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."