from the fever from his wound and the below-freezing temperatures at this high elevation.
'It's a mile or so,' Buck said. 'Can you stay on your horse that long?'
'Yeah,' Frank whispered, thinking about Conrad and this second attempt by Ned Pine and Victor Vanbergen to hold him for ransom. 'I can sit this saddle for a spell.' Clouds of swirling steam came out of his mouth when he spoke even though his lips were pressed tightly together, a mark of the anger welling inside him.
Dog trotted out in front of them as they crested a ridge above Ghost Valley. Early rays of sunlight cast eerie shadows on the snowy forest floor, while a curious silence surrounded both horsemen.
'Some of 'em will be comin', lookin' for the two I shot,' Buck said.
'Let them come,' Frank snarled, fighting back the pain racing through his shoulder and chest. He wanted to end things between himself and the gunslicks, but he had to remember that Conrad's safety was the most important thing and he couldn't let personal grudges get in the way.
Buck shrugged. 'I'll get as many of 'em as I can, Morgan, only it's gonna be a helluva fight if they all come at us at once.'
'I've never been in a fight that wasn't hell,' Frank told him. 'Never had an easy one in my life. But you don't have to take a hand in this. I can handle it myself.'
'In the shape you're in? You'd have a hard time swattin' a fly.'
'I've never had an easy road through life.'
'Don't reckon I have either,' Buck recalled, guiding his pinto around a snowdrift.' Gettysburg was the worst. Never saw so many dead men in my life. I coulda been one of them. Took a ball in my leg. Ain't been able to walk quite right ever since, but I was always thankful I didn't wind up dead like so many of 'em did.'
'No such thing as an easy war,' Frank said, keeping his eyes on the trees below as they rode over the lip of the valley to begin a steep descent.
'Hold up, Morgan,' Buck said quietly, jerking his pinto to a halt.
'What is it?' Frank asked, unable to see any movement in the trees.
'Way down yonder, maybe half a mile or so. I just saw a man on a horse.'
Frank reined his bay to a stop, trying to find the movement Buck had seen. 'I don't see a damn thing,' he said a moment later.
'He's gone now. Coulda been one of them Injuns, I suppose, or it might be one of Pine's boys.'
'Will the Indians bother us?' Frank asked.
Buck shook his head. 'They stay to themselves. A year can go by when me an' Karen don't see hide nor hair of 'em. Once in a while they'll show themselves, but it's only when they take a mind to.'
'Are they the Old Ones, the Anasazi?'
'Can't say for sure. Main thing is, they don't bother nobody.'
'I hope they stay that way until this business between me and Pine and Vanbergen and his damned hired guns is over. I don't need any Indian enemies now.'
'Most likely they will stay out of it. All these years I been up here, we ain't had no trouble out of 'em. Hardly ever see 'em, matter of fact.'
' Let's keep moving,' Frank said, heeling his horse forward. 'I don't see anything down there.'
Buck merely nodded and urged his horse alongside Frank's to continue their slow trek toward the snow- laden floor of Ghost Valley.
Suddenly, Frank saw the outline of a man on a horse, he was wearing a bowler hat. Frank swung his horse into the trees and said, 'I see one of them.'
'I seen him too,' Buck said softly. 'Looks like an Easterner wearin' that derby.'
'He's real careful,' Frank observed. 'He's no Easterner by the way he uses cover to hide himself.'
'I'll flank him,' Buck suggested, easing his pinto away to the east. 'Remember, there could damn sure be a bunch more of 'em somewheres.'
'I don't need a reminder,' Frank said, pulling his Winchester from its saddle boot.
He jacked a shell into the firing chamber and sent his bay down the slope at a slow walk. The pain in his shoulder seemed less.
* * * *
Cletus knelt over the bodies of Bud and Coy, examining the blood and footprints in the snow. What puzzled him most was the pair of moccasin prints near one of the bodies.
He glanced around him. Maybe Frank Morgan wore moccasins when he was out in the wild.
'Don't make no damn difference to me what's on his feet,' Cletus muttered.
A moment earlier he'd thought he'd saw a pair of riders on one of the high ridges, but now they were gone. In the light of early morning, it was hard to tell. He supposed it could have been a couple of those Indians he saw when he found this hideout of Pine's and Vanbergen's.
'A man's eyes can play tricks,' he said, moving back to his horse to climb in the saddle. 'But if it is Morgan, I'll kill the son of a bitch an' take that money. He'd damn sure better have that money with him.'
Cletus mounted, collecting his reins, listening to the silence around him, watching everything.
'It's damn sure quiet,' he said to himself. 'Downright unusual for it to be so quiet.'
