chances bein' out in the open.'
'I don't give a damn about taking a few chances. I'm tired of all this waitin' while our boys get killed off. Wait here till I get back.'
Ned edged closer to the door. 'How do we know you won't run out on us if you find that loot yourself, Victor? That's a helluva lot of money.'
Vanbergen wheeled toward Pine and clawed for his gun, but Ned was faster, snaking out his Colt just a fraction sooner than Victor.
'You son of a bitch!' Victor cried.
Ned fired a thundering bullet into Victor's chest, sending him rolling out the door of the cabin into the snow with his legs kicking furiously. A dark stain spread around him as his pistol fell from his hand.
'How come you to do that?' a gunslick asked from inside the shack, standing behind the Browning boy as the echo of the gunshot, trapped inside the tiny cabin, faded away until all was quiet.
'He went for his gun first,' Ned said, watching Victor squirm beyond the doorway. 'I ain't takin' no shit off nobody in this deal. When a man tries to double-cross me, he'll pay for it with his life.'
'Jesus, Ned. He was your partner....'
'A man ain't got many partners when it comes to money. I had to kill him. I never did trust Victor all the way. There was somethin' about him.'
'But he was on our side.'
'Not anymore. He's on his backside now. Won't be long until he's dead.'
'I ain't so sure that was smart, Ned.'
Ned turned to the gunman who spoke to him. 'What ain't smart is for you to keep runnin' your mouth, or you'll wind up just as dead as Victor. I'll kill you same as I did him unless you keep your mouth closed.'
'Yessir. I was only thinkin' out loud about what you just done.'
'You ain't smart enough to do no thinkin'. Just keep your mouth shut an' do what I tell you to do.'
'Yessir, Boss. Whatever you say.'
'I'm gonna take a look around,' Ned said, shouldering into his coat.
'What the hell do we do with this kid if you don't come back?'
Ned gave the pair of gunmen inside the cabin a final look before he walked outside. 'Kill the little son of a bitch, for all I care.'
'You ain't gonna run out on us if you get your hands on that money, Ned?' It was the half-breed who spoke.
'Are you accusin' me?' Ned snapped.
'No ... I ain't, but I was just wonderin'.'
'Stop your goddamn wondering. Keep an eye on this door and an eye on the kid. Wait for me till I get back.'
'What about Victor?' the other hired gun asked. 'He ain't dead yet.'
Ned glanced down at Vanbergen. 'Won't take him long. I shot him in just the right place.'
'Damn, Ned. That was cold-blooded.'
'He went for his gun against me. Take a good look outside. This is what happens to any son of a bitch who pulls a gun on Ned Pine. Remember that, boys.'
Ned trudged off across the snow to fetch his horse, ignoring the soft cries of his former partner as the man lay dying in front of the shack.
* * * *
Rays of early morning light slanted into the shed where they kept their horses while Ned saddled his black gelding. Long shadows fell away from pines around the corral. It was the time of day when a man's eyes were tested, he thought, when a man was not quite sure of what he saw.
And when he looked across the valley floor, he saw a sight that made him wonder about his eyes. It looked like an Indian aboard a piebald pony was half hidden in a clump of trees on one of the slopes.
Ned wasn't worried about a lone Indian. He led his horse out of the corral, tightened the cinch strap, and mounted up to ride south, toward the gunshots they'd heard a few minutes after dawn.
He looked over his shoulder at Victor while he collected his reins. Ned had brought a sudden end to a five- year partnership when he drew his pistol just now, but it was the price Victor had to pay for reaching for his own gun.
'So long, Vic,' Ned said, putting a spur to his black horse.
He rode off, preparing himself for a test against the gunfighting skills of Frank Morgan.
--------
*Thirty*
Frank heard someone behind him. He whirled around in spite of the pain in his shoulder, wondering who was slipping up on his backside.
Buck came toward him through a line of trees, cradling his rifle in the crook of an arm. 'I seen by your
