* * * *
Cletus recognized them as Pawnees. Four Indians rode over a ridge clad in buffalo robes, almost hidden by veils of snowflakes.
'Injuns,' he grumbled, swinging his horse off the trail as quickly as he could.
He glared at Conrad. 'Now you shut the hell up, boy, or I'll kill you same as I'm about to kill them damn redskins over yonder.'
'I won't say a word,' Conrad stammered, his reply muted by half-frozen lips.
Cletus jerked his ten-gauge shotgun from its boot and swung to the ground ... the range between him and the Indians was close enough for a scattergun.
'Get down off that horse,' Cletus snapped with the wind at his back so his voice wouldn't carry, aiming the gun at Conrad when his boots touched new-fallen snow.
But Cletus realized it was too late to hide from the four Indians when he heard a distant war cry.
'I said get down, you little bastard!' he shouted to Conrad as the mounted warriors came toward them at a gallop with ancient muskets to their shoulders.
A distant rifle shot cracked in the stillness of the snowstorm. A lead ball struck a tree behind Cletus, spooking his horse.
'Take this, you rotten bastards,' he hissed as he fired off one barrel of his Greener.
A thundering blast shook the pine forest around them when his ten-gauge exploded. Somewhere in the swirling snow in front of them, he heard a scream.
Then a shape came lunging toward him, a feathered Indian on a buckskin horse.
Cletus fired again, satisfied when he heard a piercing yell in front of him. He watched the Pawnee topple off his horse as the buckskin pony swerved away from the gunshot.
He cracked open the barrels in the nick of time, jamming two more cartridges into the smoking chambers. Just as he snapped the gun closed, another rifle barked.
A snow-laden limb above Cletus broke in half with a dull crack, showering him with white flakes. But he did not allow anything to distract him from taking aim at the last two charging Indians.
One warrior was ripped from the back of his sorrel pony as if he'd run into an invisible stretch of rope. The Pawnee went tumbling over his horse's rump, tossing his long-barrel rifle in the air.
'One more,' Cletus whispered, turning so his aim would be perfect.
He closed his finger around the second trigger of his bird gun. The kick from the stock almost took him off his feet when the load of buckshot spat forth.
A slender Pawnee warrior aboard a black pony went flying off the animal's withers without ever firing a shot, his buffalo robe tenting behind him where balls of molten lead shredded his ribs and spine.
'Gotcha!' Cletus said, watching the pony gallop away trailing its jaw-rein.
Then there was silence. As a precaution against more of the red savages, Cletus reloaded his Greener.
'You killed all of them,' Conrad said, hunkered down behind a tree.
'That's what I aimed to do, boy,' he said, 'and if I take the notion, I'll kill you same as them.'
'You killed your own partner, the Mexican fellow,' Conrad went on.
'The sumbitch had it comin',' Cletus replied, turning his freshly loaded gun on Conrad. 'Shut the hell up or I'll do the same to you.'
'But I'm worth more to you alive.'
'Maybe,' Cletus muttered. 'Only I don't think Frank Morgan is gonna know the difference if he brings that money to Ghost Valley. If his saddlebags are full of gold, like they's supposed to be, Ned's gonna kill him anyhow, if Victor or one of his men don't get to him first.'
* * * *
When Cletus was satisfied that there were no more Pawnees in the area, he ordered Conrad into the saddle.
'We got lots of miles to cover, kid, so shut up with the goddamn whimperin'.'
Cletus mounted and led Conrad's horse toward higher elevations as the snow continued to fall. By his own reckoning they had two more days of hard riding facing them before they reached the valley.
--------
*Nineteen*
A soft touch on his forehead awakened him. He knew he'd been dreaming. A knifing pain spread slowly through his left shoulder
'Where am I?' he asked.
'You're at our cabin,' a gentle voice replied. His eyes opened slowly. 'Our cabin?'
'Mine an' Dad's.'
Things came back to Frank by degrees. He recalled the gunshot that had taken him unawares, a shot from behind him. 'That'd be Buck, the old gent who brought me here. Seems like he had a beard. Rode a pinto pony. Right now, that's about all I remember. He was showing me how to find Ghost Valley. I went down into the valley
