Then he walked over to Karen, and in spite of her father's presence, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. 'Thanks, lady,' he said gently, handing her the soup cup. 'I'll see you again. Can't say when.'
'I understand, Frank. You'll always be welcome here with me an' my dad.'
* * * *
They rode southwest under clear skies, across meadows of melting snow with the sun directly overhead. For several miles neither one of them said anything, leaving Ghost Valley behind them.
Finally, Conrad spoke. 'What was all that about the Indians not being real?'
'Just a folk tale, I imagine. Some folks believe they're ghosts of an ancient tribe that used to live here hundreds of years ago.'
'But I saw them.'
'So did I. At least I think I did.'
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dog let out a low growl, aiming his nose toward the horizon.
'There's one of them now,' Frank said, pulling his bay to a halt.
'I see him,' Conrad said, hauling back on the reins of his brown gelding.
On a mountain slope in the distance, they saw an Indian on a red and white piebald. He merely sat there in an open spot between the trees, watching them.
'He's the same one,' Frank said quietly. 'The same one I saw just before Ned Pine fell off that cliff.'
' Let's see if we can ride up and talk to him,' Conrad said, his voice full of excitement.
'I doubt if he'll be there when we get there, but we can try,' Frank told his son.
They kicked their horses to a slow trot, making for the snowy slope where the Indian sat.
'He isn't leaving,' Conrad said.
Frank kept the Indian in sight, guiding his horse with his knees. Dog trotted farther out in front, the hair down his back standing rigid.
They rode down into a ravine where snowdrifts were deep, and for a moment, the Indian was out of sight. When their mounts climbed out of the arroyo, Frank discovered that the Indian was gone.
'Where did he go?' Conrad asked.
'Can't say for sure,' Frank answered. 'We'll follow his tracks when we get up there.'
They urged their horses up a steep climb to reach the spot on the mountainside where they had both seen the Indian, Frank opening his coat so he could reach his pistol if the need arose. When they arrived at the place, Frank studied the ground for several minutes.
'No tracks,' he muttered. 'It isn't snowing now, so it just ain't possible that a horse wouldn't leave any tracks.'
'But we both saw him,' Conrad protested.
'We both _thought_ we saw him.'
'I know what I saw,' Conrad said with assurance. 'It was an Indian on a spotted horse.'
Frank took a deep breath. 'I know,' he said. 'The same one I saw just before Ned Pine fell. It's mighty hard for a man to understand.'
'Maybe he was just making sure we were leaving,' Conrad suggested.
'That may be it, son.'
' Let's keep riding. I'm darn near frozen all the way to my toes.'
'So am I,' Frank said, giving the forest around them a final look.
They heeled their horses farther up the slope. For a time, Frank kept looking over his shoulder, wondering.
At the crest of a switchback leading up a mountain, Conrad spoke again. 'Tonight, when we find a camping place, maybe you can tell me more about what happened between you and my mother back then.'
Frank's shoulders slumped. He knew he didn't want to remember what had happened to his beloved Vivian so long ago, but for the sake of his son, he'd talk about it one more time, to help bring them closer together. 'Okay, but it isn't a very pretty story.'
'I'm old enough now. No matter what happened, I'd like to hear it.'
Frank wondered. 'Maybe there's some of it you shouldn't hear.'
'I've been puzzled by it most of my life. Some things my grandfather told me didn't add up, and when I asked him pointed questions about it, he always dodged the matter, saying there were things I did not have to know, that what happened was best left in the past for my own sake.'
'More likely for his sake.'
Conrad gave him a piercing look. 'What do you mean by that?'
'I'll tell you my side of it, son. Then you can make up your own mind.'
'Just so long as you tell me the truth.'
