The mayor wandered off into the crowd. Frank turned his attention to the doctor, watching him work on Stoddard for a moment.
"No permanent damage to the hip," the doctor said. "But he won't be walking for a while. Some of you men take this hombre over to the jail." Doc Bracken moved quickly to the other outlaws. "Dead," he said twice. "And this one won't last long. Some of you men make him as comfortable as possible. He'll be dead in a few minutes."
"Damn you to hell, Morgan!" the dying man said.
"Here, now," Dr. Bracken admonished him. "That's enough of that. You best be making your peace with God."
The outlaw started cussing, spewing out a stream of profanity. Suddenly he began coughing. He arched his back, and then relaxed in a pool of blood.
"He's gone," Doc Bracken said.
Frank went with the undertaker and searched the pockets of the dead men. They had no identification on them. He took their guns and walked back to his office. Jerry met him on the way.
"Kid Moran left town when the shooting started, Frank. Half a dozen people seen him hightail out."
"All right. What about this pass the outlaws took to get out of town?"
"Cuts through the mountains yonder," he said, pointing. "But it's tricky, so I'm told. If you don't know the way, you can get all balled up and lost and find yourself dead-ended on a narrow trail."
"Can't go forward, and you have hell going back?"
"That's it."
"You been up there?"
"No. It's outlaw controlled on the other side of the mountains. Only the outlaws use it, and they don't use it very often. Men and horses have been killed up there, slippin' off the narrow trails."
"So the Pine and Vanbergen gangs are headquartered just over those mountains?"
"Yep. Not five miles away, as the crow flies. But they might as well be plumb over on the other side of the moon, if you know what I mean."
Frank nodded his head. "I do. Let's go see about our new prisoner and then arrange a nice service for Hal."
* * * *
A week after the shoot-out in which Hal was killed, a deputy U.S. Marshal came by train to Denver and then took the spur line down to the border and went from there by horse to the Crossing and picked up two of the prisoners Frank was holding. Frank's bank account grew substantially. Ten days later another deputy U.S. Marshal rode in and promptly rode out with Max Stoddard. Stoddard had a two thousand dollar reward on his head, and so did one of the other dead men. Frank gave half of the money to Jerry, and Jerry almost pumped his arm off shaking his hand. Frank's bank account grew even larger.
Hal was buried in the local cemetery, and Vivian bought a nice headstone for the grave.
Barnwell's Crossing grew by almost a thousand people in two weeks. Most were coming in because of the rumor of a major gold strike, and nothing anyone could say would make them believe it wasn't true.
"Hell with them," Frank told Jerry one morning. "When they get tired of digging they'll leave."
The county now had a judge -- Judge Walter Pelmutter -- assigned to the town of Barnwell's Crossing, and that made the disposition of those arrested a lot faster. The marshal's office got two dollars out of every fine, and Frank split that with Jerry. Judge Pelmutter was a no-nonsense, by-the-book judge who cut no slack to anyone for anything. The jail was usually full at night and emptied out the next morning after court.
Frank checked the wall clock. Eleven o'clock. He had a lunch date with Vivian at her home in half an hour. After lunch they were to go riding and spend the afternoon together. Conrad would stay at the office. That would give Jimmy a much needed break. Frank had offered to hire another bodyguard, but Jimmy had said he didn't want to work with anyone else ... not for a time yet Jimmy was gradually working his way out of his grieving over the loss of his saddle pard, but he still had a ways to go.
"I'm going to go home and wash up some and change clothes, Jerry," he told his deputy. "Then I'm over to Mrs. Browning's house. We're going riding down in the valley."
"Don't worry about a thing, Frank. I'll take care of any problem that comes up. Y'all have fun and relax."
At his house, Frank cleaned up and changed clothes -- black trousers with a narrow pinstripe, black shirt. He tied a red bandanna around his neck and slipped on a black leather vest. He combed his hair, put on his hat, and then inspected himself as best he could in the small mirror he'd bought at Willis's General Store.
"Well, Morgan," he said to the reflection. "You're not going to win any contests for handsome. But you don't look too bad, considering what you have to work with."
He buckled on his gunbelt and stepped out onto the small front porch. The day was sunny and cloudless, the sky a bright blue -- a perfect day for a ride in the country.
He rode the short distance over to the Browning estate and talked with Jimmy for a few minutes before walking up to the porch and being admitted inside the grandest house in town.
"You look lovely," he told Vivian, as she opened the door and he stepped inside.
"You wouldn't be the least prejudiced, now would you, Frank?" she teased.
"Not at all. You're as pretty as the day we married."
"And you tell great big fibs, Frank Morgan. But do continue."
Lunch was fried chicken, hot biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy.
"Did you fix this?" Frank asked.
"I certainly did. The servants have the afternoon off. And I told Jimmy to take off as soon as you got here."
"How about Conrad? Is Jimmy going to the office?"
"No. I asked a couple of my miners to look after him. Those men have been with me for years. Completely trustworthy."
After lunch, over coffee, Vivian said, "I'm going to change clothes, Frank. I hate to ride sidesaddle. Will you be shocked if I change into britches?"
Frank chuckled. "I knew you pretty well a long time ago, Viv. I think I'm past being shocked by anything you do."
She laughed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
She came out of her bedroom a few moments later wearing very tight-fitting men's jeans and a checkered shirt, open at the collar. Frank almost choked on his coffee.
"Damn, Viv!" he managed to say, wiping a few drops of coffee off his chin.
"You don't approve, Frank?" she teased him.
"'Approve' is ... not quite the word."
"Come on, let's get saddled up and get out of this town. I want to forget business for a few hours. I want us to be totally alone, and I want a good, hard ride."
Frank grinned and held his tongue on that one ... but oh, what he was thinking.
She caught his smile. "You're naughty, Frank. But don't ever change."
"I'm too old to change now, Viv."
Five minutes later they were riding out of town, heading toward the mountains and a pretty little valley that lay in the shadows of the mountains.
Shortly after they rode out of town, four men dressed as miners rode out. They occasionally exchanged smiles as they followed the man and woman. They had traveled a long way to get to the town of Barnwell's Crossing. The five thousand dollars that Vivian's father had placed on Frank's head had grown to ten thousand over the years, and the man who was overseeing the bounty, controlling the purse strings -- a close friend of the family, and legal advisor -- had added ten thousand, plus a substantial bonus if the body was never found, for Vivian's death.