Welcome To The Bullpen
The Last Manhunt
Lowell “Zeke” Ziemann
Despite the handcuffs, Jake Franks swung up into the saddle. The muscular outlaw glanced back at the deputy riding a small roan and cradling a shotgun across his lap. Soon,the silver haired sheriff emerged from the jail and mounted his pitch-black mare. As the rising sun cast long shadows upon the street; the three gigged their mounts and rode out of Caldwell.
Jake was an angry man. Angry from the time when, as a fourteen year old Georgian, he had witnessed General Sherman’s famous “March to the Sea” with its devastation and death; and angry after he killed three Yankee troopers and then fled to Indian Territory to escape Union patrols; and angry enough for subsequent forays into “Bloody Kansas” to continue his murderous ways. He had earned the $2000 dead-or-alive bounty that hung over his head.
Using both of his hands, Jake tipped his hat to a few townsfolk who had risen early enough to get a glimpse of the notorious outlaw.
“You’ll be tipping your hat to the devil soon enough I reckon,” taunted young deputy Ted Bean. “Once we get to Abilene, the Judge’ll see to that.”
As they paraded out of the dusty cow town, Glen Milner, the portly seventy-five year old sheriff rode next to Franks, with Deputy Bean riding closely behind the outlaw.
“Jake, I knew you when you first came to Kansas,” said the sheriff. “Remember when I tossed you in jail? Five years ago, in seventy-one I think.”
“Busted up the Last Chance Saloon, as ah recollect,” said Franks.
The Sheriff smiled, “Figured you for just a wild kid then.” He frowned and shook his head. “Guess I was wrong.”
“After the war, some Yank always needed killin,” said Franks in a gruff southern drawl.
“Now it’ll be your turn when we get to Abilene,” commented Deputy Bean.
Milner pulled a cigar from a vest pocket and lit it, lighting up his tanned, wrinkled face.
“I heard the bounty hunter caught you without firing a shot. Wasn’t it my friend Seth Mason?” asked the Sheriff.
Franks eyes narrowed with hate. “A right hard man that Seth Mason. Might be yer friend, but sure ain’t mine. Ah’ll kill that foxy Yank the next time ah see him.”
Ted Bean grinned. “That’ll be damn hard all the way from Hell.”
“Shut up you young fool,” snapped Franks. “That low down Mason stumbled into mah cabin like a drunken bum, and we commenced to sharing his hooch…and when ah woke up the
next morning, there ah was, handcuffed to the bunk.”
Deputy Bean leaned back in the saddle. “How ‘bout that. The famous outlaw Jake Franks outsmarted by a bounty hunter and caught without a shot being fired!”
As they plodded on, Jake Franks turned and lowered his head to study his captors. He focused on Deputy Bean. Short and thin, the deputy looked silly with a big hat shading his
peach fuzz mustache and pimply face. Obviously, being appointed deputy and assigned this mission had filled Bean with a false sense of courage and self importance. Taking him…easy.
Jake turned his attention to the Sheriff. Milner? Honest reputation. Been avoiding his town for years. Ah wish some other law dog had taken on this job. He’s old, but tough and a Southerner to boot. Why didn’t he just stay retired and keep breeding his fine horses? Now I’m gonna have to kill him…. Best watch and wait.
“Ain’t y’all the brave one behind that shotgun,” said Franks turning and looking squarely at Ted Bean. “Mason enjoyed making sport of me. Mark my words, ah’ll kill him.”
Bean spurred his horse up alongside of Franks. “You better get it done in a couple of days, cause after that you’ll be in the Abilene jail waitin on the hangman…anyway, by now
Mason’s back home in Dodge City and probably has help if he wants it.”
Their horses ignored the myriad of darting grasshoppers as they walked along the Abilene Trail. The flat grasslands seemed endless, dotted with small groves of cottonwoods and
a few outcroppings of rock formations.
When dusk approached they stopped near a small creek
that ran north to south. Milner was spent, Bean kept whistling, but Franks was quiet as bedrolls were laid out.
“You take the first watch,” Milner said to Bean. “’Bout midnight, you wake me.”
Long before dawn, Deputy Bean tossed a pebble toward the sleeping Sheriff. “Get up Milner, your turn.”
No reply. Bean glanced at the sleeping Franks and then tossed another pebble at the Sheriff. “Get up Milner!”
Frustrated, he stepped over Franks and shook the sheriff.
“Milner wake up!Milner… Milner…Good grief he’s dead…he’s d--.”
The panicked Deputy clawed at the handcuff chain that swiftly tightened under his chin as the burly outlaw lifted him off the ground. With legs kicking and arms flailing, Bean
desperately tried to reach his holstered pistol. Two jerks of the chain and the young Deputy’s arms dropped like a rag doll, and Deputy Ted Bean gasped his last breath.
Franks tore into Bean’s pockets. He grabbed some loose change, found the handcuff key and freed himself. A distant coyote kept howling eerily at the moon as Jake dragged Bean’s
body under a tree, then tied the sheriff’s body across the saddle of the horse he had ridden that day and turned the horse loose, knowing that it would wind its way back to Caldwell.
Jake sighed with satisfaction. “Lawman or not, ah won’t leave a loyal man of the South for the buzzards.”
Jake saddled both the roan and the black. He mounted Bean’s roan, led Milner’s black, and rode south along the creek bank figuring a posse would see the tracks and assume that he
headed back into the Indian Nation. Five miles later, he entered the stream and then turned northwest riding back upstream toward the tiny settlement of Medicine Lodge, Kansas, about twenty miles away. Medicine Lodge sat ten miles southeast of Dodge City.
The rage that had soiled his conscience for a decade burned anew. He was free again to dispense judgment to the
Union invaders. But first, he had business with Bounty Hunter Seth Mason.
...
Two days after capturing Jake Franks, Seth Mason returned to Dodge City, arriving in late afternoon. He deposited his $2000 bounty, paid his bills, and went to his room at the Dodge House. He ordered a hot bath, shaved, and relaxed by reading the book of Proverbs.
His bounty hunting tactics differed from many in his occupation. Seth’s success was due to disciplined planning and cunning. Most of the others relied strictly on their skills with a gun and tracking. Generally, having learned violent lessons in the Civil War, bounty hunters were not particular if the outlaw was brought in alive or dead.
Seth wanted quick payoffs and there was no other way he could earn this much money elsewhere using the skills he had honed.
Over six feet tall with penetrating blue eyes and quiet manners, Seth easily gained the confidence and assistance of lawmen on his manhunts. Somewhat of a scholar, he preferred
reading the Bible or the Classics and spent little spare time in saloons, usually entering one only to find his man.
Subdued, but dangerous, even lethal if set upon, Seth Mason was known as a man who was not to be trifled with when on his hunt.
In the coming days, Seth planned to take in Eddie Foy’s vaudeville show at the Dodge Playhouse, catch up on national news and visit friends…especially one friend.
Then, after several days of relaxation, the itch for the hunt would return. He would scour newspapers, and handbills, find a crime, send a telegram to the sheriff to confirm the bounty, and, if the money was adequate, he would ride out to attempt a capture. But right now he needed rest.
...
The next morning Seth left the hotel and walked down Front Street. He passed the already busy Longbranch Saloon on his way to Delmonico’s for morning coffee. He paused at the entrance and read the menu that was handwritten on a chalk board that was nailed to the door.
Delomonico’s was a quaint restaurant with wainscoting on the walls and shiny wooden floors. There were ten tables, each with four chairs. Dodge City shop owners filled the café in the mornings for coffee, and the latest local business gossip.
“Hello Seth.” The female voice belonged to the young widow, Dinah Scott, who was enjoying breakfast with her father, Reverend Metz. When she spied Seth approaching their table
her face glowed with a welcoming smile. “I’m so thankful you’re back safely.”
Seth removed his hat. “Mornin Dinah, I intended to call on you this afternoon…Mornin Reverend.”
Seth smiled at Dinah. Her hazel eyes shone and her auburn hair looked radiant. Besides her beauty, it was the mystery about her that drew him. I wonder what kind of man her husband had been and why she chose to marry him? Seth asked himself.
He knew her husband had been killed at Gettysburg, even after she had begged him to stay home. After his death she moved to Dodge City to be with her widowed father, and to seek a peaceful life.
Seth had met Dinah at a church social and the mutual attraction was immediate and had grown steadily over the past year. Seth understood that Dinah was troubled with his bounty hunting. Yet she was always willing to accept his company.
He had thought about proposing, but hesitated because he knew
she considered his occupation a waste of his intelligence and ambition, even somewhat barbaric.
Seth saw immediately that Reverend Metz was annoyed. In his clerical collar, he appeared stiff, but dignified. “Will you be riding out again soon?” the Reverend asked.
Seth peered over his coffee cup. “That is hard to say. If there is a chance to arrest a killer and collect a large enough reward, I go.”
Dinah shot her father a skeptical look, then slightly raised her voice. “Father…”
“I guess we’re kinda in the same business,” said Reverend Metz, as he put his cup down. “Going after people, I mean. I try to get men into heaven and you try to send them to hell.”
“If I capture them alive,” said Seth, “they have a chance to repent their ways. Maybe you’re right though. Like you, I try to get them to acknowledge their wrongdoings.”
Reverend Metz leaned forward. “And if you don’t take them alive, you kill them.”
“Father! Seth is no killer,” interrupted Dinah.
“Sorry Seth, but we know you have killed your man,” said the Reverend.
Seth’s angry blue eyes looked directly into the Reverend’s. “The outcome of our confrontation is up to the wanted man, not me.”
“Killing and capturing, it seems to me, should be done by a duly appointed lawman.”
Seth leaned back and shook his head. “Lawmen are tied to a territory and are bound by lawyerly rules. Most are not about to risk their hide for their meager salary. I have no such limitations. Remember there are crime victims here. Think of them. Bad men need justice. It makes no matter who corrals them…or how.”
Unconvinced, the Reverend suddenly rose from his chair and glanced at his daughter. “Please excuse me Seth. I have to go to a meeting. Good day.”
“Good day. I’ll see Dinah home,” replied Seth, not bothering to rise.
...
They walked in silence a several minutes before Seth spoke. “Your father has a low opinion of me…or at least my line of work.”
“Father has a pacifist streak, plus he is still very protective of me. Mother died just six weeks before John was killed at Gettysburg. It was a difficult time. Father knows my feelings for you. He sees that I won’t have other suitors coming to our door. I think he worries that my feelings for you, and the danger of bounty hunting, could leave me scarred again.”
As they walked, Seth took her hand. “I told you my plans. I want to own a spread near Dodge or maybe up in Nebraska Territory’s Sandhills. I have nearly enough saved up. About
five thousand more and I will have it, and be done with this work. That said, I hope you understand, and,” he paused, “you also understand the feelings I have for you.”
At the gate to the Parsonage, Dinah searched Seth’s eyes. “I’ll accept that for now…I understand. But when you find a place, will you…or can you quit bounty hunting?”
“Of course,” said Seth with slight hesitation.
Giving Seth a quick kiss and a smile, she added, “Seth Mason, don’t take any chances!”
She changed the subject to a happier note. “I expect you for dinner tonight. I’m making your favorite, roast beef.”
Seth walked back to the Dodge House. Will she leave me if I continue chasing bounties? What’s wrong with catching killers? Will she give ear to her father? The hell with him.
He picked up his mail from the front desk. In it were three newspapers and a telegram. From Caldwell, the telegram read “MILNER DEAD.” Then he saw the shocking headline in the
Abilene Chronicle. “KILLER ESCAPES. SHERIFF MILNER, DEPUTY BEAN DEAD!”
The Dodge City Times had the story too. He crumpled the telegram. “Damn, “I shouda just shot him.”
...
Outlaw Jake Franks rode northwest on the trail to Medicine Lodge. To keep the horses fresh, he alternated mounts, changing from Bean’s roan to Milner’s black mare every hour or so.
He was certain that no posse would believe that he would be fool enough to head toward Dodge City. After all, only Milner, Bean, and Mason knew of his sworn revenge, and two of them won’t be telling anyone. Riding all night, he endured an August rainstorm and the pesky mosquitoes that swarmed around his hat.
Soaked and exhausted, he reached the little Kansas settlement of Medicine Lodge at dawn. He tied the tired horses to a tree in a small grove outside of town and walked to Red
Nel’s Saloon. With muddy boots he trudged up the back stairs, entered the balcony hallway, and stopped at the first door. He rapped.
“Go away….GO AWAY,” came a tired female voice. “We open at noon!”
“Nel, Nel…It’s me, Jake”
“Jake? Jake? Is it really you?” She quickly lit a lamp, then ran and threw open the door. She flung her arms around him and led him to a settee in the corner of the room where they sat as he leaned on her.
“A cowboy came in last night and said you were gonna be hanged in Abilene.” Nel said.“I thought you was a goner. How did’ja get away? Why did’ja come here? Why ain’t you
hiden out in the Nations? You could’a sent for me.”
“Ah’ll tell you the whole of it later. Killed my guards and got away. God ah’m tired.”
Jake shed his wet cloths and sat on her bed. With drooping eyelids, he watched Nel’s image in the mirror as she grabbed her hair brush and combed her long black tresses. Her bronzed skin Osage beauty, well formed face, and shaply figure were reflected.
Jake wondered, "What does she want with an outlaw like me? She could have any of a dozen men who come into her saloon."
...
Following the evening meal and a prayer of thanks, Dinah cleared the table while Reverend Metz and Seth took their coffee in the parlor.
Out of curiosity the Reverend said, “I read in the Dodge City Times, that that outlaw got away again.”
“I know…very troubling,” replied Seth.
“How did you catch him in the first place?”
Wiping a platter, Dinah entered the room to hear the story.
“When I found out where he was, I put on my oldest clothes, bought a run-down mule and, since I drink only coffee, bought a bottle and then sprinkled my shirt with whiskey. When I
knocked on his door he thought some trail bum had dropped in without knowing quite where he was. He drank my bottle and we talked until midnight or later…mainly cussing about the war.”
“Crafty,” said the Reverend.
Seth continued, “While he slept, I handcuffed him to the bunk. When he woke up he became enraged, called me every name in the book, a coward and worse…vowed to kill me.”
“Hate and revenge can consume one,” said Dinah. “Did you think it would be so easy?”
“It was my plan,” said Seth. “I delivered him to the Caldwell jail and they wired the Abilene bank to pay off the bounty. Sheriff Milner then received word that Franks was to be
transferred to Abilene as he was wanted for two killings there. Then Milner released me and said that he and his deputy would escort the prisoner to Abilene. I thought the Deputy was a loud mouth kid, but I trusted Milner.”
Dinah asked, “You don’t really think that that outlaw would be fool enough to come to Dodge and try to kill you, do you?”
Seth put down his cup. Averting Dinah’s eyes, he said, “I doubt it...Franks is a dangerous man filled with hate from the war, but he isn’t stupid. Anyway, no longer my
concern.”
Unconvinced, Dinah said “No concern? Seth Mason, you be careful!”
Thinking it best, Seth changed the subject. “Dinah, Banker Grossman stopped me today and told me of a ranch that the bank is buying back from a borrower…says it’s a bargain. He
wants to take me out to see it tomorrow. I’d be obliged if you would ride out with us.”
Seth glanced at the Reverend’s face that had twisted into a frown. Dinah answered Seth, while at the same time sending a defiant message with her eyes to her father. “I’d love to go, Seth.”
...
The next morning’s sunrise sent a promise of a warm and pleasant day. After breakfast Seth and Dinah joined the bank President for a buggy ride to the ranch. The trail followed the railroad tracks, and several times crossed a small stream. The day was peaceful, and the small talk was welcome; but Seth was unable to diffuse the tension boiling up in his mind.
The plains, were a rolling pea green and beige carpet, with clumps of maple, ash, and cottonwood trees. After mounting a hill and passing through a small grove, they rode into a
hidden clearing. Below, next to a creek, set a small log cabin. Its windows were intact, and the roof and log sides looked sturdy. The corral behind it needed new fencing, and the gate was missing. The whole setting was like a picture postcard.
“Here it is…nice huh?” said Grossman. “The owner’s mother lived here and kept the cabin in good shape until she passed away last Fall. The price is right, grass is good… plenty of
water. The cabin is small, and the corral needs improvement…perhaps a barn and some additional outbuildings…only about 200 cattle are included in the price. But it’s still a bargain.”
“It’s lovely!” said Dinah.
“It certainly has strong possibilities. I’ve ridden across the East of this area many times. You’re right, good grass,” said Seth. “Who owns it? Why is it being sold?”
“Nel Koop, or Red Nel as she’s known because she’s a half-breed. Her Ma was Osage. Nel owns a notorious saloon a couple of miles from here in Medicine Lodge. She’s paid little attention to the ranch over the past few years and as a result is taking a loss…but she makes a pile of money at her saloon. Since her Ma died, she’s lost interest in the ranch. I guess she considers it simply a distraction.”
“I don’t know her, but I’ve heard that her place is known as a safe hangout for trail hands and all sorts of vagabonds, thieves and cutthroats,” said Dinah.
Seth climbed down from the buggy and looked inside the cabin and then inspected the corral. The ranch had great potential. The price was right. He had ridden over most of it.
Walking back to the buggy Seth said, “I can’t pay cash…yet. Would she come down on price?”
“You can borrow what you need for improvements and some stock,” said Grossman. “Perhaps I can get her to lower the price by five hundred, but I can’t be sure. I know she is
anxious to get shed of it. I think she might be reasonable.”
Dinah shot a hopeful glance at Seth. “This could be our opportunity.”
Seth smiled at her, noting her use of the word ‘our’, then nodded to the banker. “Lower the price by five hundred, then work out the details, and get it done.”
On the ride back to Dodge City, Seth noticed a relieved smile on Dinah’s face, then watched the banker wrinkle his forehead and mumble to himself, apparently calculating the sales
commission.
Seth hid his anxiety and fingered the telegram in his coat pocket that he had
received that morning. “NEW REWARD…FRANKS… $4000…DEAD OR ALIVE.”
...
A few days later, following morning coffee, Seth and Dinah, were relaxing on a Front Street bench outside of Delmonico’s, when they saw an approaching rider mounted on a sleek black mare. The female rider sat erect and wore a blue riding skirt and a white beaded shirt. Her jet-black hair, held in place by a red scarf, hung to her waist and bobbed up and down as the mare trotted across the railroad tracks.
“She’s beautiful,” said Dinah, and added with a curious glance at Seth, “Did you notice?”
“Of course,” Seth with a grin meant to tease. “I’m not blind. You’re right. That’s a beautiful mare. Oh, and that rider isn’t exactly ugly either.”
Dinah laughed.
The horse drew most of his attention. As the rider passed them Seth sat bolt upright. That mare was Sheriff’s Milners! Milner would never sell the mare. How did that lady get his
prized horse?
Keeping this information to himself, Seth, with Dinah on his arm, walked around the corner and passed the bank. The mare, her black coat shining, was tied in front of the bank.
Now he was dead sure…it was Milner’s prized horse.
He walked Dinah home, then hurried back to the bank. Just as he turned the corner, the mystery woman mounted the black and urged her into a trot.
Grossman came out of the bank and waved goodbye to the rider. Seth watched the woman ride away as Grossman shook Seth’s hand.
“That was Nel Koop…Red Nel… she agreed to lower the price five hundred. I’ll prepare the papers and we agreed meet at the ranch tomorrow at noon to sign.”
Seth stretched his mind in an attempt to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Just a couple of weeks ago, Sheriff Milner had spoken of his admiration for his black mare that he had raised from a colt. Now Milner was dead and the horse shows up here being ridden by Red Nel?
...
Well before noon, Seth and Grossman rode to the cabin. Red Nel showed up riding a small roan. Papers were signed and hands were shaken all around.
Seth studied Nel who was not apprehensive and showed no signs of nervousness. She made some small talk, wished Seth luck with the ranch, and then left for Medicine Lodge. The banker put the documents into his brief case and headed back to Dodge City.
Seth waved to Grossman. “I think I will ride the property lines.”
When both were out of sight, Seth followed Nel. His old friend, Sheriff Milner, had to be riding the mare the night he died. That was reason enough to follow Nel, but there was more. The black mare could only end up here if Jake Franks had ridden it. Franks must be in Medicine Lodge, or at least had passed through. The killer’s vow of revenge must have dominated his soul and caused him to throw caution to the wind.
Did Dinah think he was now done with bounties? Seth somehow felt as though he was betraying her confidence. Her heart was set on his owning the ranch. He thought about turning
back, but something pushed him onward. Old habits and emotions stirred. He was on the hunt.
Seth spoke out loud to himself, “One thing is certain, Franks will surely kill again. Then too, with the outlaw free, I’ll have to keep looking over my shoulder continuously. Whether I’m ranching or bounty hunting, that is no way to live. I’d be a damn fool and probably get bushwacked if I let Jake Franks make the first move.”
Riding on the trail to Medicine Lodge, Seth removed his hat and wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his shirt sleeve. He checked and re-checked his six gun, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his fingers.
A sudden thought wrinkled his forehead into a frown. Had his relationship with Dinah made his strict disciplined ways of bounty hunting recede? Would love dull his skills?..lose his
daring? But the possibility of Jake Franks being in Medicine Lodge could not be dismissed.
“This will be my last manhunt,” he promised himself aloud. Then smiling at his own rash promise, he realized that if Franks was in Medicine Lodge and won their impending
showdown, this, without a doubt, would be his last manhunt!
...
“Where ya all been?” asked Jake as Nel opened the door to her room.
“Sold the ranch.” she said. “I’ve been trying to get rid of the place since Ma died. The banker found a buyer for me.. man from Dodge City named Mason.”
Jake leaped off the bed. “Mason?...Seth Mason?”
“Yeah. You know him?” asked Nel.
Jake grabbed Nel’s shoulders. “That’s the damn Yankee bounty hunter who foxed me…and ah aim see him bleed!”
Nel twisted away. “Jake…Jake…For heaven’s sake let it go! Ride out. Go to the Indian Nations and hide out. You can’t kill every Yankee. Let him be! He’s gonna be a rancher now.”
Jake waved a finger in Nel’s face. “Not only a Yank, but a damn yellow coward besides. He deserves to die and ah aim to see to it!”
...
Seth’s man-hunting instincts returned to full alert as he entered Medicine Lodge. The town had only one rutty street. Red Nel’s Saloon was in the middle of five buildings on one side of the street while a few shacks, teepees, and tents were scattered on the other side. One corral stood a the
far end.
Seth walked his mount past Nel’s saloon keeping a steady eye on the swinging doors. The saloon was painted a gaudy blood red and stood out like a huge ruby ring on a dirty hand.
Four horses were tied to the rail in front, but the black mare was not among them.
He rode down the shaded alley next to the saloon taking note of the outside stairs. Then he spied the black mare tied to a fence behind the saloon. The roan, still saddled, was there also. Circling back to the main street, Seth tied his horse to the hitching rail in front of Red Nel’s Saloon.
He decided to enter the Saloon remembering that Franks had a reputation for not facing an adversary. At least three of his victims had been shot in the back. Perhaps, if Franks was in the saloon, Seth’s best bet would be to call him out face to face. It could be foolhardy, but Seth could think of no other option that might give him an edge.
He pushed aside the batwing doors, slid away from the sunlight and let his eyes adjust to the dim, smoke filled saloon. Over the bar was a stuffed head of an enormous Texas long horn steer. A poker table sat in the far corner, and two booths lined the wall adjacent to the bar. A Faro table was next to the bar. To his right was a stairway leading to three rooms on the balcony.
Four cowboys stood at the bar drinking and talking with the balding bartender. They paid little attention to Seth. He knew that in a saloon like Red Nel’s, it was dangerous to ask a stranger questions.
He saw no sign of Jake Franks. With the exception of clinking glasses and an occasional burst of laughter, all was quiet.
Seth moved to the foot of the stairway and paused. Suddenly a balcony door opened and Seth saw a man walk out, strapping on his gun belt.
Jake Franks!Seth drew his colt. “Jake Franks! Throw up your hands! It’s Mason!“
Franks stopped, took a second, then chose his words carefully. “If it ain’t a tricky Yankee snake! Ah thought ah’d have to peek into every outhouse in Dodge to call y’all out. Glad ya saved me the trouble.”
Two of the men at the bar quickly slid out of the side door. The other two, a tall thin cowboy and the young puncher with him stood frozen, staring at Mason. The bartender dropped
to his knees and peeked over the bar between two whiskey bottles.
A smirk came across Jake’s face. “Surprised to see ya facing me. Ain’t sneakin upon a man and handcuffing him while he’s asleep more yer style?”
Seth took his stance. Then he made a show of slowly sliding his colt back into his holster. “Have it your way.”
Franks eyes widened. His teeth clenched and hatred oozed from every pore.
Then it happened. Both men drew their guns. Two shots roared as one. Seth groaned as a slug singed his ribs. Franks doubled over. Seth fired again as did Franks. The
outlaw’s shot splintered wood on the stairs, but Seth’s found its mark a second time. Franks tumbled down the stairs and lay near Seth’s feet.
“Damn Yank, go t’ hell,” Frank whispered. Then he went limp.
Seth raised his gun again as he saw the door to a balcony room open. Nel eased out of her room and Seth saw her stare at Franks lying in a spreading pool of blood at the bottom of the steps.
She descended the stairs as in a trance, picked up Jake’s hat, knelt, and carefully placed the hat over the two gaping holes in his chest.
“Jake, Jake,” she moaned. “Too late, Jake. You damn fool!…Jake.”
Seth turned away. He held his side with one bloody hand. His gun hand still held his smoking Colt.
A sense of accomplishment and relief filled his chest, but it was tempered by doubt, guilt, and even despair.
What will Dinah think?
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