"Frank Morgan. He may not recognize the name, only please tell him I need to talk to him. I won't need but a minute of his time."
"I'll tell him, Mr. Morgan. You can take a seat over there by those windows."
The nurse disappeared down a dark hallway. Somewhere in the back of the building, Frank could hear bubbling water and soft splashing sounds, no doubt the hot mineral baths this place was known for, a spring coming from deep in the earth and filled with healing, or so some folks said.
"This place is damn near empty," he muttered.
The woman returned a moment later. She halted in front of Frank and glanced down at his gunbelt. "Doc says it's okay, but he asked if you was carryin' a gun."
"I'll leave it here on your desk," Frank replied, drawing his Colt, placing it on her desk top with a heavy thud. He still had a belly-gun hidden inside his shirt, not that he figured he'd be needing it.
"Come this way, Mr. Morgan," the nurse said, leading him down the hallway. "Doc said you could only stay a minute or two. He's feelin' real poorly now."
"I understand, ma'am," Frank told her as she opened a door into a small private room.
A frail, emaciated young man lay on a narrow bed below the room's only window, covered by a thin sheet and wool blanket to keep out the morning chill.
The woman closed the door behind Frank.
"Doc Holliday?" he asked softly. The man on the bed would scarcely weigh a hundred pounds. His cheeks and eyes were so deeply sunken into his face that he could have been dead, had he not spoken just then.
"That's me," Holliday replied. "You can take that chair in the corner. I've heard of you, Morgan. You have a reputation as a man with an intemperate disposition."
Frank grinned weakly and eased over to the wooden chair. "I've heard much the same about you, Doc."
Holliday tried for a laugh that ended in a series of wet coughs. With a slender-fingered hand he wiped blood from his mouth with a blood-soaked rag. "What brings you to me, Morgan? Nurse Miller said it was important."
"Ned Pine and Victor Vanbergen. I need to know where they are."
"A nasty pair. Cowards, both of them. However, they'll shoot a man in the back and he'll be just as dead as if they'd faced him."
"I know. I almost had them a few weeks back in the south part of the territory. They were holding my son for ransom to get at me. I got my boy back, but Pine and Vanbergen got away clean."
"A damn shame. They need to take the dirt nap. What makes you so sure they're here?"
"I picked up their trail. They've still got a few gunslicks with 'em. One of 'em tried to jump me here in Glenwood Springs last night while I was down by the old cemetery. He came at me with a shotgun. It only makes sense that it was one of Pine's or Vanbergen's shooters. The only thing that troubles me is how they knew I was here, not that it matters, since I'm gonna kill 'em all anyway if I get the chance."
"You're not worried about the odds?"
"I never worry about the odds. I lost their trail south of here by a few miles. I figured they'd come here for whiskey and supplies."
"They did. That was a couple of weeks ago."
"Some old man in town told me to look for 'em in a place called Ghost Valley. It doesn't show on the map I've got with me."
"It won't," Holliday replied. "But that's where you'll find them, most likely. There are remnants of an old mining town in a deep valley to the north. They hole up in a cabin on the west edge of the town. Nobody lives there now."
"How do I find it?"
Doc broke into another fit of bloody coughing. Frank waited for him to clean his mouth and chin.
"There's a two-rut wagon road that angles northwest of town into the mountains. It's a steep climb. Ride three or four miles until you come to a little stream. Swing off the road and follow that stream through the pines. It's a rough climb in places. I hope you're riding a good mountain horse."
"I am."
"The stream wanders for about six miles. You'll come to a place where it cuts between two ridges. Ride up the more nothern one. There won't be any trail to follow. Ride slow and very carefully. When you come to the top you'll be looking into Ghost Valley. There's an old Indian burial ground down below. You'll see the mounds. The mining town is to the east, what's left of it."
"What about those old Indians, Doc? I thought I saw one yesterday near the Glenwood Springs Cemetery as I was riding into town."
"Some people claim they can see them. I've never seen one. I think it's poppycock. The Anasazi have been gone for hundreds of years."
"I saw something," Frank assured him. "My dog growled when he saw it. The Indian wasn't my imagination." He left out the part about the whispered voice he'd heard.
"Maybe he was a Ute or a Shoshoni," Holliday suggested as he wiped his mouth again, "although most of the tribes have been driven farther north by the Army."
"He was an Indian, whatever breed he was." Right then, Frank couldn't shake the eerie feeling that perhaps he had seen a ghost, even though there wasn't a superstitious bone in his body that he knew of.
Holliday dismissed the subject with a wave of a pale hand. "I've never seen an Indian around here and I've been here for three months. I've only been bedridden over the past month. As you can see, I'm at death's doorway. Doc Grimes tells me it won't be long now."
"Sorry to hear it, Doc," Frank said.
"Funny," Holliday told him, smiling as he stared up at the ceiling. "I've always assumed a bullet in the back would take me to my grave. I'd planned to die with my boots on, as the old saying goes. This is a horrible way for a man to cash in his chips."
"I'd rather go out quick myself," Frank agreed.
Holliday glanced at him. "You may get your chance if Pine or Vanbergen sees you first. They won't do it honorably. You can bet your last dollar on that."
"I've already become acquainted with them," Frank said in a low growl. "I'll be ready when the time comes."
"You sound like a very confident fellow, Morgan. Are you that good with a gun?"
"I've gotten by. Tried to quit years ago, until this business with my son came about."
"Good luck, Morgan," Holliday said, his voice trailing off. "Now if you don't mind, I need to close my eyes. I just took a dose of laudanum and I'm sleepy. Follow that stream until it passes between those ridges. Ride up to the crest of the valley, and from there on, you'd better have eyes in the back of your head."
"I'm obliged, Doc," Frank said, coming to his feet. "I wish you the best."
"My best days are already gone, Morgan," Holliday replied as his eyelids batted shut. "However, I must say I had a wonderful time while it lasted."
Frank started for the door.
"One more thing, Morgan," Holliday said, his throat clotted so that he was hard to understand.
"What's that, Doc?"
"Make sure nobody follows you out of town. Vanbergen and Pine have friends here. Quite possibly back-shooters who have been warned to keep an eye out for you."
"I killed one of them last night. Sheriff Tom Brewer made it real plain he didn't want me hanging around. Makes me wonder if he's a friend to Pine and Vanbergen."
"I doubt if you have anything to fear from Brewer," Holliday said, his eyelids closing again. "But he could be looking the other way for a handful of silver when those outlaws ride into town. He won't be the first crooked lawman I ever met."