When you feel up to it, she'll give you some.'
Frank's eyes wandered across the small log cabin, until they came to rest on a pretty young woman dressed in deerskin pants and a fringed top, with her dark red hair tied in a ponytail.
'Pleased to meet you, Karen,' he mumbled. 'Sorry it has to be under these bad circumstances. I feel like a damn fool right now.'
She came over to him. He guessed her age at thirty or less, and as he first surmised, she was pretty. 'You lost a lot of blood,' she said. 'Let me know when you want some soup.'
'Something smells mighty good,' Frank managed, 'but I sure do wish I had a spot of whiskey to help with this pain in my shoulder.'
'We've got some corn squeeze. Daddy makes it himself out of Indian corn in the summer.'
'I could use some,' Frank croaked, trying to sit up on a crude cot made of rawhide strips and pine limbs.
'Lie back down,' Karen told him. 'I'll fetch you some of the whiskey.'
'Where's Ned Pine and the others?' he asked.
'Back down in Ghost Valley,' said Buck. 'I seen 'em find that patch of blood you left in the snow, so I figure they's sure they got you.'
'They're wrong,' Frank said. 'I'm not dead yet ... unless this is all a dream.'
'You ain't dreamin', Morgan,' Buck said. 'But it'll be a spell before you can move around.'
'Where's Dog? And my horse?'
'The bay is out yonder in the corral. This dog of your'n won't leave the foot of your bed. Every time I try to take him outside, the bastard growls at me an' shows his teeth.'
'He's harmless ... most of the time,' Frank said.
'I ain't gonna take no chance. The damn dog can stay right where he is till hell freezes over for all I care.'
Frank chuckled, although the movement in his chest pained him some.
'Here's your soup,' Karen said, appearing above him with a steaming tin cup. 'It'll be a bit salty. It's the only way we have to preserve the elk meat for the winter.'
He sat up slowly and took the cup she offered him, finding a cloth bandage around his left arm and shoulder. 'I'm much obliged to both of you,' he said. He gave Buck a glance. 'Buck didn't tell me that he had a beautiful daughter.'
'Wasn't none of yer damn business till now,' Buck answered quickly.
'Sorry.' Frank took a sip from the cup, resting a trembling right elbow. 'It's delicious.'
Karen came back with a clay jug. She brought it over and set it beside him on the dirt floor of the cabin. 'This here's the whiskey. Drink what you want. It's got a touch of a burn to it.'
Buck scowled at his daughter. 'It wouldn't be worth a damn if it didn't,' he said. 'Whiskey without no kick to it is just branch water.'
'May as well take a bath in it,' Frank agreed, reaching for the jug when his pain grew worse.
'It'll help,' Buck said.
Frank's mind was on other matters right then. 'How far is this place from Ghost Valley?' he asked.
'Far enough. They'll never find you here.'
'You right sure about that?'
'Sure as I am that the sun's gonna rise tomorrow. You'll feel better by then.'
Frank pulled the cork from the jug with his teeth, spat it out, and drank deeply from the corn whiskey. He took a deep breath and drank again. 'That's mighty good squeeze,' he said when he felt the burn all the way to his belly.
'I don't make bad shine,' Buck said. 'There's a secret to it.'
'I'd say you've found the secret,' Frank replied, then took a third swallow.
'Drink the soup if you can,' Karen said, smiling at him. When she did, she was prettier than ever.
'I'll do my best,' he said. Frank's mind returned to the business at hand. 'Where are my guns?' he asked.
'I picked up yer Winchester when you dropped it. Yer pistol is over yonder by the potbelly stove.'
'Feels good to be warm.'
'It's the whiskey,' Buck said.
'It's the soup,' Karen added, giving her father a subtle wink.
'Like hell,' Buck snapped. 'Soup never did nobody so much good as the right kind of home-brewed whiskey.'
Karen turned away without saying another word.
Frank drank more soup, chasing it with whiskey, as a dark mood settled over him. His plan for revenge against Ned Pine and Victor Vanbergen had ended with a bullet.
