William Johnstone - Winter Kill

Conway nodded. “That sounds like a mighty good idea.” He headed toward the front of the hotel while Frank began circling the canvas-walled east wing again.

He drew his gun as he moved along the wall. His foot struck something soft, and he knew he had found the man he’d left tied up. Frank figured the man might have regained consciousness by now, but he didn’t react to the inadvertent kick. Reaching down to grab the man’s shoulder, Frank said, “Wake up, mister. You’re going to tell everybody in Skagway that Soapy Smith ordered this attack tonight.”

The man simply sagged back and forth limply when Frank shook him. Frank knelt, fished a lucifer from his coat pocket, and snapped it into life with his thumbnail.

The sudden flare of light revealed a grisly picture. The man lay there with his hands still tied behind his back with his own belt. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. Blood stained the snow crimson in a big circle around his head.

Frank muttered a curse under his breath as he dropped the match, letting it hiss out in the snow. He came to his feet and turned in a half circle, ready to fire if the murderer was still nearby and came at him. Everything was quiet back here, though.

He had gotten a pretty good look at the man’s face and hadn’t recognized him. That wasn’t surprising. Smith probably had dozens of henchmen working for him. He had probably recruited some of them to come along on tonight’s raid, although Frank suspected that one of Smith’s cronies, like Joe Palmer or Big Ed Burns, had been in charge of the attacks.

During their conversation in Clancy’s, Smith had mentioned that the little opium addict, Sid Dixon, was good with a knife. Frank had a hunch that Dixon had been responsible for slitting this man’s throat so that he couldn’t tie Smith to what had happened. Frank knew he couldn’t prove that, though.

He struck another match and looked around quickly, finding more splashes of blood on the snow but no dead or wounded men. The others must have taken the man he shot in the belly with them. That hombre would be dead soon, too, if he wasn’t already, and unable to testify against Smith.

Soapy’s try for the women had failed, but he was going to get away with making the attempt, Frank thought.

The question now was, would he try again before they could leave Skagway?

Chapter 23

By the time Frank got back to the livery stable, Conway had brought all the women across the street. They were gathered in the big center aisle of the barn, fully dressed, with blankets wrapped around them. The stable’s feisty little proprietor was there as well, and he greeted Frank by saying, “Mr. Morgan, this here is a livery stable, not a danged hotel!”

“It’s only for one night, Clem, and we’ll pay you extra,” Frank told him. “But the ladies are staying here. Soapy Smith’s men just tried to kidnap them.”

The stableman’s eyes widened. “You know that for a fact?”

“I can’t prove it, but I’m sure Smith was behind what happened.”

The man rubbed his beard-bristly jaw. “Well, I got to admit, I wouldn’t be surprised. Soapy’s friendly, but sometimes he seems like a mite of a shady character, too. I wouldn’t go spreadin’ stories about him that I couldn’t prove, though. Those fellas who work for him can be mighty rough.” The stable man lowered his voice and went on. “I don’t reckon you need to pay me any extra. It ain’t costin’ me nothin’ to have these ladies here, and it’ll be good for business when word gets around that nigh on to a dozen honest-to-God women spent the night in my stable!”

Frank grinned and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thanks, Clem.” He turned to the women. “Ladies, right up that ladder is the hayloft. I think you can take your blankets and make yourselves comfortable up there. We’ll stay down here to make sure no one bothers you again tonight.”

“All right,” Meg said with a smile, “but you should have seen Ruth and Wilma blazing away at those men who tried to get into our room. They were a couple of real Annie Oakleys!”

The two young woman blushed, but they looked pleased by the praise.

Frank asked the proprietor, “Is there an outside door into that loft?”

“Yeah, but it’s closed and bolted from the inside. Nobody can get in that way. Only way is up the ladder.”

Frank nodded. “Good. One man can guard it, then. Pete, Salty, we’ll take turns doing that, along with Dog. Bart, you find yourself a place and get some sleep.”

“Dadgum it, I wish I could help more,” Jennings protested. “I still feel like I owe you folks for what I helped Ben and those other fellas try to do.”

“Maybe the time will come,” Frank said. “Your sight might come back when your eyes heal up some more.”

“I sure hope that’s true.”

The women climbed up into the hayloft, taking their blankets with them. The proprietor retired to his quarters in the rear. Only one lantern was burning, and Frank turned the flame on it down so that it cast only a faint glow. The doors were all closed and fastened, and he didn’t see any way that Smith’s men could get at them easily. He should have brought the women in here earlier, he told himself, but he’d been trying to give them as much comfort as possible before they started the long, arduous journey to Whitehorse.

Of course, if Smith was angry enough over what had happened, he could order his men to set the barn on fire. Frank was convinced Soapy wouldn’t do that, though. For one thing, if the barn burned down and the women were killed in the blaze, then Smith would lose any chance of getting his hands on them. For another, the inhabitants of most frontier communities lived in fear of fire, and Frank figured Skagway was no different. With so many frame and canvas buildings, out-of-control flames might spread rapidly, and the whole settlement could burn to the ground. It had happened many times before in the West. Frank had even witnessed such an inferno firsthand, a number of years earlier.

So as far as Frank could tell, this was the safest place for all of them tonight.

Salty came over to him and volunteered to take the first watch while Frank and Conway got some sleep. Frank studied the old-timer intently and said, “Are you all right? The thirst isn’t too bad?”

Salty licked his lips. “That’s one reason I figured it might be best for me to take the first turn,” he said. “Right now, I ain’t got the fantods yet, but I ain’t sure how long that’ll last. Without some Who-hit-John to ease me through the night, the bugs’re liable to be crawlin’ all over me ’fore mornin’. I’m hopin’ that ain’t the way it is…but it might be.”

“All right, then it’s a good idea for you to take the first watch, like you said,” Frank agreed. “Let out a shout if there’s any trouble, though.”

“Don’t you worry. If anything bad starts to happen, I’ll holler so loud they’ll hear it clear down on the Rio Grande.”

Nothing bad happened, though. The night passed peacefully except for a brief commotion when the young women discovered that they were sharing the hayloft with a few rats. Frank shooed the varmints away, and the ladies settled down after that and got some more sleep.

The snow had stopped by morning, but the storm had left about six inches on the ground with deeper drifts in places. The Swede delivered the dogs at eight o’clock, as promised. By that time Frank and Conway had the sleds ready in front of the livery stable, with the supplies already loaded on them. Salty supervised the hitching of the dogs to the sleds, trying to pick out the best animals and split them up among the teams. While that was going on, Frank saddled Stormy and Goldy, using saddles and tack that had been on a couple of the outlaws’ horses, then told everyone else to go over to the hotel and have a good breakfast before they left.