William Johnstone - Winter Kill

“Well, no matter what caused it, you don’t want to hang around Skagway if Soapy’s got blood in his eye for ye.”

“That’s why I want us to leave as soon as we can. First thing tomorrow morning, if possible.”

Salty cast an eye toward the sky. “With this snow fallin’, that’s a good idea. Come on. I’ll take you to see a feller who’s got some dogs.”

They were going to need at least four sleds and teams, according to Salty. The sleds wouldn’t be a problem, as there were still plenty to be had in the settlement. Coming up with twenty-four good dogs would be.

“Most folks use huskies or malamutes,” Salty told Frank, Conway, and Jennings. “You may have to settle for mostly mutts, though.”

“As long as they can pull the sleds,” Frank said, “that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, they’ll be able to pull, but they won’t have the stamina or the experience a good team would. We’ll have to teach ’em and toughen ’em up as we go along.”

The man Salty took them to see had such a thick Swedish accent Frank understood only about half of what he had to say. Salty could converse with him, though, and after some haggling, they went behind the man’s cabin to look into a long kennel made of posts and wire. A couple of dozen dogs were behind the fence. They were all big and shaggy and looked strong enough to Frank, but Salty shook his head in dismay. “This is the best we can do,” he told Frank, “but it ain’t good.”

“Like you said, maybe they’ll get better as they go along.”

The Swede agreed to have the dogs in front of the hotel at eight o’clock the next morning. That was well before dawn at this time of the year.

From there Frank and the others went to the general store to make arrangements for their supplies. While they were in the store, Frank spotted some Stetsons hanging on pegs driven into one of the log walls, and went over to take down one very similar to the hat he had lost in the Pacific. He had been hatless since the shipwreck, and he was tired of his head feeling naked. He bought the hat as well, and felt better when he had settled it on his head. He got a fur cap for Conway and better coats for everyone, along with blankets, furs, more ammunition, food, and plenty of dried fish for the dogs. Sled dogs, Salty explained, lived on fish, not beef.

They also bought four sleds at the store. The supplies would be divided among them, leaving room for the young women to ride. Settling up with the storekeeper took most of the cash Frank had left.

As they stepped outside, Frank saw that the snow was still coming down and that there was already a thin layer of the white stuff on the ground. Salty looked at that and nodded.

“Yeah, we might as well start off on the sleds,” he said. “Ain’t no need to bring all them hosses. You’d just have to leave ’em somewheres along the way.”

“My two are coming with me.” Frank wasn’t going to abandon Stormy and Goldy to Soapy Smith. He didn’t care about the horses they had taken from the gang of outlaws.

“That’s fine, you can prob’ly get a couple o’ horses through the passes. There’s a chance you won’t be able to, but it’s your decision to make, I reckon. We’ll need men to handle the dog teams, though.”

“You can handle one, can’t you?”

“Yep.” Salty jerked a thumb at Conway. “I figure I can teach this big fella how to, as well. But that still leaves two teams.”

“What about me?” Jennings asked. “What would I have to do?”

Salty squinted skeptically at him. “A blind man, drivin’ a sled team? I don’t see how it’s rightly possible.”

“I can hear just fine,” Jennings insisted. “Put my sled in the middle and shout a lot. I can steer by sound.”

Salty scratched at his beard. “Well…it might work. Them dogs got a natural tendency to foller each other, anyway. I reckon we can give it a try. If it don’t work, maybe one o’ them gals can take over. Looks like we’re gonna need one of ’em for the fourth team, anyway.”

“I have an idea one of them will volunteer,” Frank said, thinking of Meg Goodwin. Following a dog team might not be too different from following a plow mule.

“Well, then, it seems to me like you’re ’most ready to go.”

Frank looked up at the sky. The light had already faded from it, and the snowflakes continued to swirl down.

“All we have to do is make it through the night,” he said.

Chapter 22

Salty had long since traded his guns for whiskey, so Frank saw to it that the old man was armed with a pistol and rifle from their supplies. Then he told Conway, Salty, and Jennings to stay with the horses in the livery stable. Even though they weren’t going to use the mounts, Soapy Smith and his men didn’t know that. Frank thought they might be tempted to try to steal the horses in order to strike back at him.

“Aren’t you staying in the stable?” Conway asked.

Frank shook his head. “I’ll be around,” he said cryptically. “It’s possible Smith might try to grab the ladies. I want to be able to stop that if it happens.”

As Meg had suggested, the women had worked out a guard schedule. At least two of them would be awake at all times during the night, watching out for trouble.

With that settled, they all ate supper in the hotel dining room. The fare at the Klondike was simple but filling: moose steaks, potatoes, and beans. The women were all still tired and turned in as soon as they had eaten, except for Ruth Donnelly and Wilma Keller, who had drawn the first shift on guard.

Before he left them, Frank spoke to Fiona in the corridor just outside the canvas-walled room that all the women were crowded into now. “Ought to be warmer with all of you sleeping in such close quarters,” he said wryly.

“Is Smith going to try something tonight, Frank?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I reckon he’s got spies all over town, so he’s bound to know that we’re pulling out first thing in the morning. If he’s going to make a move against us, it’ll have to be tonight. So I wouldn’t be surprised either way.”

“I’ll be glad when we get to Whitehorse and all of this is behind us.”

“Just keep thinking about that,” Frank told her.

Fiona acted like she wanted a kiss, but Frank just brushed his lips across her forehead before leaving the hotel. He stepped back out into the snowy night. The crystals crunched under his boots as he walked along the planks.

He started around the hotel, intending to make sure no one was lurking behind the wing where the women were staying. He had just rounded the front corner when he heard snow crunch under someone else’s boots in the shadows ahead of him. Instinct made his hand flash toward his Colt as he threw himself to the ground.

A huge orange flash lit up the night, accompanied by a thunderous roar. Frank knew that someone had just unleashed both barrels of a shotgun at him.

The would-be killer had made two mistakes, though. He had gotten too close before firing, so the loads of buckshot didn’t have time to spread out much and Frank was able to avoid them by diving to the ground. The other mistake was triggering both barrels at once. Now the weapon was empty.

As he sprawled on the thin layer of snow, Frank tilted his revolver’s barrel up and fired at the spot where the muzzle flashes had ripped through the night. The Colt blasted just once, but the shot was rewarded by a cry of pain. Even though Frank was a little deafened by the shotgun going off, he heard the thud as the weapon hit the ground.

Before he could get to his feet and investigate, a woman screamed somewhere nearby. Knowing the cry had to come from either Fiona or one of the brides, he leaped up and whipped around the east wing of the hotel. A smaller-caliber pistol cracked several times. The gunfire had a panicky sound to it, as if the wielder of the pistol had simply pointed it and started pulling the trigger as fast as she could.