William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

And they were liable to find it, Frank mused. That was just the way things seemed to go where he was concerned.

Captain Beswick was waiting at the gangplank to bid them farewell. He shook hands with Frank and Salty and tipped his cap to Meg.

“Good luck to you,” the captain said. “To be honest, I think this is a bit of a fool’s errand you’re going on, but perhaps it will work out. I hope so.”

Salty said, “No offense, Cap’n, but it ain’t your money that’s involved. To my way of thinkin’, I’d be a fool not to go after Palmer and try to get it back.”

“If you get a chance, write to me in care of the shipping line. I’d like to hear how this all comes out.”

“We’ll do that,” Frank said with a nod.

When they reached the dock, Frank looked back at the ship and saw Handlesman and Monroe at the railing. He lifted a hand in farewell to the second mate and the sailor. Both of them had been helpful during the ruckus the night before.

No one had bothered the horses, the mules, or the supplies. Frank, Salty, and Meg swung up into their saddles. Captain Beswick had a map of Canada among the numerous maps in his cabin, and Frank had studied it. Calgary was approximately four hundred miles east and a little bit south of Powderkeg Bay. In mountainous country, it would take three weeks, possibly more, to get there.

Frank was confident that he could find the settlement. They might not follow exactly the same trails between here and there as Joe Palmer did, but on the other hand, there were a number of mountain ranges in their path and probably only a limited amount of routes through them. If Palmer wasn’t in too much of a hurry, they might be able to catch up to him before he reached Calgary.

Only one trail led out of Powderkeg Bay, winding up the side of the mountain that loomed above the town. When they had climbed quite some distance, Frank reined in and motioned for the others to do likewise.

“In terrain like this, we’ll have to stop pretty often to let the horses rest,” he told Salty and Meg as he dismounted. “We don’t want to wear them out. According to Captain Beswick’s map, there are a few small settlements between here and Calgary, but we may not be able to get fresh mounts until we get there.”

They stood on the trail, holding the reins, and looked down the mountainside at the bay, the island a short distance off shore, and the vast Pacific beyond it. From up here they had a good view of the town, and Frank could also see the Jupiter’s sails as the ship turned south toward Seattle.

Frank pointed out the vessel to his companions. “I hope Hopkins gets what’s comin’ to him,” Salty muttered.

“He will,” Frank said. “Sooner or later, all owlhoots do.”

“I ain’t interested in later. The sooner that varmint’s dancin’ a jig at the end of a hang rope, the better.”

Frank didn’t know if Hopkins would wind up being hanged or not. It would depend on what charges the authorities could prove against him. But at the very least he would spend a long time in jail.

When the horses had rested for a few minutes, the three of them mounted up again and resumed their trek. Frank had already spotted a flat shoulder jutting out from the mountain higher up and had a hunch the trail followed it around the peak.

That turned out to be the case, but it took them until the middle of the afternoon to reach the shoulder. They hadn’t even gotten out of sight of the sea before dusk began to settle down and Frank started looking for a place to make camp.

He found a clearing in the evergreens that thickly coated the mountainside and bordered both sides of the trail. Plenty of dry branches littered the ground under the trees, so they would have an abundance of firewood. It would come in handy to ward off the chill the night would bring.

As they sat by the fire eating a supper of salt pork and biscuits, Frank said, “You know Palmer’s not going to give up that money without a fight, Salty.”

The old-timer snorted. “Wouldn’t expect him to. Hope he don’t. That way I’ll have a good excuse to plug the varmint.”

“If you do get the money back, what then?” Meg asked. “Are you still coming to Mexico with us?”

“If I recollect right, headin’ south of the border was my idea to start with,” Salty pointed out. “I ain’t changed my mind about it, neither.”

Frank smiled. “South of the border in these parts means back in the United States.”

“Yeah, I know.” A wistful tone crept into Salty’s voice. “I appreciate the two o’ you comin’ with me like this. I know you’re prob’ly anxious to get back home.”

“I don’t have anything waiting for me,” Meg said.

“Yeah, but Frank does.”

Frank knew the old-timer was talking about Stormy and Goldy, his two horses, and Dog, the big, wolflike cur that had been Frank’s friend and trail companion for a long time. All three of the animals had been left with a friendly stable owner in Seattle, and Frank trusted the man to take good care of them. Paying for that care wasn’t a problem, either.

But Frank had to admit to himself that it would be good to see his old pards again. He had no idea how long it was going to be before that happened. In the meantime, he would concentrate on the job at hand.

Another advantage to having a fire was that it would keep wild animals away from the camp. Frank didn’t know for sure what sort of varmints might be roaming these mountains, but he figured it was certainly possible there might be wolves and bears around here.

The drawback was that Joe Palmer might spot their fire and take it as a sign that someone was coming after him … which was true, of course. It was possible that Palmer might double back and try to ambush them.

For that reason, Frank thought it would be a good idea if they took turns standing guard at night. He suggested that Meg take the first shift, since it was the easiest, then he would take the second and Salty the third.

They nodded their agreement. “What are you worried about, Frank?” Meg asked. “Wild animals?”

Salty said, “More like varmints of the two-legged variety, I’m bettin’.”

“That’s right,” Frank said. “We don’t know how far ahead of us Palmer is. If he knows he’s being chased, he might try to bushwhack us.”

“That’d be fine,” Salty said. “That way we won’t have to chase him clear to Calgary.”

“Assuming he doesn’t kill us,” Frank said drily.

Salty snorted again. “’Tain’t likely. Not with a couple o’ old hands like you and me on his trail.”

The night passed quietly, with no sign of Joe Palmer or any other dangerous varmint, and the next morning the three of them resumed their journey.

That was the beginning of a week’s travel through rugged but spectacularly beautiful country. The trails they followed led through lush green valleys between towering, snow-capped peaks. Fast-flowing streams danced merrily along those valleys. Eagles wheeled through the clear blue sky, and every day Frank spotted elk, moose, and antelope herds, as well as the occasional majestic, lumbering bear.

Not once, though, did they see another human being in this vast Canadian wilderness.

That changed abruptly on the seventh day of their trip.

“Look yonder,” Salty said, reining in and pointing. “Smoke from somebody’s chimney.”

Frank had already spotted the thin column of gray curling into the sky. It was rising from a spot a mile or so down the valley they were following.

“Are we going to stop?” Meg asked as she and Frank brought their mounts to a halt as well.

Frank nodded. “It would probably be a good idea. That smoke’s likely coming from some trapper’s cabin. He might have seen Palmer go by. It would be nice to have some proof that we’re on the right trail.”