Moments later, he found his son and the horse. Jumping down from the saddle, he ran over to his son.
'Are you okay, Conrad?'
Conrad blinked. 'My head hurts. One of them hit me.' Then he gave Frank a cold stare. 'What are you doing here? Why did you come?'
'I came to get you back,' Frank replied as he began unfastening the lariat rope holding Conrad across the saddle. He pulled out his knife and cut the ropes binding Conrad's wrists and ankles.
Conrad slid to the ground on uncertain legs, requiring a moment to gain his balance. 'How come you were never there when I was growing up, Frank Morgan?' he asked, a deep scowl on his face. 'I wish the hell you'd never come here.'
'It's a long story. I'm surprised your mother didn't tell you more about it. It had to do with her father. And I was framed for something I didn't do.'
'Save your words,' Conrad said, rubbing his sore wrists. 'I don't ever want to see you again the rest of my life. You mean nothing to me.'
Frank's heart sank, but he knew he'd done the only thing he could.
He was distracted by the sounds of horses coming down a hill above the road. Frank reached for a pistol, then recognized Tin Pan and his mule, although someone else, a man in a derby hat, was riding with him.
Tin Pan and the stranger rode up.
'Nice shootin', Morgan,' Tin Pan said. 'We saw it from up that slope when you gunned down those two toughs. Couldn't get down in time to help you, although it didn't appear you needed any help.'
'I saw the whole thing,' the stranger said. 'You're every bit as fast as they say you are. You killed two men, and you made it look easy.'
Tin Pan chuckled, giving Conrad a looking over before he spoke. 'This here's Mr. Louis Pettigrew from the _Boston Globe,_ Morgan. He came all the way to Colorado Territory to get an interview with you.'
'You picked a helluva bad time, Mr. Pettigrew,' Frank said quickly. 'Right now, I'm taking my son back to Durango. He's been through a rough time and he may need to see a doctor. He has a gash on top of his head.'
Conrad stiffened. 'Don't ever call me your son again, Mr. Frank Morgan. You never were a father to me. You ran out on me and my mother.'
Frank shrugged. 'Suit yourself, Conrad, only that isn't exactly true. Maybe, after you've had time to think about it, we can talk about what happened back when you were born. It'll take some time to explain.'
'I'd rather not hear it,' Conrad said, sulking. 'You weren't there when I needed you, and that's all that mattered to me, or my mother.'
Tin Pan gave Frank a piercing stare. 'Sounds like you oughta left this ungrateful boy tied to this horse while Ned Pine took him to Gypsum Gap.'
Frank didn't care to talk about it with a stranger. 'What about Vic Vanbergen and his bunch? Have you seen any sign of them on this road?'
'Sure did,' Tin Pan replied, 'only some of 'em turned back and took off at a high lope. He ain't got but half a dozen men with him now, but we're liable to run into 'em on the trail back south. There could be trouble.'
'I can handle trouble,' Frank remarked, stalking off to get his saddle horse and packhorse. Conrad's harsh words were still ringing in his ears.
'I never knew anyone could be so fast with a pistol,' Louis Pettigrew said. 'But I saw it with my own two eyes. What a story this will make!'
Frank ignored the newsman's remark. There was another story that needed to be told, in detail, to his son. Apparently, Conrad didn't know all of the truth about why Frank had had to leave his beloved Vivian.
He mounted up and rode back to the trail. Conrad was still struggling to mount the outlaw's horse.
'Let's head southwest,' Frank said. 'I'll ride out front to be sure this road is clear.'
'We'll be right behind you,' Tin Pan declared. 'Conrad Browning did not say a word as they left the scene of his rescue.
* * * *
Seven mounted men were crossing a creek at the bottom of a draw when Frank, Tin Pan, Pettigrew, and Conrad came to the crest of a rise.
'That's Vanbergen,' Louis Pettigrew said. 'He's the one who told me all those false tales about you.'
Frank stepped off his horse with his Winchester .44-40, levering a shell into the firing chamber. 'I'll warm them up a little bit,' he said. 'You boys pull back behind this ridge. I'm gonna pump some lead at 'em.'
'The one in the gray hat is Vanbergen,' Pettigrew said as he turned his horse.
'I know who Victor Vanbergen is,' Frank growled. He'd put a bullet in the outlaw's hip not too long ago, and he was certain that Vanbergen remembered it.
Frank aimed for Vanbergen as his horse plunged across the shallow stream.
'Good to see you again, Vic,' Frank whispered, triggering off a well-placed shot, jacking another round into the firing chamber as the roar of his rifle filled the draw.
Vanbergen's body jerked. He bent forward and grabbed his belly, but before Frank could draw another careful bead on him, he spurred his horse into some trees on the east bank of the creek.
The other gunmen wheeled their horses in all directions and took off at a hard run. One rider fired a
