Karen finished putting salve on Conrad's ear, and put a clean piece of white cloth around his head. "That should do it," she said.
"I'm grateful, ma'am," Conrad replied, standing up near the stove to warm his hands.
Frank put on his shirt, doing it carefully, then sleeved into his mackinaw. Dog sat near his feet, watching everyone in the smoky cabin.
"I made some elk soup," Karen said. "Best the both of you have some before you take off."
"I'm sure as heck hungry," Conrad said, smiling for the first time since Frank had seen him.
Frank stood up. "You make some mighty good soup, Karen, only that bark tea made me see things once in a while I was down in the valley."
"You mean the Indians?"
"I just saw one. Saw him twice."
"You weren't seeing things. We see them from time to time, but not very often."
"Then they're real," Frank said. "I was told they were ghosts from long ago."
"They're real enough," Karen told him, ladling soup into tin cups.
Buck gave his daughter a glance. "You be quiet, girl," he said gruffly.
"But why, Pa?"
"Because I said so. They let us live up here because we don't talk about 'em. We don't bother 'em either. They go on about their business, same as us."
"All Frank asked was if they were real or not. Don't see what's wrong with that." She handed Conrad and Frank cups of soup.
Frank decided it didn't matter, and dropped the subject. As far as he was concerned, the arrow in Cletus Huling was real enough to kill him. "We're headed back south. It'll take us a few days to get back to Durango. I want both of you to know how much I appreciate what you've done."
"That goes for me too," Conrad said. "My father told me what you did for him after he was wounded."
Frank's soup was salty, but delicious. "We owe you a big debt," he said.
"You don't owe us nothin'," Buck replied. "We'd do the same for damn near any stranger who didn't come up here with no bad intentions."
"Including killing some of the men who were holding his son for ransom?" Karen asked.
"Maybe," Buck mumbled, turning his back to Frank. "It would kind'a depend on the man, or the men. That outlaw bunch didn't cause us no trouble."
Karen came over to Frank and stared into his eyes for a moment.
Frank allowed an uncomfortable silence to pass. "And a special thanks to you, for the tea and whiskey you made," he said.
"Pa gathered up the bark. All I did was brew the tea for you."
"No matter. It must have helped. I feel a lot better already."
She lowered her voice. "You come back sometime, Frank Morgan. I'll miss seein' you."
"And I'll miss seeing you too, Karen. You've got my promise I'll come back one of these days."
"I hope that's a promise you'll keep."
"I always keep my word, 'specially to a pretty lady."
She turned away then and went back to the woodstove to fix Buck a cup of soup.
Frank drained his cup. "It's time we got going," he said to Conrad. "We've got half a day of daylight left and we'll need to find a campsite."
Conrad picked up a torn woolen blanket he'd taken from the shack in Ghost Valley. "I hope we won't freeze to death tonight," he said, shivering in spite of the warmth of the log cabin.
"We'll build a big fire," Frank said, grinning. "I've got plenty of coffee and fatback. We'll boil a big pot of beans too."
Frank went over to shake Buck's hand. "Thanks again, Buck, for all you did."
"Wasn't nothin'," Buck answered. He glanced over at Conrad briefly. "Just glad you got your boy back. That bunch wasn't no outfit to take lightly."
"How well I know. But they're all dead now, and this is the end of it."
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."