The Forbidden by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

in.”
    â€œI’ve sure seen a lot worse.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll come back.”
    â€œMight do that.”
    Frank mounted up and headed out without another word. People gathered on the boardwalk on both sides of the street to watch the gunfighter ride out. A few raised their hands in fare-well, including Marshal Handlen.
    â€œCome back and see us, Frank,” the marshal called.
    Frank touched the brim of his hat in reply and headed for the crossroads, putting the town of Heaven behind him. There was nothing else for him here. Nothing else for him to do ... except get involved in a war, and that was not something he wanted.
    He looked down at Dog, padding along beside him. “Let’s go see some country, Dog.”
    * * *
    Weeks later found Frank in the copper and gold mining town of Butte. The town was wide-open and roaring, with dozens of saloons that stayed open around the clock. Painted-up soiled doves were hanging out of windows above the saloons and in homes with a red lantern on the front porch, inviting any and all to come sample their wares.
    Frank was camped on the edge of town, since there were no hotel rooms to be had at any price. But that was all right with Frank, for he didn’t plan to spend much time in the town; just long enough to buy supplies and then get away from all the smoke and noise and hustle and bustle of too damn many people. Frank had found a couple of very nice families who were opening businesses in Butte. Due to the housing shortage, both families were living in and under their wagons until houses could be built for them. The women and kids agreed to look after Dog while Frank went into town for a bath, a haircut, and supplies.
    â€œAnd new boots,” Frank reminded himself as he rode into town. His old boots were literally coming apart on his feet, and Frank decided to treat himself to a new pair, and a new hat as well.
    â€œMight as well,” he muttered. “I can damn sure afford it.”
    Frank bought his supplies, told the clerk he’d be back for them, then toted a sack full of dirty clothes over to a laundry. He had himself a shave, a haircut, and a bath, dressed in clean long handles, jeans, and shirt, then went in search of a boot and hat shop. He bought new boots and a new Stetson. He felt like a brand-new man as he walked over to a saloon to have a drink before he found a cafe and had something to eat.
    The saloon had plenty of customers but there was room at the long bar, and Frank bellied up and ordered a whiskey—the first drink of whiskey he’d had in weeks—and listened to the gossip around him. It was mostly about mining, and Frank paid no attention. Then he heard his name mentioned and he perked up and listened.
    â€œI heard some big rancher down some south and east here run Frank Morgan out,” a man said.
    â€œDo tell?” his drinking companion said.
    â€œYes, sir, he did. Man by the name of Colonel Trainor. Runs the Circle Snake spread. Made ol’ Frank Morgan tuck his tail ’tween his legs and run, he did.”
    â€œWhere’d you hear that?”
    â€œSome cowboy passin’ through yesterday. Seems this Trainor feller is hirin’ guns for his spread. Payin’ big money too. Gonna run all the farmers and sheep herders out of the valley.”
    â€œHard to believe that Frank Morgan would run from anybody.”
    â€œWell, hell . . . Frank’s gettin’ old, I reckon.”
    â€œ ’Bout forty-five, so I understand from an article I read once. That ain’t old.”
    â€œMaybe he just lost his nerve. It happens, you know.”
    Frank smiled into his shot glass. The rumor came as no surprise to him. Others like Trainor, full of arrogance and self-importance, had made the same type of claim against other men. A few, a very few, had laid those remarks on Frank in the past. Frank had always ignored them. But this time the charge of cowardice rankled in him. Perhaps