William Johnstone - Winter Kill

“What happens tonight?” Frank asked, although he had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

Fiona lifted her glass in a little salute. “The auction.”

Conway started to curse. Hargett slapped him on the side of the head with the Smith & Wesson and said, “Shut up.”

Fiona went on. “In a little while we’ll open the doors, and men who haven’t seen a white woman in months, let alone one as innocent as those ladies, will pour in here with their bags of gold to bid on the privilege of being first with them. We’ll make a small fortune, and by morning the ladies…well, they won’t be ladies anymore, will they? They’ll know by then that they have to go along with what we want.”

“So you can kill Salty and Pete and me,” Frank said.

“Exactly.”

“Would you have done the same thing with Jacob?”

Fiona shrugged. “I might have given Mr. Trench the opportunity to join us in our enterprise once I got to know him, like I did with you, Frank. I might not have. Who knows? And it really doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Nope,” Frank said heavily. “It doesn’t.”

Salty said, “I’m surprised the Mounties are lettin’ you varmints get away with this. Last I heard, there was a constable posted here in Whitehorse.”

“There was,” Hargett admitted. “He’s dead now. My men and I run Whitehorse.”

Just like Soapy Smith in Skagway, Frank thought, although Hargett had evidently gone further and indulged in outright murder, of a lawman, at that.

He looked back and forth between Hargett and Fiona and said, “You two knew each other before, didn’t you?”

“We met in San Francisco years ago,” Fiona said. “We’ve been partners ever since and pulled off some nice jobs. None of them ever had the potential to be as lucrative as this one, though. This is just the start, too. There’s a fortune to be made in the Klondike, Frank. More money than you could ever imagine!”

Frank started to laugh. She had no idea she was talking to one of the richest men west of the Mississippi.

Fiona’s face flushed with anger. “What are you laughing at?” she demanded. “Shut up!”

“Let’s get on with this,” Hargett said. “Bring the girls out so they can have a look at these three and see that they’re still alive. Then we can lock them up again and let the customers in.”

Fiona jerked her head in a nod. “All right.” She looked at Frank. “Just so you know, the opening bid for each of them will be a thousand dollars. More than ten thousand dollars in one night, Frank, maybe twice that much…and you could have had a share in it.”

“I wouldn’t touch money like that to save my life.”

“Well…we’re past that point, I’m afraid. Nothing will save your life now.” Fiona tossed back the rest of her drink, set the glass on the bar, and took one of the .32 revolvers from a pocket in her dress. She went up the stairs to the balcony and moved along it, knocking on each of the doors as she passed them and calling, “Come on out, ladies. It’s almost time for you to meet your…suitors.”

None of the doors opened. Fiona waited a moment, then said angrily, “Come out here. You won’t like it if Jack has to send some of his men in to get you.”

Someone jerked a door open. Frank wasn’t too surprised when Meg came striding out onto the balcony. She looked furious. She wore a thin, low-cut shift that must have been cold in the chilly saloon. She glared at Fiona and said, “I can’t believe we ever trusted you.”

Fiona smiled. “People are always eager to believe what they want to hear. I promised you a new life. Well, that’s what you’re going to get, honey.” She went to the next door and slapped it hard with her free hand. “Get out here, now!”

The other doors opened and the women came out slowly and reluctantly onto the balcony. They were dressed like Meg, and as they lined up along the railing, Frank knew the miners waiting anxiously outside would be happy to bid on them. Some of the miners in the area really would have preferred wives, but men like that probably wouldn’t come to a saloon auction of brand-new soiled doves in the first place.

Lining the women up like that and putting them on display had another effect. It drew the eyes of the two men holding shotguns. They stared up at the half-dressed women and forgot for a second about their job. Even Jack Hargett couldn’t help but look up at them with an expression of mingled lust and greed on his face.

Frank saw that and knew this would be his only chance to act.

“Ready, ladies?” Fiona asked mockingly.

“Yeah,” Meg said, “I’m ready…bitch!”

She launched herself at Fiona, knocking the gun aside and tackling the older woman. Both of them crashed against the balcony railing, which broke with a sharp crack under the impact. Suddenly Fiona and Meg were plummeting toward one of the tables below.

Frank couldn’t wait to see what happened when they landed. He spun, grabbed the barrels of one of the Greeners, and wrenched them upward. The weapon came out of the hands of the distracted guard. Frank slammed the twin barrels into the middle of the man’s face and felt bone crunch under the impact.

“Kill ’em, damn it, kill ’em!” Hargett yelled.

The second shotgunner had his hands full with Pete Conway, though. Conway grabbed the gun with both hands and jerked the man against him, trapping the shotgun between them. The muzzles jabbed up under the man’s chin, and he just had time to widen his eyes in shock and terror before Conway shoved the weapon up, tripping both triggers. The double blast blew the man’s face off and threw him and Conway apart.

Meanwhile, Frank hit the first guard again, this time driving the shotgun’s butt into his already shattered face. The man went down with a bubbling moan. Frank spun when he heard the blast. He saw Conway staggering backward, covered with blood, and yelled, “Pete!”

“I’m all right!” Conway shouted. “Help Salty!”

The old-timer was wrestling with Hargett. Both his hands were locked around the wrist of Hargett’s gun hand. Hargett slammed his other fist into Salty’s face and knocked him loose, sending the old man stumbling back a couple of steps. Hargett brought the pistol up.

“Hargett!” Frank called.

The man was fast. He whirled and actually got a shot off, sending a bullet whipping past Frank’s head. Then Frank touched off one barrel of the shotgun he held and planted a load of buckshot in the middle of Hargett’s suddenly bloody chest. The charge blew Hargett back against the bar, where he hung for a second, eyes wide with pain. Then the life went out of those eyes, and he flopped forward on his face to lie there on the plank floor in the middle of a slowly spreading pool of blood.

Finally, Frank had a chance to glance toward the table where Meg and Fiona had landed. It had collapsed under their weight. The other women had rushed down the stairs by now and were helping Meg to her feet. She appeared to be shaken but all right, so Frank turned his attention back to other matters.

He bent over and started checking the pockets of the man he had knocked out. He found a handful of shotgun shells and brought them out. “Pete, reload!” he said to Conway as he tossed a couple of the shells to the young man. He broke open the Greener in his hands and replaced the round he had used to kill Hargett.

The doors of the saloon were locked, but men were slamming against them. Probably Hargett’s men, Frank thought as he closed the shotgun, trying to get in here because of the shooting.

With a splintering crash, the doors popped open. Five men spilled into the room, holding revolvers, and Frank recognized them as some of the men who’d been in the saloon when he and the others first arrived.