The Forbidden Read Free

walked over to Frank. “Another drink, mister?”
    â€œI’m all right with this one,” Frank told him.
    The barkeep leaned on the bar and whispered. “I knew I’d seen you somewhere, mister. It finally come to me. You’re Frank Morgan.”
    â€œThat’s right. But I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
    â€œI’d be surprised if you was. That ain’t your style.”
    â€œWith any kind of luck, I’ll be provisioned up and out of here in the morning. I don’t want anything to do with the trouble in this valley.”
    â€œActually, it’s half a dozen connectin’ valleys. But for a fact, trouble is comin’.”
    â€œCattlemen and farmers. Same old story.”
    â€œAnd now we got sheep.”
    â€œMore trouble. Cattlemen won’t stand for that.”
    â€œYou’re tellin’ me? I have to listen to it, day after day.”
    â€œHey, Chubby!” one the men at the table called. “Who’s your friend?”
    â€œA customer, Ben.”
    â€œY’all gettin’ mighty close over there.”
    Chubby straightened and gave the man a hard glance. “You got a problem with me talkin’ to a customer?”
    â€œDon’t get all hot under the collar, Chubby.”
    â€œThen mind your own business, Wallace.”
    â€œAll right, Chubby, all right. Sorry.”
    â€œI shouldn’t get mad at any of them,” Chubby said, again speaking to Frank in low tones. “Things are really beginnin’ to get nasty around here.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œFarmhouses and barns are gettin’ burned by night riders. Shots have been fired at farmers in the field. Pretty soon it’ll be crops gettin’ destroyed. No one’s been killed yet, but it’s comin’. Bet on it.”
    â€œHow about the law?”
    â€œFrank, we never had any need for much law here in this town. We have a marshal, but he’s only part-time and he’s old. He don’t even carry a gun.”
    â€œWell, don’t look at me, Chub. I don’t want the job.”
    â€œI was kinda hopin’ . . .”
    â€œForget it.”
    The batwings suddenly were slammed open and three cowboys walked in.
    â€œOh, hell,” Chubby said. “Snake riders.”
    â€œWhat are they doing in this town?” Frank asked.
    â€œIt’s a free country, Frank. They can come and go as they please.”
    â€œWell, lookie here,” one of the cowboys said. “Someone in this damn stinkin’ sheep-crap town is wearin’ a gun, boys. Reckon he knows how to use it?”
    â€œHere we go,” Chubby said.
    Frank turned slowly to face the three cowboys.

TWO
    â€œT he man shore ain’t no sheep farmer,” a cowboy said. “I think the clodhoppers done gone and hired themselves a gunhand.”
    The third cowhand had not yet spoken. He was intently studying Frank’s face. “Back off, Eddie,” he finally said.
    â€œWe haven’t hired anybody,” one of the men seated in the saloon said.
    â€œWhy should I back off, Tom?” Eddie asked. “It’s just one man and he don’t look like much to me. What do you think, Carl?”
    â€œCome to think of it,” Carl replied, “he looks sort of familiar to me.”
    â€œYou got a name, mister?” Tom asked.
    â€œFrank.”
    â€œFrank what?”
    â€œJust Frank.”
    â€œHell,” Eddie said with a laugh. “The man don’t even know his last name.”
    â€œMorgan,” Tom said softly. “That’s Frank Morgan.”
    â€œAw, hell,” Eddie said. “Frank Morgan’s been retired for years. Or dead. That ain’t Frank Morgan, Tom.”
    â€œFrank Morgan?” one of the men at a table breathed. “Here, in Heaven?”
    â€œAre you really Frank Morgan?” another farmer asked.
    â€œYes,” Frank said without taking his eyes off the three Snake