Sudden Fury. William W. Johnstone

and the same,” Frank said.

      “You’d best back off, Tom,” one of the man’s friends advised him. “Bein’ fast for around here don’t mean nothin’ against a man like Frank Morgan.”

      “Yeah. All right.” Tom nodded. “We’ll do like you say, Morgan. We’ll take this fella in and find a sawbones to patch him up. And I, uh, didn’t mean any offense…”

      “None taken,” Frank assured him.

      “What are you gonna do, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

      “Are you goin’ after the monster?” one of the other men asked. “That’d be somethin’, The Drifter takin’ on the Terror.”

      “I thought I’d pay a visit to that fella Chamberlain,” Frank said. “I don’t believe it’s a good idea to be throwing out a bounty like that. It can lead to more trouble than it’s worth.”

      “It won’t do you any good. From what I hear, Chamberlain’s the big skookum he-wolf in these parts. He’s used to doin’ as he pleases.”

      “Maybe I can talk some sense into his head.” Frank looked around. “If I can figure out which way’s north. It’s hard to tell in this blasted forest where you can’t hardly see the sky.”

      He had a keen sense of direction, though, so it only took him a few minutes to orient himself once he picked up his horses and Dog. As he rode off, he could hear the other riders moving through the trees toward the settlement of Eureka, to the east. Scott was riding double with one of them.

      Frank kept his eyes and ears open. From the way Scott had talked, whatever had attacked them had struck with no warning, moving so fast that they couldn’t even hit it with their shots. Frank didn’t know if he would fare any better should the thing jump him, but he didn’t intend to go down without a fight, even if he was facing some nine-foot-tall hairy critter with giant claws.

      Nothing bothered him, though, and after a while he came to a fairly wide, hard-packed dirt road that led more directly northward. Frank had a hunch it led to Rutherford Chamberlain’s house. He wondered how much it had cost to hack a good road like this out of the thickly timbered wilderness. It must have been a pretty penny.

      But he supposed Chamberlain could afford it. A few minutes later, the road reached a huge clearing. The trees had been stripped from a small hill to form the estate, and at the top of the gentle slope stood a mansion the likes of which Frank hadn’t ever seen anywhere except San Francisco, Denver, and Boston. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything like it in those places.

      He recognized the sort of men who came galloping around the house and charging toward him, though. They bristled with guns, and they were looking for trouble.

      Chapter 4

      Frank saw several rifles and shotguns among the men. He reined Stormy to a halt and said in a low voice, “Dog, sit. Stay.” He didn’t want the big cur to give the men any excuse for being trigger-happy.

      For that same reason, he kept his hands in plain sight, well away from his guns. These men were Rutherford Chamberlain’s bodyguards, he told himself, and they were just doing their job. With all the mysterious and deadly things going on in the forest these days, you couldn’t blame them for being suspicious of strangers.

      It went against the grain, though, for him to have guns pointed at him and not do something about it. That was just part of who he was.

      “Take it easy, gents,” Frank said in a loud, clear voice as the men on horseback surrounded him. “I’m plumb peaceable.”

      “Who are you?” one of the men demanded. “What are you doing here?”

      Frank answered the second question. “I’m looking for Mr. Chamberlain. I just want to talk to him.”

      The spokesman, who had an ugly, rawboned face and straw-colored hair under a black Stetson, sneered and said, “Well, he don’t want to talk to you.”

      “Maybe you should ask him about that,” Frank suggested.

      The sneer didn’t go away. It just got uglier. “Yeah, maybe you should just go to hell.”

      “I still haven’t told you who I am.”

      “I’ve decided it don’t matter. I can tell by lookin’ at you that you’re just some old saddle tramp, and Mr. Chamberlain ain’t got time for trash like you.” The man jerked a thumb toward the road. “Vamoose.”

      Frank knew that he ought to just tell this man who he was. Most likely, the name Frank Morgan would open the door of the mansion.

      But he was just stubborn enough not to do that. This hombre’s arrogance had gotten under his skin, and he knew it would be like a burr under a saddle if he didn’t do something about it.

      He pressed his heels against Stormy’s flanks. The horse moved forward.

      The leader of the guards jumped his mount ahead to block Frank’s path. “Are you loco, mister?” he yelled. “You get outta here right now or you’re gonna be sorry.”

      “I’m going to talk to Chamberlain, and you’re not going to stop me,” Frank said.

      “There are eight of us—” the man began.

      “No,” Frank cut in, “I said you’re not going to stop me.”

      The man’s face flushed a dark, angry red. “Why, you son of a bitch!” he burst out. “You think I’m scared of you?”

      One of the other men spoke up, saying, “Cobb, maybe you better be careful. I don’t like the looks of this hombre.”

      “I don’t either,” Cobb snapped. “That’s why I intend to change ’em a mite.” He glared at Frank. “Get down off your horse, mister.”

      “Before I do, I want your word that this is between you and me,” Frank said. “And I don’t want any of your men bothering my dog or my horses either. If they try, they’ll be sorry.”

      Cobb waved a hand impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, mister.”

      “I have your word?”

      “Hell, yeah!” Cobb looked around at the other guards. “You fellas stay out of it, hear?”

      “I’ll be glad to,” said the man who had spoken earlier. He was looking intently at Frank, as if he recognized him. Frank thought that was possible. These guards all had the look of tough, hard-bitten hombres, the sort of men who traveled in the same circles he did.

      Cobb swung down from his saddle, unbuckled his gun belt, and hung it on the saddle horn. He put his hat on top of it. He was a couple of inches taller than Frank, but probably packed about the same amount of weight on his rangy frame. He wore a white shirt, a black vest, and black leather wrist cuffs.

      Frank dismounted as well and removed his gun and hat. Cobb gestured at the bowie knife on Frank’s left hip and said, “Get rid of that pigsticker, too.”

      Frank slid the fringed sheath off his belt and tucked it and the knife in his saddlebags. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, “once I’ve gotten past you, your friends won’t stop me from going on up to the house, right?”

      “You won’t get past me,” Cobb said with a grin.

      “But if I do—”

      “Yeah, yeah. Let him talk to the boss, boys, if the boss is willin’ to see him.” Cobb looked at Frank. “I can’t promise any more than that.”

      “Fair enough,” Frank said.

      He hadn’t gotten the words completely out of his mouth before Cobb let out a yell and charged him. The man was fast, but Frank was able to twist out of his way. As Cobb stumbled past, Frank hit him on the ear. It was only