His last thought was of the Indian, and the wind, before he died in a mass of broken bones and torn flesh.
--------
*Thirty-one*
Frank wasn't quite sure what he had seen. For no apparent reason at all, Ned Pine had fallen off the bluff. And Frank had been almost sure he'd seen the same Indian, standing back in the forest, although the distance had been too great to be absolutely certain.
Buck rode up on his pinto.
"That was Ned Pine," Frank said. "I recognized him just before he fell."
"Maybe he didn't fall," Buck said knowingly.
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I'm sure you saw that redskin."
Frank nodded. "I thought I did."
"Maybe what we both just witnessed was Anasazi justice, Morgan. This was their homeland. Could be they ain't all that fond of intruders."
"But no one was near him when he fell."
"Another one of them arrows coulda got him, only I never saw no arrow fly."
"Neither did I," Frank replied, "but it sure did look like something knocked him off that ledge."
"Why worry about it, Morgan? That feller's damn sure dead down there."
"I'm going down after my son. It'd probably be best if you stayed here."
"I'll do whatever suits me, Morgan," Buck replied as Frank turned his horse for the valley floor.
* * * *
He rode up on the body. His bay snorted, smelling blood among the rocks.
"You got yours, Ned," Frank said savagely. "Now all I've gotta do is find Vanbergen and get rid of him, along with the rest of your boys."
But when he looked closely at the body of Ned Pine, he saw no arrow in him. How could Pine have been knocked off the cliff without being wounded? Ned's fall made no sense.
"I don't suppose it matters any," Frank said with a sigh, wheeling his bay away from the boulders where Ned Pine would spend eternity, while the wolves and coyotes cleaned his bones.
The land was clear leading toward the abandoned mining town, yet Frank rode straight across it without bothering to look for shelter. His mind was made up. He would kill Victor and whoever else was holding Conrad, even if it cost him his own life in the process. Enough damage had been done to young Conrad for the sake of revenge, and Frank aimed to bring it to a permanent end once and for all this very morning.
* * * *
"Untie him," Tip said.
The half-breed Apache shook his head. "Ned will kill both of us if we let him go."
Tip was standing at the door. Victor Vanbergen had died a slow death a few minutes ago. "That was Ned that fell off them rocks up yonder. Vic's dead, an' so is Ned. Morgan don't plan to hand over no money. All he aims to do is kill us an' git his boy back. Untie the little bastard an' let's saddle our horses so we can clear out."
"You're sure it was Ned?"
"Real damn sure. Cut them ropes off. I'm gonna go saddle my horse. You can stay if you want. I'm headed back to Texas where it's warmer."
The half-breed Apache cut Conrad's bindings with a long bowie knife and picked up his rifle. "I'm going with you, Tip," he said. "This whole thing was a mistake."
Tip stepped out into the snow with the half-breed close at his heels. Inside the cabin, Conrad rubbed his bleeding wrists and got out of the chair.
A man aboard a bay horse was sitting his saddle near the corral. He held a rifle to his shoulder.
"Son of a..." Tip cried, reaching for his pistol.
A .44/40-caliber slug lifted him off his feet, for the range was close. It felt as though his throat collapsed, and he dropped his pistol to reach for the white-hot pain racing down his neck.
"Wait, Morgan!" the half-breed shouted. "Your boy is..."
The half-breed Apache spoke too late. Another powerful slug came from Frank's rifle, sending the breed into a curious, one-footed spin when the bullet hit his breastbone. He fell in a heap without drawing his pistol, gasping for breath with blood leaking from his buckskin shirt.
Tip continued to strangle on his own blood, rolling back and forth in red snow. Then his arms and legs went slack and he lay still.
* * * *
Frank climbed painfully from the saddle, expecting more trouble from inside the shack, not knowing how many men Vanbergen had left. And there was Victor Vanbergen himself to deal with, a vendetta Frank had long nurtured.
But what he saw coming out the cabin door made him hold his fire. A slender figure with a bloody bandanna around his head walked hesitantly outside.
"Is that you, Conrad?" Frank called.
"It's me." Conrad saw the two fallen bodies halfway to the corral. "That's the last of them. You killed them all," he said in a thin voice.
"Where's Vanbergen?"
"Ned Pine killed him. They got in an argument over the money you were supposed to be bringing. Vanbergen went for his gun and Pine shot him. He's lying dead over there by the front door."
"What happened to your face? To your head?"
"One of them who captured me cut off the top of my ear. The bleeding has stopped, pretty much."
"I'm sorry, son. This has all happened to you on account of me."
Conrad took a few steps toward Frank, then stopped and gave a weak grin. "I suppose I should have been more careful. I thought this was over the first time."
"It's over now. Pine is dead and so are the others. I give you my word they won't be bothering you ever again. It's finished business."
Conrad looked down at his lace-up shoes. "I reckon I'm glad you came for me again. They talked like they intended to kill me if you didn't show up with fifty thousand dollars in ransom money."
"I came because I love you, son."
"Seems like you've had a real strange way of showing it all these years."
"I've already told you the story about your mother, and what happened between us. I didn't feel I had a choice, and then they killed her. Vivian was the only woman I've ever loved, and she gave you to me, a son I'd never seen."
"It's okay," Conrad replied. "Right now I think I'd like to get the hell out of this place." A sound made Conrad turn. He saw a man mounted on a black and white pinto, waving a long rifle at them before he wheeled his mount and rode off to the south.
"Who is that?" Conrad asked.
Frank watched Buck ride away. "One of the best friends a man could ever have, son. Buck Waite is his name, and without his help, and his daughter's help, you'd probably still be a prisoner here. We'll stop by their cabin on our way back south. Pick a horse from the corral and I'll help you saddle it."
"I can saddle my own horse," Conrad said, moving toward the corral.
Thirty-two
Karen was cleaning Conrad's ear. Buck had taken off Frank's shirt to add a pungent ointment of bear grease and wintergreen to his shoulder wound.
"I still can't figure what happened to Ned Pine," Frank said.
"Does it matter?" Buck asked.
"Not really, I reckon."
Conrad spoke up. "We saw some Indians when Cletus Huling was bringing me into the valley. The funny thing was, they weren't carrying guns."
"One of them killed Huling with an arrow," Frank said as Buck began winding strips of cloth around his fevered shoulder. "But there wasn't any arrow in Ned. I rode up close to where he fell for a good look."