William Johnstone: Dead Before Sundown

“Yeah, I recognize him,” Frank said.

“That’s Yeah Mow Hopkins,” Salty said excitedly, as if he hadn’t heard Frank’s answer. “He worked for that bastard Soapy Smith!”

“I remember. It looks like he recognized you, too.”

“Naw, neither him nor Palmer knew me when I first come in,” Salty said as he joined Frank. He sounded a little sheepish as he went on. “I should’a turned right around and gone back to the ship to get you. But I got so mad when I thought about how that bunch stole all my money, so mad I reckon I wasn’t thinkin’ straight when I grabbed my hogleg and went to cussin’ ’em.”

“I reckon not,” Frank said drily.

“They knowed who I was after that and started shootin’. I didn’t figure I was gonna get out of here alive.”

“You probably wouldn’t have if Meg hadn’t missed you and got me started looking for you,” Frank told him. “We heard the shooting going on in here, and I had a hunch I’d find you right in the middle of the festivities.”

“I’m sure obliged for the help.” Salty toed Hopkins’s shoulder. “I just wish Palmer hadn’t gotten away when the shootin’ started.”

“Joe Palmer was here, too, eh?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t see any more of them bastards who worked for Smith, though.”

Hopkins opened his eyes and looked up at Frank and Salty. Pain twisted his face. “You … you crazy old son of a bitch!” he gasped.

Salty hunkered next to the wounded man and put the Remington’s muzzle against Hopkins’s jaw.

“I wouldn’t be mouthin’ off if I was you,” the old-timer warned as he pressed hard enough with the gun barrel to bring a groan of pain from Hopkins’s mouth.

“I need … a doc,” he said. “You gotta patch me up … before I bleed to death.”

“After all the hell you and the rest o’ your bunch raised, I reckon I could stay right here and watch you bleed to death without it botherin’ me all that much.”

Frank didn’t blame Salty for feeling that way, but he couldn’t stand by and watch an injured man die. He was about to say as much when Hopkins stammered, “If … if you’ll help me … I’ll tell you where Joe went.”

“I wouldn’t mind settlin’ the score with Palmer,” Salty said, “but I ain’t sure it’s worth—”

Hopkins broke in, saying desperately, “He’s got your money, you loco old coot!”

Chapter 4

Salty’s eyes just about bulged from their sockets as what Hopkins had just said sunk in on him.

“My money!” he repeated. “You mean—”

“Not the same exact coins and greenbacks we took off’a you,” Hopkins grated through clenched teeth. “But when we got outta Skagway two jumps ahead of those damned vigilantes, Joe and me managed to get our hands on a lot of the loot Soapy had cached. There’s more than what you lost, old man, a lot more.”

Salty’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Hopkins’s vest. He dragged the man up off the floor a little, which brought a pained cry from him.

“Where’d he go?” Salty demanded. “Tell me how to find him, durn your sorry hide!”

Hopkins’s lips stretched in an ugly grin. “I’ll tell you where to look for him … after you get me a sawbones.”

Frank said, “The other fella behind the bar could use a doctor, too, Salty. Let’s get these men patched up, and then Hopkins can talk.”

“How about he talks now, or I just blow his damn fool head off?”

“If you do, you’ll never find your money,” Hopkins warned.

Frank put a hand on Salty’s shoulder. “I understand how you feel, but you’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Wouldn’t be cold-blooded,” Salty muttered. “My blood’s plenty hot right now.” He sighed, took the gun away from Hopkins’s neck, and eased the hammer down. “But I reckon you’re right, Frank.”

Frank looked over behind the bar. “How’s that man doing, Handlesman?”

“He passed out, but he’s still alive,” the second mate answered. “Monroe!”

The young sailor, who along with the other men from the Jupiter, had come closer to the saloon’s door when the shooting stopped, hurried in and asked, “Sir?”

“Come here and put some pressure on this man’s shoulder so he doesn’t bleed to death,” Handlesman ordered.

While Monroe did that, Frank asked Hopkins, “Where’s the doctor’s office?”

“I ain’t sure. Joe and me haven’t been here that long.” Hopkins’s face had lost most of its color. “For God’s sake, go and find him. I’m dyin’ here!”

“You may hurt like hell, but you’re not losing enough blood to die,” Frank told him. “Not right away, anyway. But if we were to let you lie there for an hour or so …”

“I’ll tell you what I know, I swear it,” Hopkins said. “Just as soon as the doc’s tended to those bullet holes.”

“I’ll go find the doctor,” Handlesman volunteered. “If I have to, I’ll fetch our ship’s doctor from the Jupiter. Come to think of it, that might be even quicker.”

Frank nodded. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead.”

Handlesman hurried out of Red Mike’s, leaving Frank and Salty to keep an eye on the wounded men, along with the other sailors.

Salty told Hopkins, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me now, just in case you’re hurt worse’n you think you are?”

“Go to hell,” Hopkins muttered.

Handlesman was back in ten minutes with the ship’s doctor, a lean, craggy-faced man named Johnston. He was about to check on Hopkins when Frank said, “The man behind the bar is hurt worse.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Hopkins protested.

“The more you argue, the longer it’ll be before somebody tends to those wounds,” Frank told him.

Hopkins subsided, muttering curses. Johnston went behind the bar and worked for quite a while on the injured man back there. When he came over to Frank and Salty again, he reported, “I think he’ll live, but he’ll never get much use out of that arm again.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to use it to shoot me,” Frank said. He gestured toward Hopkins. “See what you can do for this varmint, Doc.”

Johnston knelt beside Hopkins, cut away the man’s trousers to get at the wounds, and started cleaning them. Hopkins gritted his teeth and made groaning sounds through them as carbolic acid bit at the raw flesh on his hip and thigh.

The wound on his hip was just a deep graze, messy and painful but not serious since it didn’t seem to have nicked the bone. The hole in his thigh went all the way through, again resulting in a lot of blood and misery but not posing a threat to his life. Johnston cleaned and bandaged both wounds.

The only fatality was the bartender. Frank’s first shot had taken him cleanly in the heart.

When the doctor was finished, Frank and Handlesman took hold of Hopkins’s arms and lifted him into a chair.

“Time for you to keep your end of the bargain,” Salty said.

Hopkins glared at him. “You took so damn long gettin’ me fixed up, I ought to not tell you.”

“You’d better think twice about that,” Frank cautioned him. “We can always take you back to Skagway and let the folks there deal with you.”

Hopkins frowned. He knew good and well how the citizens of Skagway would deal with him. It would involve a rope and a gallows.

“Y’understand, I don’t know exactly where Joe is. But I know where we were going, and I’d bet that derby of mine he’s headed there right now, the dirty bastard. Runnin’ out and leavin’ me like that.”

“Keep talking,” Frank said.

Salty still had his Remington in his hand. His thumb rested on the hammer, ready to pull it back.

“Calgary,” Hopkins said. “We were gonna cut across the mountains to Calgary. Joe said he knew some fellas there we could throw in with.”