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come back,” a voice said from the darkness, sending Frank’s hand toward his gun.
    â€œDon’t shoot me. I ain’t armed.”
    A shadow moved in the pines west of the graveyard.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” Frank demanded.
    â€œWe talked when you rode into town, mister. I was here when you said you saw one of the Old Ones.”
    Frank’s gun hand relaxed. “What the hell are you doing out here this time of night, old-timer?” he asked.
    â€œVisitin’ my daughter.”
    â€œYour daughter?”
    â€œShe’s buried here. Died from the consumption. Sometimes I come out here just so’s I can be close to her. Makes me feel better.”
    The old man he’d seen beside the fence earlier in the day walked up to him.
    â€œSorry about your daughter,” Frank said.
    â€œIt’s been two years, nearly. Can’t sleep at night without thinkin’ about her before I drop off.”
    â€œThe galloping consumption is a hard thing . . . a rough way to die,” Frank said.
    â€œShe went fast. Less’n two months after we found out she came down with it.”
    Frank understood the old man’s grief . . . he’d lost a wife to a coward’s bullet. “It’s hard to lose a loved one, no matter what the cause.”
    â€œI asked around in town after you got here, mister. They say you’re Frank Morgan the gunfighter. Ol’ Man Barnes at the hotel told me. An’ Smitty recognized you when you came to the hotel.”
    â€œI don’t make a living with a gun now,” Frank said. “I gave all that up years ago.”
    â€œBut you was askin’ about Ned Pine an’ Vic Vanbergen. That don’t sound like you come here with peaceable intentions, if you pardon me for sayin’ so.”
    It had begun to seem that Frank’s past would haunt him for the rest of his life. He stared across the moonlit cemetery a moment. “They killed my wife and took my son hostage. I got my boy back, but I still owe them a debt... a blood debt, and I aim to see that they pay it.”
    â€œThen you are a killer.”
    Frank’s jaw muscles went tight. “If I can find Vanbergen and Pine, I intend to kill them for what they did to my Vivian, and to Conrad.”
    â€œCould be I can tell you where to find ’em,” the old man said.
    Frank turned around abruptly. “Where?”
    The man aimed a thumb toward the snow-clad peaks north of Glenwood Springs. “Up yonder. Doc . . . that’s Doc Holliday, he knows where they’re at.”
    â€œWould he tell me?” Frank asked, feeling his blood begin to boil.
    â€œCan’t say fer sure, Mr. Morgan. But you can ask him for yourself, if you’ve a mind to.”
    â€œWhere is Holliday?”
    â€œAt the sanitarium.”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œJust ride down to the river an’ turn east. You’ll see it plain as day.”
    â€œI’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
    â€œDoc, he’s cranky as hell, but he’s in a lot of pain, so they say.”
    â€œAll I want to know is where I can find Vanbergen and Pine,” Frank explained.
    â€œDoc knows ’em. Leastways he knows where they go to hide out from the law.”
    â€œI appreciate what you’ve told me,” Frank said.
    The old-timer turned toward town. “That Ned Pine, he ain’t no good. If there’s a sumbitch in Colorado who deserves to die, it’s him.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Frank asked as the old man walked off.
    â€œThey call me George. I reckon that’s all you need to know.”
    A moment later George was out of sight around a bend in the road. Frank made up his mind to talk to Doc Holliday right after sunrise.
    As he was about to head back to the hotel he saw a slight movement in the pine trees behind the burial ground. Again, he reached for his pistol.
    A shape appeared, a slender man dressed in