Free The Forbidden by William W. Johnstone

loading dock. He bought Shelley some hard candy and a bottle of sarsaparilla, and then went in search of a wagon and team he could rent or buy. He found a wagon and team at the livery and arranged for its purchase. He told the liveryman to get the team into harness, he’d be back.
    He walked back over to the general store and started buying the basic supplies he figured he’d need until the house was built. Then he went to the bank and deposited several large bank drafts. Frank was suddenly Mr. Morgan to Banker Simmons. He then went looking for the carpenters Julie had told him about. After speaking with them, he set up a line of credit at the sawmill.
    â€œYou going to farm, Mr. Morgan?” the sawmill owner asked.
    â€œI’ll plant some wheat and corn and oats, for sure.”
    â€œYou’ll need farmin’ implements.”
    â€œWhen the time comes, I’ll get them.”
    â€œAnd a good mule or two.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll be able to get them for me,” Frank said dryly.
    â€œYou just say the word.”
    Smiling, Frank went back to the general store to check on Julie and Shelley. He wanted to convoy back with them. It seemed to him that they were looking at every item in the store . . . and buying very little. Julie said they’d be ready to go in about an hour. Frank walked over to the saloon to listen to the gossip. He wasn’t in the mood for hard liquor or a beer, so he ordered coffee. The .45 crew was there, sprawled all around two tables, halfheartedly playing penny-ante poker. Frank ignored them.
    â€œThe famous Frank Morgan,” the foreman of the .45 spread said in a sneering tone of voice. “Gonna be a sodbuster now. You gonna raise sheep too, Morgan?”
    Frank did not turn around. He sipped his coffee and smiled.
    â€œI’m talkin’ to you, Morgan!”
    Frank knew he should just walk away from this. But running away was not something that set well with Frank Morgan. He set his coffee cup on the bar and turned around to face the .45 crew. “What brings you boys to this end of the valley, Langford?”
    â€œIt’s a free country, Morgan. Ain’t it?”
    â€œSo I’m told.”
    â€œâ€™Sides, we like to come down here. It’s a nice friendly town.”
    â€œUnlike the town at the north end?”
    Langford frowned. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Hell.” Then he scowled at his own words.
    Frank laughed. “I bet the preachers in your town would disagree with that, Wells.”
    â€œThere ain’t no preachers in Hell, Frank,” a local said. “They got an empty church and that’s all. They can’t get a preacher to come to Hell.”
    â€œI wonder why,” a local said. “Could it be the name?”
    Langford glanced at the local. “You shet your damn mouth, farmer.”
    â€œWhy should he, Wells?” Frank stepped in. “This is his town. You boys are just visiting here. And I doubt you were invited.”
    â€œYou tellin’ us to get out, Morgan?”
    Frank shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. You don’t see any badge on me, do you? I’m just a private citizen.”
    â€œNobody runs us out of nowhere, Morgan,” Davis said. “Especially you.”
    â€œI don’t recall anyone asking you to leave, Davis.”
    â€œJust makin’ things plain.”
    â€œTell me this, Wells. Why do you boys want to come to a place where you know you’re not welcome?”
    The foreman smiled. “Oh, I think you know the answer to that.”
    â€œYes, I suppose I do. So you can strut around and shoot anybody who dares challenge you, right, Wells?”
    The .45 foreman stared at him and offered no reply.
    â€œNow let me add this,” Frank said. “I just bought the old Jefferson place. The place where night riders burned the whole family to death a few months back. And I bought land surrounding the place. If