Читать книгу Killing Ground - William W. Johnstone - Страница 7

Dex Brighton came straight toward the table where Frank sat with Conrad, Rebel, and Catamount Jack. Frank rose to his feet as the man approached, wanting to meet Brighton on an equal basis. Brighton stopped a few feet away and gave Frank a curt nod.

“You’re not wearing a badge, but I assume you’re the town marshal. Frank Morgan, right?”

“That’s right,” Frank said.

Brighton extended a hand.

“I’m Dexter Brighton. It’s good to meet you, Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

His affable manner didn’t extend to his eyes, which remained cold and hard. Frank hesitated before shaking his hand, but only for a second. If Brighton was trying to cause trouble for Tip Woodford, then Frank had to regard him as an enemy, because Tip was his friend.

At the same time, it was possible that Brighton had legal grounds for his claim on the Lucky Lizard, in which case Frank was sworn to uphold the law. He gripped Brighton’s hand, which was hard, dry, and strong. The man was well dressed and had the look of money about him, but he had done plenty of hard work in his life, too.

“I’ve heard a few things about you, too, Brighton,” Frank said.

Brighton chuckled, but again, the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you have.” He nodded to Catamount Jack. “Hello, Deputy.”

Jack just grunted.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Marshal,” Brighton went on.

“I generally don’t. I like to see things with my own eyes before I make up my mind about anything—or anybody.”

Brighton nodded. “That’s wise. I think you’ll find that I’m just a man who wants what’s rightfully his.”

“We’ll see,” Frank said.

Conrad cleared his throat.

Frank half-turned and waved his left hand toward the table. “My son, Conrad Browning, and his wife.”

Conrad stood up and shook hands with Brighton as well. “Mr. Brighton,” he said.

“Conrad Browning of the Browning Mining Syndicate,” Brighton said with a smile. “Owner of the Crown Royal Mine. You see, I looked into the situation here in Buckskin before I ever came out here. I hope we’ll be friendly competitors once I take over the Lucky Lizard. Enough silver to go around for everyone, eh?”

“Your business affairs are your own, Mr. Brighton,” Conrad replied, his voice cool. “They have nothing to do with the Crown Royal or the Browning Mining Syndicate.”

“And we’ll have to see about that claim of yours on the Lucky Lizard,” Frank put in. “I haven’t seen anything to indicate that it doesn’t belong to Tip Woodford free and clear, just the way it always has.”

“Not always,” Brighton said, and for the first time a tone of clipped anger crept into his voice as his polished façade slipped. “And as far as evidence goes, I have the partnership agreement between Jeremiah Fulton and my father, Chester Brighton. It clearly states that if either of them wanted to sell his share in the mining claim they owned jointly, it could only be sold to the other partner. Fulton’s sale of the claim to Woodford was in violation of that agreement. Therefore, the sale was null and void. The agreement also states that in the event of the death of one partner, his share would pass to the other partner. Fulton died first, so legally the entire claim went to my father. And when he died, it passed on to me. It’s just that cut-and-dried, gentlemen.”

“You talk like a lawyer,” Frank said. His tone of voice made it clear he didn’t think that was a good thing.

Brighton smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m a businessman, not an attorney. But I have had some excellent legal advice on this matter.”

“Where’s that partnership agreement you mentioned? You’re going to have to produce it if you want to convince me or anybody else that you’re telling the truth about your claim on the Lucky Lizard.”

“In due time, Marshal. When the time is right.”

“And when is that going to be?”

“I believe a circuit court judge is due to arrive here in another week or so on his usual rounds,” Brighton said. “My attorney should be here by then, too.”

So that was his plan, Frank thought. He wasn’t sure why Brighton had come to Buckskin ahead of the judge, instead of showing up at the same time and springing his surprise then, so that Tip Woodford wouldn’t have had any time to prepare a defense. But if this was the way Brighton wanted to play it, that was all right with Frank.

He nodded and said, “I reckon we’ll let the court settle it then. In the meantime, there’s no need for you to be stirring up trouble around town.”

Brighton spread his hands. “What have I done to stir up trouble?”

“I hear you’ve been talking to some hardcases. Hired guns maybe, in case this legal challenge of yours doesn’t work out and you try to take over Tip’s claim by force.”

Brighton’s face darkened with anger. “That’s scandalous talk, Marshal. I haven’t broken any laws, and I don’t appreciate being treated as if I have. I think it’s obvious, too, that you’re not going to be impartial in this matter since you and Woodford are friends. He’s the one who hired you for your job here, isn’t he?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me warning you not to cause trouble,” Frank snapped.

“Doesn’t it? Before you pinned on a badge here, you were nothing but a cheap, drifting gunman, isn’t that right, Morgan? It seems to me that if anyone’s got a hired killer on his side, it’s Woodford, not me.”

Frank tightened the reins on the anger that welled up inside him. Catamount Jack wasn’t as restrained. He leaped to his feet.

“Why, you slick, no-good polecat! You can’t talk that way about Frank Morgan!”

He started toward Brighton, his hands balling into knobby-knuckled fists.

Frank moved quickly to get between Brighton and his deputy before Jack could throw a punch. It wouldn’t make a judge any more kindly disposed toward Woodford’s case to have one of the local lawmen physically attacking Brighton. That could make it look like Tip was trying to use his position as Buckskin’s mayor to intimidate his opponent—even though Tip really had nothing to do with it.

Putting a hand on the old-timer’s chest to hold him back, Frank said, “Take it easy, Jack. That won’t do any good.” He looked over his shoulder at Brighton. “I think you’d better move along, mister.”

An arrogant smile appeared on Brighton’s face as he said, “As far as I know, Marshal, this is a public place, and you don’t have any right to order me out unless I’m causing a disturbance.”

“You’re causin’ a disturbance, all right,” Jack said, lifting a fist and shaking it. “You’re makin’ me mad as hell, you damn tinhorn.”

Brighton ignored him and continued looking at Frank with that challenging, coolly mocking smile. He stood motionless, his thumbs hooked in his vest.

“He’s right, Jack,” Frank told the deputy. “He hasn’t broken any laws, so I guess he’s got a right to be here. Why don’t you go on back over to the office, and I’ll see you later.”

Jack looked like he was going to put up an argument, but after a moment he nodded.

“All right, but watch yourself, Marshal,” he said. “This fella’s like a snake, all coiled up and just waitin’. You never know when he’s gonna strike.”

“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “I’ve stomped plenty of snakes in my time.”

Brighton stiffened at that, but he didn’t say or do anything. Still glaring darkly, Catamount Jack stalked out of the saloon, sort of like his namesake.

“Well, Marshal, this has been a very informative conversation,” Brighton said when Jack was gone. “I knew that your deputy didn’t like me, and now I see that I have to regard you as an adversary, too, because of your connection to Woodford.”

“I’m sworn to uphold the law, Brighton,” Frank said, echoing his earlier thought. “If the circuit judge supports your claim, you’ll have no trouble from me, regardless of what I might think of you personally.”

“I hope that’s true, Marshal. I think you’ll see in time that we don’t have to be enemies.” Brighton turned to the table, tugged on the brim of his hat, and said to Rebel, “Ma’am, it was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I apologize for any discomfort or embarrassment I might have caused you.”

Rebel gave him a cool smile. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Brighton. I’m not uncomfortable or embarrassed.” She paused, then added, “You see, I’ve stomped a few snakes in my time, too.”

Surprise flared briefly in Brighton’s eyes before he controlled it. Rebel wasn’t the beautiful ornament that clearly he had taken her for. He managed to chuckle and said, “I’ll bet you have, ma’am.” Then he nodded to Frank and Conrad. “Gentlemen.”

They waited until he was gone, then sat down again. The saloon had quieted down some during the confrontation at the rear table, as the Silver Baron’s patrons turned to watch. The noise level in the place gradually returned to normal as they realized that there wasn’t going to be a brawl or a shootout after all.

“I don’t like that hombre,” Rebel said. “He’s got some of the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“But he certainly acts like a man with the law on his side,” Conrad said. “He seems confident of winning his case once the judge arrives.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah, but if that’s true, why show up ahead of time like he did? Why not come into town with his lawyer just before the judge gets here?”

“That’s a good question,” Conrad admitted. “Really, though, it’s none of our business.”

“None of your business maybe. I’ve got to keep the peace here.”

Conrad shrugged. “There’s no law against what he’s done so far.”

“You almost sound like you’re on his side,” Rebel said.

“Not at all. I don’t like the man either. But perhaps I’m more accustomed to dealing with his sort than either of you are. I’ve done business with plenty of men that I didn’t necessarily like or even trust.”

“You won’t be doing any business with him,” Rebel snapped. “At least I hope not.”

Conrad shook his head. “I don’t see any reason why I would be. If his claim has no legal standing and is thrown out of court, then he’s a nonentity as far as we’re concerned. If it’s upheld, then as he said, he’s a competitor. Either way, he’s got nothing to do with the Browning Mining Syndicate or the Crown Royal.” He smiled. “Which is a great relief, because it means that we can go ahead and get out of here and go home to Boston.”

“So soon?”

“We’ve been out here for two months. Isn’t that long enough?”

“I wouldn’t mind staying out here for good,” Rebel said softly.

Conrad frowned.

Frank sensed that the question of where they should live was an ongoing discussion between Conrad and Rebel. It was also none of his business, so he stood up to leave.

“Reckon I’ll go on over to the office and see if there’s any paperwork I need to catch up on. I knew I could trust Jack to keep the peace around here while I was gone, but he’s not much on reading and writing.”

“We’ll see you later,” Conrad said. “We’ll be staying at the hotel tonight. Perhaps you’d like to join us in the dining room for dinner?”

Frank would have preferred eating at the Chinaman’s hash house or the café run by Lauren Stillman, Ginnie Carlson, and Becky Humphries, the three soiled doves who had retired from the world’s oldest profession and settled down in the second-oldest—filling the bellies of hungry men.

But he wasn’t going to turn down the invitation from Conrad, so he smiled, nodded, and said, “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

He stopped at the bar on his way out to pay Johnny Collyer for the beer, even though the bartender tried to say the drinks were on the house. Frank had to pause and shake hands with several of the men at the bar, too, since they wanted to welcome him back to Buckskin. Claude Langley, the dapper, goateed Virginian who ran the undertaking parlor, said in his Southern drawl, “Things just haven’t been the same around here with you gone, Marshal.”

“Not as many bodies to bury, huh?”

Claude frowned. “Well, that’s not exactly the way I meant it, but now that you mention it…and I mean no offense, Marshal…”

Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you don’t, Claude. I’ll see you around.”

And probably all too soon, Frank thought, if his past history was any indication.

He went to the entrance and pushed the batwings aside to step out onto the boardwalk. The afternoon was well advanced by now, and night would be falling soon. Some of the workers from the mines would show up for an evening’s raucous entertainment. Quiet hung over Buckskin at the moment, though, almost as if the settlement was holding its breath.

As the batwings flapped closed behind Frank, the quiet in the street was shattered by a hoarse shout. He looked around and saw a man running toward him.

“Marshal, you’d better come quick!” the townie called in an urgent voice. “Tip Woodford’s about to kill that Brighton fella!”