth.”

SIX
    F rank began to walk slowly toward Rob. The young man backed up a few steps.
    â€œNow you hold it right there, Morgan!” Rob said.
    â€œOr you’ll do what?” Frank challenged him.
    â€œI’ll have to deal hard with you, that’s what.”
    Frank took another step. “All right, Rob. Shuffle the cards and deal.”
    â€œI mean it, Morgan.”
    Another step from Frank. Another step back from Rob. The saloon patrons were silent, watching, with only a few men whispering.
    â€œIs that really Frank Morgan?”
    â€œDamn sure is. Now shut up.”
    â€œI don’t want to have to hurt you, Morgan!” Rob said. “But by God, I will if you don’t hold it right there.”
    Frank took another step. “I’d hate for you to try to hurt me, Rob. Because if you try that, I’m going to take those guns off you and beat you half to death with them.”
    â€œI’d like to see that,” a man said.
    Rob was scared and sweating as he backed up another step. Frank Morgan didn’t look anything like Rob had imagined he would. Frank Morgan looked big and powerful and just plain mean.
    â€œTake off those guns, boy,” Frank said.
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œI said take off those guns. Lay them on the bar and walk out of here.”
    â€œI ain’t gonna do no damn such of a thing!”
    â€œYou’re mighty young to have to die.” Frank’s words were spoken with a touch of ice in his tone.
    â€œDie?” Rob questioned. “No, not me, Morgan. You don’t stop pushin’ me, I’m gonna have to draw on you. I mean it.”
    â€œI hope you don’t drag iron on me, Rob. ’Cause if you do, it’s going to be the last thing you ever do on this earth. Now take off those guns and lay them on the bar.”
    â€œYou go to hell, Morgan!”
    Frank took another step.
    â€œMorgan! Stop it.”
    â€œThink about death, boy,” Frank told him. “Give it some hard thought. Dead is forever, boy. Do you realize that?”
    â€œHuh? You the one who’s gonna be dead, Morgan. I’m fast, man. I’m the fastest gunslick in this part of Montana.”
    â€œBut you’re not fast enough, Rob. Believe me, you’re not.”
    Frank took another step forward. Rob took another step backward.
    â€œI don’t think the boy’s got enough grit in his craw to jerk iron,” someone said from the crowd.
    â€œShut up,” Frank told the unknown voice. “Unless you want to step up here and take Rob’s place.”
    The man had nothing to say in reply to that.
    Frank started walking toward Rob.
    â€œNow you just hold on!” Rob yelled, the blood draining from his face. Sweat was dripping from his forehead.
    Frank didn’t stop until he had backed the young would-be gunfighter up against