Free Maverick Marshall by Nelson Nye Page B

But Frank had had about enough of Chip Gurden. “I’m going to do something I should of done last night!” he said hotly.
    He tramped across to the hotel, went up to the barber’s room and talked Pete into shaving him at the point of a pistol.
    “But gol darn it, man, this is
Sunday!
“ Pete protested.
    “If you want to see Monday,” Frank said, “get busy.”
    He felt more himself as he went down the stairs. He’d cooled off a little, too, and decided he might as well stop for a cup of coffee, secretly hoping he might catch sight of Honey. He had the dining room to himself except for Joe Wolverton who owned the saddle shop and, not being married, was enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Sight of Joe eating suddenly whipped up Frank’s appetite. “Ham and eggs,” he told the hasher. “Wreck ’em and fetch the java right away.”
    He was midway through this food when the swish of a skirt and the tap of high heels swung his face around. A warm pleasure rushed through him when he saw Honey moving between tables. He looked — as the saddle man later told his cronies — “like a winter-starved dogie catchin’ a whiff of fresh alfalfa.”
    It was the first time Frank had got near enough to speak since he had saved her from Church’s bull. She completely took his breath away but at least he had sense enough to drag off his hat.
    “How are you, Frank?” She came right up to him and put out her hand. She saw the star on his shirt. “So you’re our new marshal. Frank, I’m proud of you.”
    He felt her hand squirm and finally let go of it. Fussed up and grinning, he stood twisting his hat. She’d filled out a lot, he thought — looked prettier than a basket of chips. Honey, squeezing his arm, laughed up at him softly.
    Somebody scraped back a chair and Frank, recollecting Wolverton, became self-conscious and awkward, knowing the man would be taking this in.
    Honey, still hanging onto him said, “I think — I’m almost sure — I will be staying over tonight. Abbie’s been making some new hats for me. Perhaps we could get together for dinner….”
    Frank stared and gulped, his grin showed embarrassment. Then remembering his job he said glumly, “I’ll be on duty tonight.” But he wasn’t on duty this noon — he wouldn’t go on before one. He said, brightening, “Could I take you this noon?”
    Honey, hesitating, smiled. “That will be all right.”
    “Swell!” Frank said, forgetting Joe Wolverton, and the waitress who was also watching them with an interest not untinged by envy. “Twelve o’clock?”
    Honey took a deep breath. “We’d better make it twelve-thirty. I might not be through by twelve.”
    Giving his arm a final squeeze, she moved off toward a table by the windows where the hasher, stiffly smiling, was holding a chair out. She had been nourishing a hope of catching Frank for herself.
    The marshal saw Wolverton drop some change on his table and then he noticed Gurden by the cigar case lighting a stogie. Gurden, completely ignoring Frank, was taking Honey apart with his stare. Frank was starting to shove up with his face black as thunder when Kimberland turned into the room from the lobby.
    The boss of Bar 40, pulling off his gloves, said: “Hello, Chip — Frank, how are you?” even nodding to Wolverton as he stopped by Frank’s table. A cropped black beard concealed the most of his expression. His shrewd eyes probed Frank’s and he said with approval, “I think, from what I hear, you must have established some kind of a record last night, stopping that herd with a lamp singlehanded. South Fork certainly owes you a large vote of thanks.”
    With another brisk nod he went over to Honey. Frank stared after him like a man in a dream. Wolverton, coming up, said, “Nice going, Marshal,” and clapped Frank on the shoulder.
    Frank finished his meal in a kind of a daze. He probably didn’t taste one thing he put into him. He got up when he’d finished and left a silver dollar beside