His eyelids felt heavy, and he didn't answer the old man as he drifted off to sleep.
--------
*Seventeen*
Frank knew he was dreaming ... perhaps because of the wound in his shoulder and the whiskey Karen had given him. He found himself drifting back to another meeting with Pine in the lower Rockies, when he'd happened upon old Tin Pan Rushing and some help he hadn't expected while he was searching for his son.
* * * *
Tin Pan lit a small railroad conductor's lantern before he followed Frank into the trees. Yellow light and tree trunk shadows wavered across the snow as they walked with their backs to the wind and snow.
'The one that's moanin' is over here,' Tin Pan said, raising his lantern higher to cast more light on the few inches of snow covering the ground.
'I hear him,' Frank said, covering their progress with his Peacemaker.
'Hope he ain't in good enough shape to use his gun,' Tin Pan said.
'He won't be,' Frank assured him.
The first body they came to was a stumpy cowboy wearing a sheepskin coat. He lay in a patch of bloody snow. His chest was not moving.
' This is the feller I shot,' Tin Pan said.
'I got the one who called himself Tony. He's farther to the right. Let's see what the live one has to say,' Frank said with a look to the east. 'The other two won't have much when it comes to words. I can hear the last one making some noise. Let's find him first.'
'That'll be the one who called himself Buster,' Tin Pan remembered.
'I don't give a damn what his name is. I'm gonna make him talk to me, if he's able,' Frank replied, aiming for the groaning sounds.
A dark lump lay in the snow. Frank could hear horses in the trees about a hundred yards away stamping their hooves now and then, made nervous by the gunshots.
He came to the body of a man lying on his back, his mouth open, a rifle held loosely in his right hand. Blood oozed from his lips onto the flattened hat brim behind his head. The man groaned again.
Frank knelt beside him as Tin Pan held the lantern above his head.
'Howdy, Buster,' Frank said.
Buster's pain-glazed eyes moved to Frank's face.
'You ain't Charlie,' he stammered.
'Nope. I sure as hell ain't Charlie. Mr. Bowers and I met back on the trail. I shot him. Put him on his horse headed for Durango. That's fifty hard miles in a storm like this. A man would bet long odds against him making it all that way in the shape he's in. He's probably dead by now. But I gave him the chance to save his ass ... if he's tough enough to make that ride to Durango.'
'You're ... Frank Morgan.'
'I am.'
'We thought it was Charlie's fire we seen.'
'You were mistaken. You and your pardners made another big mistake when you tried to jump me. Tony, and some other fella who was with you, are both dead.'
'That'll be Tony and Sam. I told both of 'em we oughta be careful sneaking up on your fire.'
The light from Tin Pan's lantern showed the pain on Buster's face. A bullet hole in his chest leaked blood, and by the amount of blood coming from Buster's mouth, Frank knew the bullet had pierced a lung.
'I need to know about Ned Pine's hideout, and my son, Conrad Browning. Is my boy okay?' Frank asked, his deep voice with an edge to it.
'Ned's gonna kill him ... but only after he lures you up there so he can kill you.' Buster issued his warning between gasps for air.
'I'm a hard man to kill, Buster. How many men has Pine got with him?'
'Eleven more. You ain't got a chance, Morgan. If Ned don't get you himself, then Lyle or Slade will. They're guarding your boy. Lyle is as good with a gun as any man on earth. Slade's just as good.' Buster paused and winced. 'Jesus, my chest hurts. I can't hardly breathe.' He coughed up blood, shivering, unable to move his limbs.
'How many men are guarding the entrance into the canyon?' Frank asked.
'To hell with you, Morgan. Find out for yourself. See if you don't get killed.'
Frank brought the barrel of the Peacemaker down to Buster's mouth and held the muzzle against his gritted teeth. 'I'm only gonna ask you one more time, Buster, and then I'm gonna blow the top of your head off. How many men are guarding the entrance to the canyon?'
Buster stared at the pistol in Frank's hand. 'I'm gonna die anyway, 'less you take me to a doctor.'
'Ain't many doctors in these mountains. A few hours ago your pardner, Charlie Bowers, was wanting one real bad. About all I can do for you is put you on your horse and send you toward Durango tonight, like I did Charlie Bowers. You feel like you can make a fifty-mile ride?'
'I'll freeze to death, if I don't bleed to death first. I need some whiskey.'
