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Jackie, seventeen years old, and a girl, Amy, fifteen. Frank bought some new clothes, and Jack said he’d take them over to the laundry and have them pressed.
    Frank walked across the wide street to the barbershop and got a shave and his hair trimmed, arranging for the barber to have a bath ready for him first thing in the morning. Frank then walked across the street to the Blue Bird Café for some supper.
    Just as he was finishing his apple pie and coffee, the waitress said, “Eddie Simpson’s father is riding in, Mr. Morgan. And he looks angry.”
    Frank looked out the window into the street as four men came riding in, reining up in front of the marshal’s office. The bigger of the four men stepped down and said something to the other men.
    â€œIs that Simpson?” Frank asked the waitress.
    â€œThat’s Big Ed Simpson,” she replied. “Mr. Bull of the Woods himself.”
    â€œSounds like you don’t like him,” Frank said with a smile.
    â€œI don’t. He thinks he’s better than everybody else. He’s got money and a big spread and wants to boss everybody in town.”
    â€œOne of those types.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHe’s a big one,” Frank said, watching Big Ed try the door to the marshal’s office, rattling the doorknob impatiently, then turning to his men in frustration.
    â€œHe’s a bully too,” the waitress said. “He’s almost killed several men with his fists. He’s crippled one that I know of.”
    â€œI can see how that might happen. He’s sure a bull of a man. How old is he, would you say?”
    â€œOh, early to mid-fifties, I’d guess.”
    â€œGood with a gun?”
    â€œI don’t know about that. I did hear someone say once that they thought he used to be a gunfighter years back. Right after the war, I think it was.”
    If he was, it was under a different name, Frank thought. I never heard of any Ed Simpson. And if he was any good, I would have.
    â€œYou going to go let him in the office, Mr. Morgan?” the waitress asked.
    Frank looked up at her and smiled. “I’ll just let him find me. The exercise will do him good. What do you think?”
    She returned his smile, then giggled. “I think I like you, Frank Morgan.” She hottened up his coffee, then walked away, laughing.
    Five minutes later, Big Ed Simpson and his men stomped into the café. Big Ed immediately started hollering for service.
    â€œCalm down,” Frank told him. “The waitress will be out in a minute.”
    Four pairs of eyes cut to Frank, sitting alone at a corner table, his back to a wall. “Who the hell are you to talk to me that way?” Big Ed demanded.
    Frank smiled. “Frank Morgan. And who the hell are you to come in here yelling?”
    â€œThat’s Val Dooley,” one of the Simpson hands said.
    â€œNo,” Big Ed said, staring intently at Frank. “That’s Frank Morgan. Man they call the Drifter.” His eyes shifted to the star on Frank’s chest. “You a lawman now, Morgan?”
    â€œBrand-spanking-new deputy for this town, Simpson. Just sworn in a few hours ago. You have a problem with that?”
    â€œSince when does this town hire gunslingers as the law?” Big Ed asked.
    â€œOh,” Frank said, after taking a sip of coffee, “I reckon they figured if a former hired killer can become a respectable rancher, they could hire me as a deputy.”
    That remark got to Big Ed. His face flushed a deep red and he balled his big hands into fists. “Who the hell are you talkin’ about, Morgan?”
    â€œI’ll give you three guesses, Simpson. Now why don’t you shut up, sit down, and let me enjoy my coffee in peace? Then we’ll go over to the office and get your loudmouthed son out of jail.”
    Standing by the counter, the waitress smiled at that. The men with Big Ed tensed at Frank’s comments.