"They're here. I've trailed 'em a long way."
"One man won't stand much of a chance against Ned Pine and his boys. They're bad hombres. Same is bein' said about Victor Vanbergen. Have you gone plumb loco to set out after so many gunslicks?"
"Maybe," Frank sighed, sipping coffee. "My mama always told me there was something that wasn't right inside my head from the day I was born. She said I had my daddy's mean streak bred into me."
Tin Pan shrugged. "A mean streak don't sound like enough to handle so many."
"Maybe it ain't, but I damn sure intend to try. I won't let them hold my son for ransom without a fight."
Tin Pan stiffened, looking at his mule, then to the south and east. "Smother that fire, Morgan. We've got company out there someplace."
"How can you tell?" Morgan asked, cupping handfuls of snow onto the flames until the clearing was dark.
"Martha," Tin Pan replied.
"Martha?"
"Martha's my mare mule. She ain't got them big ears on top of her head for decoration. She heard something just now and it ain't no varmint. If I was you I'd fetch my rifle."
Frank jumped up and ran over to his pile of gear to jerk his Winchester free. He glanced over his shoulder at the old mountain man. "I sure hope Martha knows what she's doing," he said, hunkering down next to a pine trunk.
"She does," Tin Pan replied softly. "That ol' mule has saved my scalp from a Ute knife plenty of times."
Tin Pan pulled his ancient Sharps .52 rifle from a deerskin boot decorated with Indian beadwork. The hunting rifle's barrel was half a yard longer than Frank's Winchester, giving it long range and deadly accuracy.
"But the Utes are all south of here," Frank insisted, still watching the trees around them.
"They signed the treaty," Tin Pan agreed. "I don't figure these are Utes. Maybe you're about to get introduced to some of Ned Pine's boys."
Frank wondered if Ned Pine had sent some of his shootists back to look for Charlie Bowers. If that was the case, it would give him a chance to change the long odds against him. It would make things easier.
He crept into the trees, jacking a load into the firing chamber of his Winchester saddle gun.
* * * *
"Right yonder," Sam whispered. "In them pines, only it looks like the fire just went out."
"Maybe he heard us," Buster suggested. "Could be Charlie," Tony said. "He'd be real careful if he heard a noise."
"It'd be a helluva thing if us an' Charlie started shootin' at each other in the dark," Sam said.
"How the hell are we gonna find out if it's him without gettin' our heads shot off?" Buster asked.
"I ain't got that figured yet," Sam replied. "Let's move in a little closer."
"I say we oughta spread out," Tony said.
"Good idea," Sam agreed. "Tony, you move off to the left a few dozen yards. Buster, you go to the right. Stay behind these trees until we know who it is."
" Right," Buster whispered, moving north with his rifle next to his shoulder.
Tony slipped into a thicker stand of pines to the south of the grove where they'd spotted the flames.
Sam inched forward, blinking away snowflakes that got in his eyes. Since they were coming upwind, whoever was camped ahead of them wouldn't hear a sound they made. If it was Charlie Bowers who made the campfire, Sam knew he would recognize his bay stallion tied in the trees before any shots were fired.
* * * *
Frank spotted a dim shape moving slowly, quietly among the trees. He didn't need a look at the man to know he was up to no good.
Frank thumbed back the hammer on his rifle, waiting for the man to show himself again.
The heavy roar of a big-bore rifle cracked near the mule and horses.
A shriek of pain filled the night silence. Tin Pan Rushing had hit someone with his Sharps ... Frank knew the sound of the old buffalo gun. He was more than a little bit surprised that the mountain man would throw in with him in a fight with Ned Pine's gang.
Two muzzle flashes winked in the darkness from trees near the clearing. The crack of both guns and the fingers of red flame gave Frank a target.
He squeezed off a round at a fading flash of light.
"Son of a bitch!" a deep voice cried.
Frank was ejecting a spent shell, levering another into the Winchester as fast as he could before ducking behind the tree as the voice fell silent.
"Is that you, Charlie?" someone shouted from the trees east of camp.
7 Now Frank was certain that some of Ned Pine's men had been sent back to look for Charlie Bowers.
"Yeah, it's me!" Frank bellowed. "Is that you, Ned?"
"It's Tony. How come there's two of you shootin' at us? You shot Sam an' Buster just now."
"My cousin Clarence came up from Durango. We met on the trail. We didn't know who it was out there. Come on down to the fire. We've got coffee."
"That still don't sound like you, Charlie. Did you kill Frank Morgan?"
"Put a hole right through his chest. Sorry about shooting Sam and Buster. Come on down and we'll get the fire going again."
"Bullshit!" Tony said. "It must be you, Morgan."
"Morgan's dead, like I told you. I didn't plan on riding up to the cabin in this storm. Me and Clarence shot a wild turkey hen. Walk on down here and have some."
"You don't sound like Charlie."
"It's cold. What the hell are you so scared of, Tony?"
"Scared of bein' tricked, and I never heard you make mention of no cousin by the name of Clarence."
Tin Pan shouted from the far side of the clearing. "I'm Charlie's cousin. I don't know who the hell you are, but you've gotta be crazy to stand out in the cold and snow. We've got coffee and roasted turkey. Come on in."
A silence followed.
"Let me check on Sam and Buster first. I can hear Buster groanin' over yonder. Ned ain't gonna like it when he finds out you shot down two of us."
"It's dark," Frank said, readying his rifle. "How the hell was I supposed to know who it was?"
"You don't sound like Charlie Bowers to me," Tony said, his voice a bit lower. "I've been ridin' with Charlie for nearly three years. I'd know his voice if I was hearin' it."
"I'll walk up there and prove it to you," Frank said. "I can't tell exactly where you are. Show yourself and I'll come up."
A dark silhouette moved in the wall of snow and pine trunks.
Frank brought his Winchester's sights up, steadying the gun against his shoulder. "I see you now, Tony. Just wait right there for me and we'll see to Sam and Buster."
He squeezed the trigger. His .44-caliber saddle gun slammed into his shoulder.
The man partly hidden by trees flipped over on his back without making a sound.
"Nice shot, Morgan," Tin Pan said from his hiding place. "Couldn't have done no better myself."
Frank stepped around the pine. "It was mighty nice of him to walk out and introduce himself. Some men are so damn stupid, it makes you wonder how they stayed alive long enough to grow out of diapers."
"One of 'em ain't dead yet," Tin Pan warned.
"I'm always real careful," Frank replied as he headed into the forest.
* * * *
Karen came over and sat beside him. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked. "Seemed like you drifted off for a spell."