believe that you are the son of a hired killer. You are a gentle soul, and you care about people.'
'I thank you for your kind remarks,' he said.
'You deserve every kindness. You run an honest store and you treat people fairly.'
He grinned. 'Perhaps we might have dinner one night, if you have no objections.'
Millie looked askance at him. 'I fear my parents would not agree to it, Conrad. My father still remembers stories about the deeds attributed to your father. I'm so sorry. I know he's wrong about you, that you might be anything like Frank Morgan. But I have to honor my parents' wishes.'
'I understand,' he said softly, glancing down at his boots. 'It seems I'll never outgrow my father's bad reputation, even though I don't really know him. He left my mother before I was born.'
Millie reached for him and touched his arm. 'Maybe we can find a way to spend some time together,' she whispered. 'If you rented a buggy, we might take a picnic lunch into the mountains and no one would know.'
He was momentarily cheered by the thought. Then his face fell again. 'How sad it is to bear the burdens of my father's sins. It seems I'll carry them with me for the rest of my life. But I would love to rent a carriage and take you to some quiet place for a picnic lunch. Would the end of the week be okay with you?'
'I'll drop by the store and let you know,' Millie replied, 'but now I must hurry home. There's a pretty place by Catclaw Springs where we could go and no one would see us. It's a beautiful spot.'
'I know the place,' Conrad said with excitement in his voice. 'There are big oak and pine trees above a spring pool below the waterfall. I'll buy a bottle of wine and some good cheese.'
Millie's face turned a faint shade of red. 'I can bake a loaf of bread and slice some sugar-cured ham from the smokehouse. I'll even bake a peach cobbler for dessert.'
'Saturday,' Conrad said. 'Late in the afternoon, after I close the store. You can meet me behind the livery and no one will know.'
'I'm looking forward to it, although I have to make sure my parents think I'm going somewhere else. See you on Saturday, Conrad.'
He bowed again as she walked off toward her clapboard house on the north side of Trinidad.
'Things aren't so bad after all,' he said to himself as he made a turn down a side street toward home.
Skies turned inky above southwestern Colorado as he made his way toward his house. Winking stars filled the heavens. He thought about what it would be like to have a picnic with Millie, and for the first time in months he felt happy, content, at peace with himself and the world around him.
He came to his cottage and fumbled in his pocket for the key, keeping the bank bag containing the day's receipts under his arm. Conrad had taken in more than four hundred dollars from settlers heading west, and a smaller amount from local residents who traded with him on a regular basis.
When he put his key in the lock, he heard a deep voice behind him.
'Be real still, boy. If you don't pay real close attention to me, I'm gonna kill you. You're worth as much to me dead as you are alive.'
Conrad glanced over his shoulder. A burly cowboy with a thick gray beard stood behind him holding a sawed-off shotgun with the biggest barrels he'd ever seen.
' This is a ten-gauge,' the stranger explained. 'If I pull both these triggers they'll be scrapin' you off your own front door.'
'Who are you?' Conrad asked. 'What do you want with me?'
'Name's Cletus. That's all you need to know.'
'I'll give you my money ... all the money from the store I took in today.'
'Peanuts,' Cletus said. 'I ain't here for chicken feed.'
'What do you want?'
'Just you, little boy. You're worth ten thousand dollars to me in Glenwood Springs. Now turn around an' walk around the back of your house. I got a horse waitin' for you.'
'What is this all about?' Conrad asked.
'Your old no-good daddy, Frank Morgan. He's a rotten son of a bitch. Me an' some other boys are gonna trade you for all the money ol' Frank can raise. An' if he don't come up with the money, I'm gonna put a hole plumb through your back.' Conrad turned around to get a better look at the man covering him with the shotgun. 'I don't even know my father. He's a gunfighter. We haven't spoken to each other but once over the past twenty years.'
'Shut your damn mouth an' walk around behind this cabin, boy. I'd just as soon kill you right here. Be easier takin' you to high country.'
'And what if I refuse to go?'
'Then you're a dead man.'
Conrad dropped the moneybag he was carrying ... it landed with a thud on his front porch. 'Take my money,' he told the gunman. 'But leave me here. My father wouldn't give a plug nickel to save my skin.'
'That ain't what I hear, boy. I'll take your sack of money, only I'm damn sure takin' you along with it. March around to the back of this house an' climb on that sorrel horse. I'm gonna tie your hands. If you cry out, or make even one sound, I'll blow you to pieces.'
Conrad's knees were trembling as he walked off the porch to circle his cabin. Once again, it seemed, his father's legacy had shown up to ruin his peaceful existence.
He mounted a sorrel mare with the gunman's weapon aimed at his face.
