Buck sighed. 'I'll go out an' saddle your horse. It'll be light soon.'
'I'd be obliged,' Frank told him, buttoning the front of his shirt, ignoring the pain, then stepping into one stovepipe boot, and then the other.
' This is crazy,' Karen said, watching Frank struggle to get dressed.
'Maybe,' Frank replied. 'Now if you'll hand me my coat and that Winchester in the corner. There's a box of shells in my saddlebags.'
'And what if I won't?' Karen asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Frank pretended he didn't hear her. 'I may have to have you help me strap on my gunbelt.'
Dog whimpered softly, sensing his master's pain, coming over to him to lick the back of his hand.
'You can go, Dog,' he said gruffly. 'Two sets of eyes are better than one.'
Dog trotted over to the door as soon as Buck went out to saddle the bay.
'Please don't do this, Frank,' Karen said. 'To tell the truth, I've gotten mighty fond of you.'
'This is business, Karen. Dirty business, and not of my own making. My only son is down in that valley now. What kind of father would I be if I didn't go after him?'
'But you're hurt bad.'
'I've been hurt this badly before. It takes a helluva lot more than one bullet to kill me ... if it don't go in at the right place.'
'You're hardheaded, Frank Morgan.'
He eased into his mackinaw. 'So I've been told. My ma used to tell me the same thing nearly every day. Now help me strap on that gunbelt.'
'I'll never understand men,' Karen said, moving over to the bed to get his Colt.
Frank grinned in spite of the throbbing ache in his left shoulder. 'I never met a woman who did,' he told her gently while she reached around him to buckle on his cartridge belt just below the top of his denims.
'Thanks,' he said softly, and for reasons he couldn't explain at the time, he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She returned his kiss and stepped back, and now there was a trace of a smile on her face. 'That was nice, Frank. You come back so we can do that again.'
'I have every intention of coming back.'
'Just make sure you do.'
He walked over to the doorway, his back hunched against the pain pulsing through his chest. He was certain that if he could get on his horse, he could make it.
* * * *
Bud Warren lay in the snow, fighting back waves of nausea. The hole in his lower abdomen felt like it was on fire and when his fingers touched the area, they came back wet, he knew it was blood.
'Are you there, Coy?' he asked in a weakened voice thick with phlegm.
Coy didn't answer him the first time.
'Coy! Coy!'
And then a shadow moved in the darkness, standing over him now.
'Is ... that you, Coy?'
'Why do you come here?' an unfamiliar voice asked, a voice with a curious accent.
'That ain't you, Coy. Who the hell are you?'
'I am a keeper of this valley.'
'A keeper? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you Frank Morgan?'
'I do not know this Frank Morgan.'
'Then what's your damn name?'
'I am called Isa.'
'What kind of name is that? I can't see you real good. It's too damn dark.'
'In your language, it is the word for coyote.'
'In my language? What the hell are you talkin' about, stranger? You're Morgan. If I could find my gun, I'd kill you right here an' now.'
'I am not Morgan. You will not kill me. You have no weapon and you are dying.'
'I ain't dyin'. I've got a hole in my belly, that's all it is.'
'You will die.'
'You ain't no damn doctor, an' you've got a real stupid name.'
'I will be the one who kills you.'
