Frank sat on the bunk eating flaky biscuits and strips of salt pork, remembering the other man he'd met in the mountains far to the south of here who helped him get Conrad away from Ned and Victor.
'Clarence Rushing is my full name,' Tin Pan had said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. 'I've been up in these mountains so long that the other gold panners hung the Tin Pan handle on me. Suits me just fine.'
Frank grinned. 'I like Tin Pan. It's a helluva lot easier on the ears.'
'A name don't mean all that much anyhow. I went by Clarence Rushing for thirty years back in Indiana. I went to college for a spell. Tried to make my living as a printer. But I kept feeling this call to see the high lonesome, these mountains, and a man just ain't happy if he ain't where he feels he belongs. I came out here looking for gold with a sluice box and a tin miner's pan. A few miners took to calling me Tin Pan on account of how much time I spent panning these streams. Hellfire, I didn't mind the new handle. I reckon it suited me. A name's just a name anyhow.'
'You're right about that,' Frank agreed, 'unless too many folks get a hankering to see it carved on a grave marker. Then a name can mean trouble.'
'Why would anybody want your name on a headstone, Frank Morgan?'
Frank looked up at the snowflakes swirling into the tiny pine grove where they were camped. 'A few years back I made my living with a gun. I never killed a man who didn't need killing, but a man in that profession gets a reputation ... sometimes it's one he don't deserve.'
'You was a gunfighter?'
'For a time. I gave it up years ago. Tried to live peaceful, running a few cows, minding my own business on a little place down south. Some gents just won't leave a man alone when he wants it that way.'
'Sounds like your past caught up to you if you're about to tangle with Ned Pine and his gang.'
'They took my son. Pine, and an owlhoot named Victor Vanbergen, set out to settle old scores against me.'
'Old scores?' Tin Pan asked.
' First thing they done was kill my wife, the only woman I ever loved. Then they found my boy in Durango and grabbed him for a ransom.'
'Damn,' Tin Pan whispered. 'That's near about enough to send any man on the prowl.'
'I can't just sit by and let 'em get away with it. I'm gonna finish the business they started.'
'I've heard about this Vanbergen. Word is, he's got a dozen hard cases in his gang. They rob banks and trains. I didn't know they was this far north.'
'They're here. I've trailed 'em a long way.'
'One man won't stand much of a chance against Ned Pine and his boys. They're bad hombres. Same is bein' said about Victor Vanbergen. Have you gone plumb loco to set out after so many gunslicks?'
'Maybe,' Frank sighed, sipping coffee. 'My mama always told me there was something that wasn't right inside my head from the day I was born. She said I had my daddy's mean streak bred into me.'
Tin Pan shrugged. 'A mean streak don't sound like enough to handle so many.'
'Maybe it ain't, but I damn sure intend to try. I won't let them hold my son for ransom without a fight.'
Tin Pan stiffened, looking at his mule, then to the south and east. 'Smother that fire, Morgan. We've got company out there someplace.'
'How can you tell?' Morgan asked, cupping handfuls of snow onto the flames until the clearing was dark.
'Martha,' Tin Pan replied.
'Martha?'
'Martha's my mare mule. She ain't got them big ears on top of her head for decoration. She heard something just now and it ain't no varmint. If I was you I'd fetch my rifle.'
Frank jumped up and ran over to his pile of gear to jerk his Winchester free. He glanced over his shoulder at the old mountain man. 'I sure hope Martha knows what she's doing,' he said, hunkering down next to a pine trunk.
'She does,' Tin Pan replied softly. 'That ol' mule has saved my scalp from a Ute knife plenty of times.'
Tin Pan pulled his ancient Sharps .52 rifle from a deerskin boot decorated with Indian beadwork. The hunting rifle's barrel was half a yard longer than Frank's Winchester, giving it long range and deadly accuracy.
'But the Utes are all south of here,' Frank insisted, still watching the trees around them.
'They signed the treaty,' Tin Pan agreed. 'I don't figure these are Utes. Maybe you're about to get introduced to some of Ned Pine's boys.'
Frank wondered if Ned Pine had sent some of his shootists back to look for Charlie Bowers. If that was the case, it would give him a chance to change the long odds against him. It would make things easier.
He crept into the trees, jacking a load into the firing chamber of his Winchester saddle gun.
* * * *
'Right yonder,' Sam whispered. 'In them pines, only it looks like the fire just went out.'
'Maybe he heard us,' Buster suggested. 'Could be Charlie,' Tony said. 'He'd be real careful if he heard a noise.'
