Showdown Read Online Free PDF Page B

Doc Raven replied. “The last of the people pulled out, oh, five years ago, I guess. Red Rock was the name of the place.”
    â€œYeah, that’s it. I stopped there for supplies. Gold-mining town, I recall.”
    â€œGold-mining fiasco was what it was. There never was any gold there, except what was salted in a couple of caves by that thieving ne’er-do-well who bilked a lot of people out of their money.”
    â€œWhatever happened to him?”
    â€œSome folks down in Utah hanged him a few years ago.”
    Frank smiled. “Don’t tell me he tried to pull something over on the Mormons?”
    â€œYes. And he didn’t make it. They were on to him like a weevil to flour. Strung him up.”
    â€œProbably deserved it.”
    â€œTen times over,” Doc Raven said.
    A local stuck his head into the cafe. “Wagons and riders coming in from the east.”
    The three men stepped outside to the boardwalk to watch the arrival of the travelers.
    â€œThose sure are some fancy wagons,” the telegrapher remarked. “I never seen anything like them.”
    â€œMade to order,” Frank said. “For the rich to travel in comfort and style.”
    â€œMore Easterners,” Doc Raven said. “You suppose those are more of the men who put up the money for the hunt, Frank?”
    â€œProbably. And the outriders are hired bodyguards.”
    â€œYou know any of them?”
    Frank shook his head. “No.”
    â€œTough-looking bunch.”
    â€œWonder where they’re gonna stay,” the telegrapher declared. “There ain’t no more rooms to be had at the saloon.”
    â€œWho cares?” Doc Raven replied.
    Frank leaned against a support post and rolled a smoke as the fancy wagons rolled slowly past. The men on horseback all gave Frank hard looks. Frank returned the looks.
    â€œThey’re sure giving you the once-over,” Doc Raven said.
    â€œThey know who I am,” Frank replied. “I suspect they’ve been thoroughly briefed. I imagine it won’t be long before some of the good citizens of the town will approach me, or you, asking that I please leave town.”
    â€œThere might be a few who will ask that,” Doc Raven replied softly. “But they will be in the minority.”
    â€œWait until the streets get bloody,” Frank said.
    The telegrapher walked back to his small office as the wagons continued to roll slowly through the town.
    â€œMaxwell Crawford!” a man shouted, walking out of the saloon/hotel and waving to a wagon.
    The wagon lurched to a stop.
    â€œMaxwell Industries,” Doc Raven said. “I don’t believe it.”
    â€œYou know him?” Frank asked.
    â€œWe went to school together back East. Both of us sparked the same girl for a time. Wilma Lewis. I heard they got married right after the war.”
    â€œMy, my. This might turn out to be quite a reunion for you.”
    â€œMaxwell was a pacifist, or so he claimed at the time. I heard he bought his way out of serving in the war.”
    â€œA lot of men did.”
    â€œMore in the North than in the South,” Raven challenged.
    Frank did not reply. He was not interested in the politics of the War of the Northern Aggression. The war was over and the country had healed many of the open wounds that lingered after that violent upheaval.
    â€œBernard!” a man shouted, climbing out of the wagon. “I’m glad you made it. Where is Margaret?”
    Maxwell Crawford stepped up onto the boardwalk and the two men shook hands. Their conversation did not carry across the street to Doc Raven and Frank.
    Frank watched as a lone rider stepped his horse up the street. “Now, there is a man I do know.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œRiding into town. His name is Dolan. Damn! I thought he was dead. Rumor has it that he was killed in a range war.”
    â€œGunfighter?” Doc Raven asked.
    â€œOne of the