harmless shot over his shoulder before he went out of sight on the far side of the dry wash.
'I got him,' Frank said, searching the trees for Vanbergen as gun smoke cleared away from his rifle.
But to Frank's regret, he saw Vanbergen galloping his horse over a tree-studded ridge, aiming due north. Seconds later he was out of sight.
'I'll find you one of these days, Vic,' Frank said, grinding his teeth together. He strode back over the ridge and swung up in the saddle, booting his rifle.
'Did you get any of 'em?' Tin Pan asked.
'I shot Vanbergen in the belly. If Lady Luck is with me he's gut-shot and he'll bleed to death. But if he's still alive, one of these days I'll find him and settle this score for good.'
Conrad glowered at Frank. 'Mom was right. You're nothing but a killer.'
'There were circumstances back then,' Frank explained. 'If you give me the chance, I'll tell you about them.'
'I don't want to hear a damn thing you have to say, Frank. The only thing I want is for you to leave me alone.'
Frank tried to push the boy's remarks from his mind. The kid couldn't know what he'd been through back when Vivian was alive, or what her father had done to him.
A time would come when Frank would get the chance to tell his side of the story. In the meantime, he'd take the boy back to Durango and let a doctor check him over.
Then there was other unfinished business to attend to when he got back, and the thought of it brought a slight smile to his rugged face.
Frank had a good future if he made the most of it. He only hoped that one of these days Conrad would come around. At least listen to Frank's side of the story.
'I hope you'll grant me the time for an interview,' Louis Pettigrew said.
'We'll see,' Frank replied. 'It depends....'
* * * *
And Conrad was safe now, even though the boy resented him for reasons he'd never fully understand. It was a burden Frank would have to bear, probably for the rest of his life. Conrad would never understand what had happened between his mother and Frank and Vivian's father. Some things were best left alone, even if they caused deep personal pain.
But affairs would not be completely settled until Frank found Pine and Vanbergen. This was what had brought him into the most rugged regions of the Rockies. Pine and Vanbergen had to pay for what they'd done.
He strolled up to the hotel desk. 'I need a room for the night,' he said to a balding clerk.
'Cash in advance, mister. Two dollars hard money.'
Frank laid two silver dollars on the counter. 'I hope you've got a bathhouse.'
'Sure do, stranger,' the clerk said, handing him a pen so he could sign the register. 'No offense intended, but you smell like you could use one. Just follow that hallway out to the back and Bessie will bring you pails of hot water. The bath, and the towels, cost ten cents.'
Frank tossed a dime down before he signed 'F. Morgan' on a page of the register. 'Now if you can direct me to a good livery stable, I'll make arrangements for my horse.'
'There ain't but one. It's at the end of Main Street.'
Frank nodded and walked outside. Dog was waiting for him on the porch. Most of the buildings in town were empty, with boards over the windows. Glenwood Springs had the odor of decay about it.
'Let's go, Dog,' he muttered, untying his horse, aiming for the livery. He still wondered about the shadowy figure he'd seen at the cemetery. There was nothing wrong with Frank's eyes.
--------
*Three*
Sitting in a warm, soapy cast-iron bathtub, he thought back to his arrival at the edge of town. Sipping a bottle of whiskey he'd bought at a saloon next to the hotel, he recalled the figure he'd seen at the cemetery and the old man who'd told him that from time to time, some folks saw ghostlike figures of the Old Ones, the Ones Who Came Before. Frank wasn't a superstitious man, and what he'd seen, the man in buckskins, hadn't been a product of his imagination. He was sure of that.
Then he let his mind drift, enjoying the warmth of his bath and the whiskey, remembering what had started this whole affair and what had brought him to this part of Colorado Territory.
It had begun with a quest to rescue his son from two gangs of outlaws. Then there was the incident with Charlie Bowers....
* * * *
'You're a sneaky bastard, Morgan,' Charlie Bowers said, lying in a patch of bloody snow, his shoulder leaking crimson fluid onto the snowfall. 'Nobody ever snuck up on me like that before.'
'There's a first time for everything. Tell me where they took my boy, and who has him. The trail split a few miles back and I need to know what tracks to follow. Don't lie to me or I'll finish you off right here. A bullet in the right place will send you to eternity. Where the hell are they taking my son?'
'Ned and his bunch have got him.'
'Where's Victor Vanbergen?'
