Barnaby shook his head. 'I still think I have good information about Pine. And Morgan.'
Sikes went back to reading his paper. 'You're welcome to look around Cortez,' he said, a hint of impatience in his hoarse voice. 'But Morgan ain't here, and neither is Pine. Vanbergen just showed up today. I judge he'll be gone by tomorrow if this snow lets up.'
'Where can I hire a room for the night?' Barnaby asked. 'And I need a place to stable my buggy horse.'
'Ain't but one hotel in town, the Cortez Hotel. It's just down the street. You can't miss it.'
'Have I come too late to buy dinner?'
'Mary over at the cafe might have some stew left. She's about to close, so I'd hurry if I was you.'
'Thank you, Sheriff. I'm thankful for the information you gave me.'
'You're wasting your time in Cortez looking for Ned Pine or Frank Morgan. We don't get many of the real bad hard cases in this town. They usually pass right on through, if the weather's decent.'
Barnaby put on his hat and walked out the door. The wind had picked up after sundown, and bits of ice and snow stung his cheeks as he climbed back in his snow-covered buggy.
* * * *
Frank sat on his horse, watching Ned Pine and his men ride across a snow-covered valley.
'He's got those two men covering the back trail,' he said to Tin Pan.
'This snow is mighty heavy, Morgan,' Tin Pan said. 'If we ride around 'em and cut off those two gunslingers, we can put 'em in the ground.'
'They're keeping about a quarter mile between them and Ned,' Frank said. 'If this snow keeps up, Ned won't notice if I jump in front of them and have them toss down their guns.'
'You ain't gonna kill 'em?'
'Not unless they don't give me a choice.'
'What the hell are you gonna do? Tie the both of them to a tree?'
'I'll show you, if they'll allow it. Follow me and we'll cut them off.'
* * * *
Rich Boggs was shivering, nursing a pint of whiskey in the icy wind. 'To hell with this, Cabot,' he said. 'We're not making a dime messing around with Frank Morgan's kid. I say we cut out of here and head south.'
'Ned would follow us and kill us,' Cabot Bulware replied with a woolen shawl covering his mouth. 'This is a personal thing for Ned.'
'I'm freezin' to death,' Rich said.
'So am I,' Cabot replied. 'I'm from Baton Rouge. I'm not used to this cold, _mon ami.'_
'To hell with it then,' Rich remarked. 'When Ned and Lyle and Slade and Billy ride over that next ridge, let's get the hell out of here.'
'I am afraid of Ned,' Cabot replied. 'I do not want to die out here in this snow.'
Rich stood up suddenly in his stirrups and pulled his sorrel to a halt. 'Who the hell is that with the rifle pointed straight at us?' he asked Cabot.
'There are two of them,' Cabot replied. 'There is another one on foot standing behind that tree, and he has a rifle aimed at us as well.'
'Damn!' Rich exclaimed, ready to open his coat and reach for his pistol.
'Climb down, boys,' a deep voice demanded. 'Keep your hands up where I can see them.'
'Morgan,' Cabot whispered, although he followed the instructions he'd been given.
'Step away from your horses!'
They did as they were told. Rich could feel the small hairs rising on the back of his neck.
'Take your pistols out and toss 'em down!' another voice said from behind a tree trunk.
Rich threw his Colt .44 into the snow.
Cabot opened his mackinaw carefully and dropped his Smith and Wesson .45 near his feet.
'Get their horses and guns, Tin Pan,' the man holding the rifle said. 'I'll keep 'em covered.'
An old man in a coonskin cap came toward them carrying a large-bore rifle. He picked up their pistols and took their horses' reins, leading the animals off the trail.
'All right, boys,' the rifleman in front of them said. 'I've got one more thing for you to do.'
'What the hell is that, mister?' Rich snapped, giving Cabot a quick glance.
'Sit down right where you are and pull off your boots.'
'What?'
'Pull off your damn boots.'
'But our feet'll freeze. We'll get the frostbite.'
