The Forbidden Read Online Free PDF Page B

good.”
    Frank waited, standing in the mouth of the alley.
    â€œThere ain’t nothin’ but trouble for you here, Morgan. These valleys is fixin’ to bust wide open with trouble.”
    â€œI know that,” Frank said.
    â€œGood that you do. I heared you was fixin’ to pull out come mornin’. You do that. Ride out and don’t look back.”
    â€œThat’s my plan.”
    â€œGood. ’Cause if you stay, them big ranchers up at the north end is hirin’ gunhawks. And you’ll be in a world of trouble. They’ll kill you, Morgan. You probably still ’bout the fastest man in the West with a short gun. But the odds will be stacked way agin’ you in this fight. You understand what I’m sayin’?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd they’s still big money on your head and some folks lookin’ for revenge for things long done and over.”
    â€œI know that too.”
    â€œThen get out of this part of Montana, Morgan. Rattle your hocks, Drifter. This just ain’t your fight. This ain’t nothin’ but a death trap waitin’ to spring on you. Now, I done you a favor. We’re even. I’m gone:”
    Frank heard a whisper of movement that quickly faded away.
    He walked on past the alley and stepped up to the boardwalk. There he paused for a moment. Frank did not try to recall the favor the voice had mentioned. He had done a lot of favors for a lot of people over the years, everything from a simple handout for someone down on his luck to saving a life. Nor did he feel he would ever know the identity of the voice. Not that it really mattered, for if didn’t.
    Frank watched as the street lamps were being lighted. They cast a very pretty glow on the pleasant evening.
    He walked over to the livery and once again checked on Horse and Dog, then returned to the hotel and went to bed. He planned to buy a packhorse, provision up, and be gone by midmorning.
    * * *
    Frank was jarred out of bed by the sounds of shouting in the street below his hotel room. The shouting increased in intensity. He lit the lamp and checked his watch. Four o’clock. He bathed his face and slicked his hair down, then dressed quickly, put on his hat, and buckled his gunbelt around his waist, stepping out into the hall.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” a sleepy traveling man dressed in a long nightshirt called from his open room door.
    â€œDon’t know,” Frank replied. “But you’d better get some clothes on.”
    The door closed.
    Frank walked down the stairs and into the dark lobby. He looked around, could find no one, and stepped out to the boardwalk. The street was rapidly filling up with men, in various stages of hurried dress.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Frank asked a citizen.
    â€œThe Jefferson family,” the citizen replied. “They been burned out. They’re all dead. Killed by night riders.”
    â€œThe bastards killed the kids too!” another citizen said, walking up. “Looks like the night riders set the house on fire and burned up the whole family.”
    It’s started, Frank thought. All hell’s going to break loose now.
    â€œThe Jeffersons had a little baby,” the citizen said, slipping his galluses straps up on his shoulders. “’Bout five months old.”
    â€œThe baby’s dead too?” the other man asked.
    â€œBurnt to a crisp, I was told.”
    â€œWho found them?” another man asked.
    â€œA neighbor heard the shots. By the time he could get dressed and saddled up and get over there, it was too late. He couldn’t do nothin’ ‘ceptin’ watch it burn.”
    Frank moved on up the street, listening to the men talk. Handheld torchlights flickered up and down the street. By now a number of women had joined the crowd, and they were crying and kicking up a fuss. Frank stepped back and melted into the darkness as Preacher Philpot joined the milling