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out his money from the fireplace stones, but it was still too hot. The log cabin would have burned quickly, so Frank figured the fire had been set no more than a couple of hours ago. Maybe less than that. It would probably be another hour before he could dig out his money.
    He walked back to check on Dog. The animal was still breathing but still unconscious.
    Frank unloaded his supplies, stashing them in the new addition to the lean-to, then stabled his horses. He could spend the night in the small new addition. It would be cold, but he had experienced worse in his time. He got a shovel and dug a hole in the ground, in the center of the barn, lining the outside area of the hole with rocks, then built a small fire. It would knock the chill off and keep a man warm, if he stayed close enough to the fire.
    He heard Dog whimper, and knelt down beside the animal. “Well, ol’ boy,” he said. “Glad to see you alive. You just lay still for a time and you’ll be all right.”
    Dog licked his hand and Frank carefully petted him. “You want some water, boy. I’ll get you some.”
    Frank found Dog’s outside bowl and filled it with water. Dog drank half the bowl’s contents, then laid his head back down on the hay and closed his eyes.
    â€œRest is good for you, Dog. I know. I been shot a few times myself.”
    Frank found the small coffeepot he used on the trail and started water boiling. He had eaten a good meal in town and wasn’t hungry. But he was getting mad.
    He sat for a time, letting hot anger wash over him. Frank drank a cup of good strong coffee and glanced over at Dog. The animal was awake and looking at him. Dog wagged his tail, and Frank smiled at him. “I been told that more men have died fighting over God and animals than have been killed fighting over women. I believe it. They shouldn’t have shot you, fellow. I can rebuild a cabin. But you . . . that’s another story.”
    Frank leaned back against a support post and sipped his coffee. He thought: I was going to live and let live, boys. The hunt was going to end right here. But you boys don’t want that. All right. Suits me. But you better bear one thing in mind: You started this dance. Now, by God, you’d better be ready to pay the band.
    Frank dozed lightly through the night, awakening often to check on Dog and to build up the small fire. Come daylight, Dog was standing up on his own. He was a bit shaky, and hobbled around with a limp, but he was going to make it.
    Frank dug out the stones around the base of the fireplace and retrieved his money. Some of the bills were a bit crispy around the edges, but spendable.
    Frank found a skillet in the rubble and cleaned it up. Then he sliced some bacon and started it frying. Frank and Dog had bacon and pan bread for breakfast.
    After some food, Frank checked Dog’s wounds and cleaned them, applying some antiseptic . . . which Dog did not like at all, showing his teeth in protest. But he made no attempt to bite Frank.
    Frank lounged around the ruins of his cabin for several days. When he was sure Dog was well on the way to healing, Frank packed up. He fixed Dog a place to ride on one side of the packsaddle, and on a very cold and frosty morning, pulled out. He headed first into the mining camp and bought supplies and new clothing. Then he had a bath and shave and haircut.
    â€œYou ready to hit the trail, boy?” he asked Dog, resting in his perch on the packsaddle.
    Dog barked.
    â€œLet’s do it then.”
    In the saddle, Frank glanced across the street. His son, Conrad, was standing in front of a tent cafe, looking at him. Frank smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. His son nodded his head curtly and without expression, then turned and walked away, his bodyguards with him.
    The coldness of the young man neither surprised nor upset Frank. Conrad did not like his father and had never made any attempt to hide his feelings. Frank lifted the