"Morgan is here. He's already taken down a few of our men," Ned said. "Then we gave him a little dose of his own bitter medicine."
"He surely ain't out in this snowstorm?"
"He's found himself a hidin' place. Seems like he's got a partner too. There was this rifle shot from up on the valley rim while Morgan was down here."
"Where's Morgan now?"
" Skeeter swears he got him with a rifle shot in the back a few days ago," Victor said, inclining his head toward the man called Skeeter.
"How in the hell am I gonna get my money if the son of a bitch is dead?" Cletus demanded.
"He ain't dead. Skeeter found blood, an' tracks in the snow. Two sets of tracks, so we know his partner, whoever the sumbitch is, helped him hide from us."
"I ain't gonna wait here all spring to get my money, Vic. You said ten thousand dollars for bringin' the kid out of Trinidad to this valley. By God, that's what I've got comin' to me an' you know it."
"We'll find Morgan," Ned promised. "You know damn well he's got the money, much as he cares for this snot-nosed sissy kid of his."
"I ain't gonna wait long," Cletus said. "I damn near froze my ass off gettin' him up here. This wasn't no easy place to find on that map you give me."
"It won't be long," Victor said. "As soon as this snow lets up we'll start lookin' for him and whoever his partner might be. He won't get away from us. There was a helluva lot of blood on that snow where Skeeter got him."
Cletus walked over to the fireplace, warming his hands above the flames. "Pass me one of them jugs of whiskey. An' some of them beans in this here pot. I'm half starved, half froze, an' damn sure thirsty."
He noticed that the kid was shivering. The bandanna covering his missing ear tip was covered with frozen blood. "You might oughta feed this skinny bastard too, so's we can keep him alive until Morgan comes up with the money."
Ned handed Cletus a bottle of Old Rocking Chair. "This'll help warm your innards until this damn spring storm lets up a bit."
Cletus pulled the cork and took a big swallow.
"How come you had to kill Diego?" Victor asked.
"He was gettin' on my nerves," was all Cletus said, drinking again. "Somebody fix me some of them leftover beans. An' put them horses outside in the shed. We rode 'em mighty hard to get here."
One of Ned's gunmen picked up a tin plate to fill it with beans. Another cowboy left by the front door to take care of the horses. But for the moment all eyes were on Cletus.
"Morgan better have that money," he said, gulping down more whiskey to warm his insides.
"He'll have it," Victor said. "He's worth a ton of money, an' this kid is all he's got. He wouldn't have rode all this way without it."
"I've heard about Morgan," Cletus said, taking the plate of beans, resting the bottle on the hearth. "He was supposed to be fast with a gun some years back. Smart too."
"We've got his kid. It changes things," Ned said as he came over to the fire.
"Maybe," Cletus said, filling his mouth with spicy red beans and chunks of salt pork. He glanced at Conrad. "Better feed the little bastard. He ain't got much meat on his bones. If Morgan has the money we'll give him the boy. If he don't, I'll kill the boy and his daddy myself."
Cletus walked over to a window of the shack. "I seen half a dozen Injuns on my way down into the valley. What the hell are they doin' here?"
Ned shrugged. "They don't bother nobody."
"What breed are they?"
"We ain't rightly sure. Some ol' geezer we talked to claims they's ghosts."
"The ones I saw damn sure wasn't ghosts," Cletus said around a mouthful of beans. "Besides, there ain't no such things as ghosts anyhow. One funny thing I remember about 'em ... they didn't have rifles. They just sat there on skinny Injun ponies an' watched us ride down."
"Don't pay 'em no heed," Ned said.
Cletus left the window to retrieve the bottle while he forced more beans into his mouth. "All I care about's that damn cash money for bringin' the kid. Injuns or no Injuns, I'd damn sure better get paid."
"You'll get your money," Victor said. "Morgan will try to take back his boy without payin', but we're ready for that if it happens. Besides that, he's wounded now. We got him right where we want him."
"You want me to untie this kid?" Skeeter asked, holding a tin plate of beans.
Ned gave the boy a glance. "Yeah. Untie him so he can eat. He damn sure won't be goin' no place."
Skeeter chuckled and put the plate down to begin untying the rope.
Conrad spoke, his teeth chattering. "My father won't pay a dime to have you release me," he said. "He left me and my mother before I was born. He doesn't care what happens to me. You've all wasted your time."
Cletus wheeled toward the chair where Conrad was sitting. "You'd damn sure better be wrong about that, boy, or this is where somebody'll be diggin' your grave."
Skeeter gave Conrad a yellow-toothed grin. "We'll be buryin' you right beside your pappy, sonny, if this ground ain't too froze to dig."
"He won't pay," Conrad said again.
"He'd damn sure better," Ned snapped, glaring at the youth with slitted eyes.
A gust of wind rattled a loose windowpane on one side of the shack. Cletus almost dropped his plate of beans to reach for his pistol.
"You're kind'a jumpy, ain't you?" Victor asked.
Cletus directed a cold stare at Vanbergen. "It's what keeps me alive."
Conrad began to cough, holding his sides, ignoring the beans he'd been offered.
"What the hell's the matter with him?" a gunslick asked.
"Who gives a damn," Cletus said. "All he's gotta do is stay alive until we collect that money. He can cough his goddamn head off for all I care."
"Reckon we oughta put somethin' on his ear?" Skeeter asked softly.
"Hell, no," Ned answered. "Leave him be. He ain't gonna bleed to death from no scratch like that. Hell, it's just a part of his ear."
Skeeter ducked his head and went over to the fireplace, taking down a tin coffeepot. "I'll go out an' fetch some more snow so's we can have fresh coffee. This shit tastes like wagon grease."
"Suit yourself," Ned told him. "Just be careful walkin' around out there. We don't know who's with Morgan ... but we do know he's a pretty damn good shot."
"I won't have to go far," Skeeter replied, pausing after he opened the door. "It's still snowin' like hell out yonder. I damn sure ain't took no likin' to this here north country. Be glad to get back where it's warm."
Skeeter went out into the storm, closing the door behind him.
* * * *
Skeeter Woolford tasted fear while he was out gathering fresh snow. There was something about Cletus Huling that gave him a dose of worry.
He saw Sammy coming toward him in the darkness after putting the horses in the shed behind the shack.
Sammy walked up to him, speaking in low tones. "We'd best keep an eye on that Huling feller," he said. "I don't trust a man who'll kill his partner just 'cause he claims he got on his nerves."
"I was thinkin' the same thing," Skeeter said. "He's liable to rob us of all the money after we get it, or kill every damn one of us in our sleep."
"He's damn sure a sneaky bastard," Sammy agreed. "I won't sleep a wink till this is over."
"Keep your pistol handy," Skeeter warned, dipping snow off the top of a drift.
"I will," Sammy said, glancing up and down the empty street running through the abandoned mining town, a roadway now covered with several inches of snow. "Besides that, we gotta keep an eye out for that bastard Morgan an' his pardner."
"Just between you an' me," Skeeter confided, "Ned an' Victor have gone plumb crazy over this whole idea. It was dumb to grab that kid again. Morgan didn't pay the last time. All he done was shoot the hell outta a bunch of us."
"I don't need no reminder."
"Time comes, if it don't look like Morgan intends to pay, I say we cut our losses an' ride out of here."
"But we come al
l this way."
"What difference will it make how far we rode if we wind up dead?"
Sammy nodded, knocking snowflakes off the brim of his hat. "And now we gotta watch out for Huling. We're liable to be caught on two sides of a shootout."
"Just don't sleep too hard. Let's get back inside before Ned gets edgy about us bein' gone."
They trudged through the snow to the door of the shack as the storm let up briefly. Sammy glanced over his shoulder at the rim of the valley.
"Spooky place," Sammy whispered, kicking snow off his boots. "I see why it's called Ghost Valley. Things just don't seem all that natural here."
Skeeter was about to open the door when he saw shapes moving on one of the slopes. He dropped the coffeepot and reached for his pistol. "Who the hell is that?" he cried, jerking his Colt from leather.
"Injuns," Sammy replied, sweeping back the coat tails of his mackinaw, drawing his gun. "They're too far out of range for a handgun."
"I count four," Skeeter said, peering into a swirling curtain of small snowflakes. "What the hell are they doin' here?"
"Better tell the boss," Sammy said, pushing the door to the shack open.
Skeeter picked up the coffeepot just as the four Indians rode out of sight into a stand of pines.
"Injuns!" Sammy bellowed from inside the cabin. "We seen 'em just now."
Ned and Cletus rushed outside cradling rifles. Skeeter pointed to the spot where the four riders disappeared. "They're gone now," he said.
"How many?" Ned snapped.
"Wasn't but four. They was way up yonder on that mountain slope."
"I don't see a damn thing," Cletus said.
"They rode into them trees. Haven't seen 'em since."
Ned lowered the muzzle of his Winchester. "Probably just passin' through," he said.
"Prob'ly same ones I saw ridin' in," Cletus added. "Like I told you, they didn't have no guns that I could see. Just sat there watchin' us."
Ned grunted and turned back inside. "To hell with a bunch of Indians," he said. "All we need right now is to find Frank Morgan an' find out how he aims to hand over that money for his kid."
Cletus and the others came inside, closing the door behind them.
"May not be that easy," Cletus said. "You say he's wounded. And he's got a sidekick. Could be we'll have to go take that money away from him now."
Twenty-two
Frank awakened to the sweet smell of coffee, or so he thought. He tried to lift his head, using all the strength he could muster, and still he failed.
"Take it easy, Frank," a woman's voice said. For a moment he didn't know who was speaking to him. Nor did he have any idea where he was.
He stopped struggling, gazing up at the same sod roof he'd seen before, and now things began coming back to him.
"No sense in fightin' it," another voice said, and then Frank saw Buck Waite standing over him.
"I keep ... blacking out," he mumbled. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't regain his senses.
"You got a bad fever in that shoulder, Morgan."
"I can't ... just lie here." Events were coming back to him in fragments ... his ride to Ghost Valley, the men he killed along the way, and the gunshot from behind that took him down when he least expected it.
"That's damn near all you'll be able to do for a spell in the shape you're in."
"The girl ... your daughter, she told me you overheard them talking down in the ghost town. One of them said ... they had Conrad."
"Appears that way. He's hardly more'n a boy, from what I saw an' heard of him."
"Have they harmed him?"
"Looked like somebody had cut on one of his ears, but he was okay when they took him inside. I got close enough to the cabin so's I could hear 'em."
"The bastards."
"Ned Pine is damn sure a bastard. Victor Vanbergen ain't much better. That's a rough bunch they got with 'em too, but the one who brung your boy is the worst, if my opinion makes any difference."
"What was ... his name?"
"Cletus. I didn't stay long enough to hear 'em say he had a last name."
"I don't know anyone who's named Cletus."
"He looks like a rough customer. Carries a shotgun an' a pistol. Got a Winchester too. He didn't come all this way on no sightseein' trip."
"I've got to get to Conrad before they hurt him. He's not cut from the same cloth as the rest of us. He won't stand a chance against them."
"How is it that a boy of yours can't take care of himself?" Buck asked.
"We never were around ... each other. His mother and I were separated when he was born."
"Here's some special tea, Frank," Karen said, offering him a steaming cup. "I laced it with a bit of Pa's corn squeeze, so you'd like it better."
Frank pushed himself up on one elbow, noticing that his left shoulder and arm were badly swollen.
"That bark tea will help some," Buck said. "It's an old Indian remedy for fever an' poisoned blood. Drink as much of it as you can."
Frank allowed Karen to hold the cup to his lips so he could take a few swallows. Despite the whiskey, the tea was bitter, harsh on his tongue.
Dog was watching him from the foot of the bed as he slowly sat up and took the cup in his right hand.
"The storm's let up," Buck said. "Those boys down in the valley ain't goin' nowhere. They's waitin' on you to show up with money to pay for your son's release."
"I'm gonna release 'em, all right," Frank said, trembling with a curious weakness before he took several more swallows of tea and whiskey. "I'm gonna kill every one of the bastards as soon as I can walk."
"Maybe a day or two," Buck suggested.
"I can't wait that long," Frank replied, glancing over at his rifle and pistol belt.
"Seems to me you ain't got no choice," Buck said as he went over to a stool near the fire. "That poison in your arm is gonna keep you here."
"I've had worse," Frank told him, moving his injured arm a bit.
" They'll kill you, Frank," Karen said softly. "You can't take care of yourself in this condition. Pa will keep an eye on what's going on in the valley until you're strong enough to get on a horse."
"That could be too late," Frank said, flexing the fingers on his left hand, making sure he could steady his rifle with it if the occasion arose.
"You won't be helpin' that boy of yours none if you get shot again," Buck said from his place beside the stove. "It's smarter to wait."
Frank thought about Conrad, finding it hard to believe that one of Pine's or Vanbergen's men had ridden all the way down to Trinidad to capture him again.
"I missed my chance to kill Ned and Victor a few weeks ago," he reminded himself. "All I cared about at the time was getting my boy back home safe and sound."
"Life is full of little mistakes," Buck said, chuckling as he added wood to the fire. "Gives a man a whole bunch of regrets if he thinks about 'em too long."
"I'll get them," Frank said, sipping scalding, bitter tea while his mind was on the shack down in Ghost Valley. "I swear to you I'll get 'em all this time."
Buck shook his head. "You ain't gonna get nothin' but a grave marker unless you wait for that arm to heal some. That's a bad wound."
"My son's life is more important."
"Listen to me, Morgan," Buck said, picking up the jug of whiskey. "The men down yonder in that valley are bad hombres, the killin' kind. If you go after 'em before you're ready to handle yourself, that kid of yours will die an' so will you. I know that bunch. They come up here mighty regular to hide out from the law."
"I know their type," Frank said, thinking back over his years as a gunfighter. "They don't scare me. If I can sit my horse, I can get 'em."
"Won't be so simple," Buck said. "They know you're up here in these mountains now. They'll be expectin' you. You lost the element of surprise."
"I know," Frank sighed, watching Karen move away from him, momentarily distracted. "I suppose I should be more grateful for what the two of you have
done for me. I'd probably be dead in this snow somewheres if it hadn't been for you. Just wanted you to know I appreciate what you've done for me. I won't forget it either."
"We don't want no thanks," Buck remarked. "Just wait here until you can travel. I told you when we first met I came up here to get away from killin' an' such, after the war. But in your case I'll make an exception. I'll help you get your boy back."
"I wasn't asking," Frank said.
"I know," Buck replied. "Just call it somethin' I've made up my mind to do."
"Again, I'm obliged to both of you."
Buck gave him a stern look. "Drink that damn tea. I didn't go out in this god-awful storm to fetch back bark if you ain't gonna drink the tea from it."
Frank drank half the cup, feeling better as the minutes passed. He noticed that Karen was rolling out dough on a small table.
"Are you baking a pie in the dead of winter?" he asked, trying to sound playful.
"Makin' biscuits," she said without turning around to look at him.
"Can't say as I'm all that hungry," he admitted.
Buck grinned. "You will be, soon as you smell them turtle-head biscuits my girl makes. Puts 'em in a Dutch oven on top of this stove. We've got fatback to go with 'em, and a dab of good cane syrup."
"Maybe I'll be hungry after all," Frank said, gazing around the cabin. Skins and antlers were used for wall decorations on the logs, along with a rusty trap or two.
"Drink your tea," Karen scolded. "It'll bring your fever down in no time."
"The whiskey helps," he said, grinning at her.
She returned his smile with one of her own, and he was reminded again how pretty she was.
Frank became aware that Buck was watching him. He took his eyes off Karen.
"I'll hand it to you, Morgan," Buck said.
"How's that?" he asked.
"When you get your mind set on somethin', you stay hell-bent in that direction."
"Are you talking about going after my son?" Buck nodded.
"I don't see how a father can do things any other way," he replied.
"It's the way you aim to go about it. There's still ten or twelve men down in that shack. A man with good sense would have brought some help."
"I've always worked alone," he said, gazing off at a window of the cabin.
The Last Gunfighter: Ghost Valley Page 13