Frank walked over to him, resting his rifle barrel against the man's left temple. 'Where are the others?' he asked in a voice as cold as the wind swirling around them.
'To ... hell with ... you, Morgan. Find out for ... yourself if you've got ... the nerve.'
'I have never been short on nerve, cowboy,' he said. 'I'd imagine you could use a drink of whiskey right now.'
'Yeah. I'm ... hurtin' like hell.'
'Too bad,' Frank replied. 'I can assure you it'll only get worse.'
'You ... bastard. How'd you slip up on us?'
'It was too damn easy. For a hired gun, you ain't very damn smart about fires.'
'It was ... cold.'
'You're gonna get a lot colder. When most of your blood leaks out, you'll get a bad case of the shivers.'
'I ain't scared of dyin', you cold-assed son of a bitch. You won't get past Ned an' Vic.'
'I have before.'
'Not ... this time. They've got a surprise for you.'
'A surprise?'
'Damn right. You'll see.' Then the man lapsed into unconsciousness.
Frank glanced over his shoulder at Buck Waite. Buck had a deep frown on his face.
'Looks like they're ready for you, Morgan,' Buck said quietly. 'You can't jest run down to that valley an' start off killin' that gang.'
He gave the mountain peaks above them a sweeping glance before he spoke again. 'Tell you what I'll do. Seein' as these is special circumstances, I'll try to help you out. I told you I ain't shot nobody since the end of the war. But I'm gonna do what I can.'
'I'm grateful, but I don't need your help,' Morgan said.
'You ain't seen what's waitin' for you down in Ghost Valley yet,' Buck replied. 'Leave these sumbitches where they lay. A fool can see they ain't goin' nowhere. We'll fetch their horses an' turn 'em loose. This gut-shot bastard won't last but an hour or two.'
--------
*Eleven*
Conrad was walking home at twilight with his mind drifting after another day at the store. His small, two- room log cabin lay at the outskirts of Trinidad. The day's receipts at the store had been good, better than usual. His mother would have been proud of him. He was continuing to expand the fortune she'd left him when she was murdered. Conrad took no small amount of pride in seeing his wealth grow.
He gave little thought to his father, not even knowing his whereabouts now. Nor did he care, one way or another. Frank Morgan was no father to him. He was a killer, a gunfighter, a man who did not exist in Conrad's life as he lived it now, and it was better to put his father's memory aside. Even though his father had saved his life from a gang of cutthroats a few weeks back, it was something Conrad wanted to forget. He hoped he never had to set eyes on Frank Morgan again.
But there were times when Conrad wondered what his dad was really like. All Conrad had to go on were stories about a man who killed other men for a living, stories told to him by his late grandfather, before his mother was taken from him by an assassin's bullet. But there was no denying Frank Morgan's reputation as a shootist for hire. Those tales continued to circulate up and down the Western frontier, and when Conrad heard them, he turned away and went about other business. Hearing how many men his father had killed was not the sort of thing he cared to do. It was a part of the past, not his past, part of the early days when his father made a living with a gun.
'Good evening, Conrad,' Millie Cartwright said as she passed him on the boardwalk.
He stopped and bowed politely, removing his hat. 'Good evening to you, Miss Cartwright,' he said, smiling. 'It's so good to see you again.'
'I see you are carrying ledger books under your arm,' she said, smiling coyly, her face, framed by dark ringlets of deep brown hair, turning pink.
'A day's work is never done,' he replied. 'I have to balance the books. I've been too busy at the store to have the time to get it done.'
'Then your mercantile business must be good,' Millie said to him.
'Indeed it is. I may have to hire another clerk if things remain at their present pace. More and more people are coming west these days.'
Then Millie's face darkened. 'I was so glad to hear that you made it safely away from those outlaws. Your father must be a terrible man, if you'll pardon me for saying so. The outlaws took you prisoner, I was told, hoping that your father would pay a handsome price for your safe return. He killed them.'
'I hardly ever talk about my father, Miss Cartwright,' he said. 'He is a part of my distant past, a man I'd rather forget if I can.'
'Some say he is a professional murderer.'
'I can't deny it. I've only met him a few times ... this last time, when he rescued me from those outlaws. But in truth, the men who took me only did so because they wanted to force my father to pay ransom for me. If I wasn't the son of Frank Morgan, I would be able to live my life in peace. He has made a lot of enemies.'
'I'm so sorry, Conrad,' Millie said. 'It must be quite a burden for you. Anyone who knows you well can't
