the road until he found out what it was.
He ground-hitched the bay and started walking softly among the pine trunks, using them for cover wherever he could. Dog trotted up beside him, his attention still fixed on the ridge.
_I wonder if it's that Indian again,_ Frank thought.
Dog had never given him a false signal despite the cur's advancing age.
With no warning, the sharp crack of a rifle's report sounded from the ridge. Frank threw himself on the ground behind a ponderosa trunk, listening to the bullet sizzle high above his head.
'Damn, that was close,' Frank said, gritting his teeth in anger. He knew now that he should have been more cautious, coming around behind the ridge instead of approaching it head-on.
'I missed you, Morgan!' a distant voice shouted. 'But I ain't done yet!'
Dog was crouched beside him ... it wasn't the first bullet the animal ever heard.
_One of Pine's or Vanbergen's men,_ Frank thought. _There may be more than one._
'Stay, Dog,' he whispered, crawling backward away from the tree, keeping it between him and the shooter.
Frank took off in a crouch, dodging and darting from one pine to the next, his chest welling with rage.
Moving as quickly as he could, he began a wide circle that would take him around to the back of the ridge.
* * * *
He sighted a prone form using underbrush for cover at the top of the switchback, partially hidden in the shade to keep sunlight from gleaming off his rifle barrel.
'Gotcha, you bastard,' Frank whispered, drawing a bead on the man's back. Frank wouldn't shoot a man in the back without giving him a fair warning.
'Hey, asshole! I'm back here!' he cried.
The rifleman flipped over on his side, bringing his gun around as quickly as he could. It was just what Frank had been waiting for.
He triggered a .44-caliber slug into the man's belly. The explosion near his ear almost deafened him.
'Shit!' the rifleman bellowed, jerking when the bullet found its mark. A crimson stain exploded on his shirtfront. He dropped his rifle to grab his belly with both hands.
Frank came to his feet, still covering the bushwhacker as he started toward him. Taking careful steps, he started up the back of the ridge.
'Jesus! I'm shot!' the gunman moaned, blood pouring between his fingers.
'That's a real good calculation of your situation,' Frank told him. 'You're gonna die for Ned Pine and Victor Vanbergen. Ask yourself if it was worth whatever they were paying you to ambush me.'
'You ain't gonna just leave me here, Morgan.'
'That's exactly what I'm gonna do. I hope you die slow, so you can think about what you just tried to do. Hurts a bit, don't it?'
'You bastard.'
'I'm not a bastard. My ma and pa were married. You've been wrong about nearly everything so far, cowboy.'
'You gotta get me to a doctor.'
'I don't have to do a damn thing except climb on my horse and be on my way.'
'I can tell you where to find Ned an' Vic, only you gotta help me.'
'I already know where they are.'
'How the hell'd you find out?'
'An Indian told me.'
The gunman raised his head to stare at Frank. 'You seen 'em too?'
Frank merely nodded.
The shooter's head fell back on the grass. 'Help me, Morgan. I'll be dead before dark if you don't.'
'Seems a shame. I'm touched by your predicament. I was on my way to Ghost Valley when some son of a bitch tried to shoot me from ambush. But I got behind you and shot you instead, and now you want me to have sympathy for you?'
'Damn, Morgan. My belly hurts. I'm dyin'.'
'Appears that way. I'm gonna find your horse and turn it loose while you leak blood all over this pretty green grass. I fully intend to leave you right here.'
'It was just business, Morgan. Ned hired me to take you out. You're a hired gun, so you oughta know it damn sure ain't nothin' personal.'
'I'm not taking it personally.'
'You gotta help me get to a doctor.'
