Ned wanted to hold the highest ground, and the sheer drop he was aiming for would be the perfect spot to watch for Morgan if he made a play to get his boy back.
His horse finally reached the top of the trail. Ned rode it across a flat spot, and swung down to tie the gelding deep in the trees behind the bluff.
He pulled his rifle and walked slowly toward the edge of the cliff where he would have the best vantage point. His jaw was set. He was determined to get Morgan this time, and the ransom money. Victor was dead. Most of their hired guns were dead, and he didn't give a damn what happened to the remaining men, or the Browning kid. All that mattered now was getting his revenge against Morgan and heading south as a rich man.
He crept to the top of the cliff and peered into the quiet valley. Then he gave his surroundings a careful inspection, just to be sure no one was behind him.
But just as he was all but certain he was alone, he saw a figure step out from behind a tree.
'Morgan, you son of a bitch!' he cried, bringing his Winchester up.
'I am not Morgan,' a feathery voice said.
Ned fired at the man, even though he was partially hidden in deep forest shadows. The bark of his rifle resounded off the sides of Ghost Valley, yet the figure remained where he was, watching Ned.
Ned jacked another shell into the firing chamber and fired again, with the same result. The man watching him simply stood where he was.
Ned levered another round into his rifle, wondering how his aim could be so bad.
'It is time for you to die, white-eyes,' the strange voice said.
'Like hell,' Ned cried, triggering off another thundering shot.
And then he saw an Indian step out into a small patch of sunlight, and his blood ran cold. 'What the hell are you doin' here?' he demanded. 'This ain't none of your affair, you redskin bastard!'
'We are the keepers of this valley. You have come here with black hearts. It is time for you to die ... for all of you to die.'
Ned readied another bullet in his rifle, just as a blasting gust of wind washed off the face of the slope above him. He lost his footing and staggered backward, trying to regain his feet on slippery snow.
His left foot lost its purchase. He turned his head just in time to see the edge of the cliff. And again the wind struck him, blinding him with snowflakes, driving him farther backward in spite of every effort he was able to muster to remain where he was.
Ned was swept off the lip of the ledge. He let out a scream as he felt himself falling. His scream became a wail when his lungs emptied while he was plummeting hundreds of feet toward a pile of snow-crested rocks.
His last thought was of the Indian, and the wind, before he died in a mass of broken bones and torn flesh.
--------
*Thirty-one*
Frank wasn't quite sure what he had seen. For no apparent reason at all, Ned Pine had fallen off the bluff. And Frank had been almost sure he'd seen the same Indian, standing back in the forest, although the distance had been too great to be absolutely certain.
Buck rode up on his pinto.
'That was Ned Pine,' Frank said. 'I recognized him just before he fell.'
'Maybe he didn't fall,' Buck said knowingly.
'What the hell do you mean by that?'
'I'm sure you saw that redskin.'
Frank nodded. 'I thought I did.'
'Maybe what we both just witnessed was Anasazi justice, Morgan. This was their homeland. Could be they ain't all that fond of intruders.'
'But no one was near him when he fell.'
'Another one of them arrows coulda got him, only I never saw no arrow fly.'
'Neither did I,' Frank replied, 'but it sure did look like something knocked him off that ledge.'
'Why worry about it, Morgan? That feller's damn sure dead down there.'
'I'm going down after my son. It'd probably be best if you stayed here.'
'I'll do whatever suits me, Morgan,' Buck replied as Frank turned his horse for the valley floor.
* * * *
He rode up on the body. His bay snorted, smelling blood among the rocks.
'You got yours, Ned,' Frank said savagely. 'Now all I've gotta do is find Vanbergen and get rid of him, along with the rest of your boys.'
But when he looked closely at the body of Ned Pine, he saw no arrow in him. How could Pine have been knocked off the cliff without being wounded? Ned's fall made no sense.
'I don't suppose it matters any,' Frank said with a sigh, wheeling his bay away from the boulders where Ned Pine would spend eternity, while the wolves and coyotes cleaned his bones.
