William Johnstone - Winter Kill

As Frank approached the back of the room where the women were staying, he saw lantern light from inside spilling out through a huge rent in the canvas. Knowing that one swipe of a knife could open up a big hole in the wall, he had been afraid that Soapy might try something like that. Some of Smith’s henchmen could try to grab the women at the same time as the shotgunner attempted to dispose of Frank.

Not surprisingly, shots blasted from across the street, too, as Smith and his men tried to make a clean sweep of it by attacking Conway and the other two men at the livery stable as well. Frank couldn’t go to their aid right now, so they would have to fight off their assailants alone. He had to make sure the women were safe before he did anything else.

A man reeled into the light between Frank and the hole in the canvas wall. He moved like he was injured, but he wasn’t hurt so bad that he couldn’t jerk up a revolver and fire. Frank dropped to a knee as he heard a slug whistle past his head. The Colt roared and bucked in his hand. The man doubled over as the slug from Frank’s gun punched into his belly.

Frank sprang up and clubbed the man in the head to get him out of the way. “Fiona!” he shouted. “Meg!”

More muzzle flame spurted from the shadows. Frank returned the fire, then a second later heard running footsteps slapping against the ground. The second gunman had lost his stomach for the fight. Was he the only one left, or were there more of Smith’s men lurking in the shadows?

“Frank!” That was Fiona’s voice, coming from inside. “Frank, are you all right?”

“Blow out that light!” Frank called to her. “Get down and stay down!”

As the room went dark, Frank weaved to the side in case anybody in the shadows tried to aim at the sound of his voice. Knowing that they might be able to spot the dark shape of his body against the light-colored canvas, even without a lantern burning inside, he moved away from the hotel, stepping as quietly as he could in the snow.

A man loomed up beside him and whispered, “Where’d that bastard go?”

Frank just grunted.

“Soapy’s gonna be mad as hell if he gets away. He wants that son of a bitch dead!”

Frank didn’t wait to hear any more. His hand rose and fell, and the Colt crashed against the man’s head. Smith’s henchman folded up without a sound.

Pouching his iron, Frank bent over and yanked the man’s belt off, then used it to tie his hands behind his back. He left the man there and resumed stalking any more of Smith’s men who might be hanging around the rear of the hotel.

He didn’t find anyone, though. A considerable uproar had started in the street. No more shots came from the area of the livery stable, and now that the trouble seemed to be over, men were coming out of hiding and demanding to know what was going on.

What Frank wanted to know was whether Fiona, Meg, and the other women were all right, as well as Conway, Jennings, and Salty. He moved along the back of the hotel’s east wing, and as he approached the slit-open canvas wall, he called softly, “Ladies, it’s me, Frank Morgan.” He didn’t want any of them getting trigger-happy and blasting him when he stuck his head through that opening.

Fiona stepped out through the flapping canvas. “Frank!” she said as she flung her arms around his neck. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Didn’t even pick up a nick, even with all that lead flying around. What about you and the rest of the ladies?”

“None of us are hurt,” she said, and a wave of relief went through him when he heard that. “We’re just scared. Most of us had dozed off when there was a sound like cloth ripping, really loud.”

Frank nodded, even though she probably couldn’t see him in the dark. “That was Smith’s men cutting through the canvas.”

“Smith?”

“Who else would try to grab you like that? They sliced open the wall and were probably planning to drag you off and lock you up somewhere. They came after me at the same time, and from the sound of it, Pete and Salty and Bart over in the livery stable, too.”

Jessica must have heard that inside the room, because she rushed out through the opening. “Pete!” she exclaimed. “You say Pete was attacked, too?”

“I’m about to go find out,” Frank replied grimly. “You ladies stay here. Keep your guns handy.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jessica insisted.

“Better not.”

Meg stepped out and put an arm around her smaller friend’s shoulders. “Stay here and let Frank check it out, Jess. That would be best.”

Fiona still had hold of Frank. He stepped away from her and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Be careful,” she told him.

“I intend to.”

The three-pronged attack didn’t surprise him. He’d had a hunch Smith would try something tonight, while they were still in Skagway. The man’s pride had been wounded too deeply to let Frank get away with showing him up in front of the whole settlement. Plus Smith’s greed meant that he really wanted to get his hands on the women and use them to turn a big profit.

The street was full of men who had emerged from the saloons to see what all the shooting and yelling was about. They got out of Frank’s way as he strode toward the livery stable. He felt relief go through him again as he saw Conway and Salty emerge from the barn, carrying rifles. Jennings followed them.

“Frank!” Conway called. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. How about the three of you?”

“I got a little scratch on my side from a bullet, but that’s all. What about the ladies?”

“None of them are hurt,” Frank said, leading Conway to exclaim, “Thank God!”

Frank went on. “Some of Smith’s men tried to get into the hotel by cutting through that canvas wall, but the ladies held them off until I got there.”

Salty said, “I thought I heard a Greener go off. You know anything about that?”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah, it was pointed at me when it made that racket. I was able to duck under the buckshot, though.”

Conway let out an impressed whistle. “That was lucky. They came at us with pistols, front and back, and it was a hornet’s nest in there for a while. That dog of yours got hold of one of them, though, and tore him up. We must’ve winged a couple of others, because they yelped and ran.”

“Took off for the tall and uncut, they did,” Salty added. “Reckon we put up more of a fight than they was expectin’.”

“How about the horses?” Frank asked. “Any of them hurt?”

Conway shook his head. “No. The walls of those stalls are pretty thick. They stopped all the bullets that came their way.”

“Did you manage to grab any of the varmints?” Frank hoped to have at least one prisoner who could testify that the attackers had been acting on Soapy Smith’s orders. There might not be any official law here, but faced with solid proof of Smith’s villainy, the community might rise up against him.

Conway replied, “No, I’m afraid not. The only one who was left behind was the fellow your dog got hold of, and…well, he won’t be talking anymore.”

Frank knew what the young man meant. Dog had probably torn the attacker’s throat out. The big cur didn’t take it easy when it came to fighting.

“I knocked one man out and tied him up, and there may be some others behind the hotel who are wounded,” Frank said. “I’d better go see.”

“We’ll come with you,” Salty said.

“No, Salty, you and Bart stay here. Pete, go across to the hotel and get the ladies.”

Conway sounded confused as he said, “And do what with them?”

“Bring them back over here with you. Everybody’s staying in the barn tonight. If Smith tries anything else, he’ll find us all forted up together.”