'I ain't gonna make it,' Bowers whimpered. 'I've lost too much blood already.'
'Then just lie there and go to sleep,' Frank said. 'It won't take too long. First, you'll get real cold. The chills will set in. Then you won't be able to keep your eyes open. In an hour or two, you'll doze off. That'll be the last thing you know.'
'Damn, Morgan. You could take me to the closest doctor if you wanted.'
'I don't have the inclination, Bowers. You and the man you work for have taken my son. He's eighteen years old. You want me to cough up a big ransom, more money than there is in the whole territory of Colorado, only you know I can't pay it. Ned Pine and the rest of you figured you'd lure me into a death trap, only I've got news for Ned. A death trap works two ways. The man who lays it can get killed just as easy as the bait he's tryin' to lure into it. Pine and Vanbergen are about to find out how it works.'
'Help me on that horse, Morgan.'
'I said I would. I'll tie a rag around your wound so the hole in you won't leak so bad.'
'You got any whiskey?'
'Sure do. A pint of good Kentucky sour mash, only I ain't gonna waste any of it on you. It's gonna get cold tonight. I figure it's gonna snow. The whiskey I've got is gonna help me stay warm. I don't give a damn if you get froze stiff before you get back to Durango.'
'You ain't got no feelings, Morgan.'
'Not for trash like you. Nothing on earth worse than a damn bushwhacker.'
'It's what Ned told me to do.'
'Then ask Ned or Victor for some of their whiskey. Mine is staying in my saddlebags.'
'I ain't gonna make it,' Charlie said again as he tried to sit up.
'I'll notify your next of kin that you tried as hard as you could,' Frank said, pulling off Bowers's bandanna. 'Now sit up straight and pull off your coat so I can tie this around that shoulder as tight as I can.'
'It damn sure hurts,' Bowers said, sliding his mackinaw off his damaged arm.
'A shame,' Frank told him. 'Seems like they ought to make a slug that don't cause any pain when it takes a rotten bushwhacker down. No sense in hurting a dirty back-shooter any more than it's absolutely necessary.'
He hoisted Charlie Bowers into the saddle, the mackinaw covering the bandage Frank had made for his shoulder wound. As the sun lowered in the west, spits of snow had already begun to fall.
'Tell me where I find Stump Creek,' Frank said. 'Then direct me to the cabin.'
'Stump Creek is due west ... maybe ten more miles across this bunch of ravines. When you get to the first creek, you swing north. Stump Creek winds right up in that canyon where the cabin is hid.'
'If there isn't any cabin, or any creek, I'm gonna come looking for you,' Frank warned.
'It's there. They're both there. When you get to the canyon they'll have a guard or two posted high on them rock walls on either side. Watch your ass.'
'I always do. Now you'd best head for Durango. It'll take you all night to make the ride.'
'It's snowin', Morgan. How about just one sip of the sour mash?'
'I already told you ... I don't waste good whiskey on back-shooters. Besides, you've got a leak in your arm. Why let good whiskey spill out on the ground?'
'You're a bastard, Morgan.'
'Maybe so. But I'm still alive. Unless you get to Durango by sunrise, the same can't be said for you. Keep that horse aimed southeast. Don't let go of the saddle horn. If you're as tough as you say you are, you'll make it.'
'And if I don't? What if I freeze to death?'
'You'll make a good meal for the coyotes and wolves. Now get riding.'
'How 'bout giving me back my rifle. I may need it if the wolves get too close. They can smell blood.'
'No deal. You used it to take a shot at me. What's to keep you from trying it again?'
'You've got my word, Morgan. All I'm trying to do is stay alive.'
'Then you'll have to do it without a gun, Bowers. Heel that horse southeast.'
'I wish I'd have killed you, Drifter.'
Frank gave him a one-sided grin. 'Plenty of men have wished the same thing. The trouble is, so far, wishing just hasn't gotten it done.'
Bowers drummed his heels into the bay stallion's sides as more snow pelted down on the clearing.
Frank watched Bowers ride out of sight into the trees. 'He'll make it,' Frank muttered, heading for his saddle horse and pack horse with Bowers's rifle in the crook of his arm.
He needed to keep moving until dark, if the weather allowed, until he found Stump Creek. During the night he would give the canyon and the cabin an examination, making plans for the way he would make his approach in the morning.
Snow began to fall in windblown sheets as he mounted his horse and wound the lead rope on his packhorse around his saddle horn.
He turned northwest. 'I'm coming, Pine,' he said, tilting his hat brim to block the snow. 'Conrad damn sure better be in good shape when I get there.'
