William Johnstone - Winter Kill

“Hargett’s dead!” he shouted. “Drop your guns!”

The hardcases didn’t follow his advice. They jerked their weapons up to fire, but Frank and Conway let loose with the Greeners first. At this range, the spreading charges of buckshot cut the men down like a reaper with a scythe. Their bloody bodies clogged the doorway.

There might be more of Hargett’s men, Frank thought, so he threw a couple more shells to Conway and used the last two to reload the shotgun he held. But before they had to use the weapons, a man outside shouted, “Did you hear that? Hargett’s dead! Let’s get those bastards who work for him!”

Men yelled and cursed and shots rang out in the street. But that racket lasted only a few moments before it was replaced by screams of pain and fear, and then those grim sounds died away as well. Evidently Hargett and his men had been ruling Whitehorse with iron fists, and when that happened, the oppressed always rose up against the oppressors when they finally got the chance.

Meg came over and touched Frank’s arm. “Frank,” she said. “She wants you.”

He didn’t understand at first what Meg meant. But then he looked around and saw Fiona still lying on the floor amidst the debris from the wrecked table. Even at first glance he knew something was wrong, and as he came closer, he saw what it was. Her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. She must have broken it when she landed.

Frank handed the loaded shotgun to Salty and said, “You and Pete keep an eye on the door.” Then he went to a knee beside Fiona and looked down into her eyes.

“F-Frank,” she said in that hoarse voice that had intrigued him from the time he first met her. “Frank, I…I’m sorry…it turned out…like this…You should’ve…taken me up on it…such a…damned shame…”

“Yeah,” he said. “In a lot of ways.”

But she was beyond hearing him. She had died as those final words came out of her mouth.

From outside the broken doors, somebody called, “Hey, in there! Don’t shoot! Is it true that Hargett’s dead?”

“Durned tootin’ he is!” Salty replied.

“Thank God! Hold your fire!” A man moved into the doorway, his hands raised to show that he meant no harm as he stepped over the crumpled corpses of Hargett’s gun-wolves. He was dressed in a thick coat and floppy-brimmed hat and had the look of a prospector about him. “You don’t have to worry about the rest of his gang,” the man went on. “All the fight’s gone out of ’em. The ones who are still alive, that is.”

Frank rose from where he knelt by Fiona’s body. He said to Meg and the other women, “You ladies get back up there and get dressed.” As they hurried upstairs, he stepped over toward the bar to pick up the .38 Hargett had dropped. He asked the man, “Who are you?”

“Name’s Keenan. I’ve got a claim not far from here.”

“You came into town for the auction?” Frank asked in a hard voice.

“Hell, no!” Keenan responded. “I was over at the general store with a bunch of fellas who didn’t like Hargett and his plans any more than it looks like you did, mister.” He glanced at Hargett’s body as he spoke. “We’re the ones who went after Hargett’s men. The bunch who came for the auction scattered when the shooting started. Gold or no gold, most of ’em were no-accounts anyway.” Keenan paused. “You’re the fella we heard them talking about. The gunfighter. Frank Morgan.”

Frank nodded. “That’s right.”

“All right to put my hands down now, Mr. Morgan?”

Frank gestured with the Smith & Wesson. “I reckon so.”

Keenan lowered his hands and went on. “If you’d like a job, Mr. Morgan, we’ve sure got one for you. Marshal of Whitehorse! We haven’t had any law and order here since Hargett back-shot Constable Fleming.”

“The Mountie who was posted here?”

“That’s right. Hargett’s been riding roughshod over the whole town since then, and nobody dared to stand up to him. You changed that in a hurry.”

Frank lowered the .38 and said, “I’m not a lawman, Keenan.” He pointed at Salty. “There’s your man.”

“Wait just a gol-durned minute!” Salty protested. “There’s still bodies leakin’ blood all over the floor, and you got me wearin’ a badge already? I done told you, I’m goin’ to Mexico!”

“Not for a while yet,” Frank said as the women, fully dressed now, began to come back down the stairs from the second floor. He saw how Keenan’s eyes followed them with interest, admiration, respect, and a touch of lust. He struck Frank as a decent hombre, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to look at a pretty girl. Frank went on. “Remember, we’re stuck here in Whitehorse until the spring.”

Salty lowered his shotgun and scratched at his beard. “Yeah, there’s that to consider, I reckon,” he admitted. “Marshal. Don’t that beat all.”

“At least until the Mounties show up again,” Frank added. “I’m sure somebody will come to find out what happened to Constable Fleming.”

Salty nodded and said, “All right, Keenan, you got yourself a badge-toter…on one condition.” He jerked a thumb at Conway. “I want this young feller as a deputy.”

“Wait a minute!” Conway exclaimed. “I came to look for gold, not wear a badge!”

“I reckon you’ll have plenty o’ time for prospectin’, too,” Salty said. “’Cause as long as I’m marshal, Whitehorse is gonna be a plumb peaceful place!”

Chapter 33

Frank stood at the railing of a ship called the Jupiter and watched the wharves at Skagway coming closer. The town had grown in the months since he had been here last, he thought. It had a ways to go yet, but it was actually starting to look respectable.

Salty Stevens flanked him to the left, Meg Goodwin to the right. Meg leaned closer to him and said, “Are you sure you want to do this, Frank?”

“It needs doing,” he said.

“And you’re too danged stubborn not to do it,” Salty said. “Might as well not argue with him, gal. He ain’t gonna change his mind.”

Meg smiled her crooked little smile. “He wouldn’t be the man I think he is if he did.”

Salty’s stint as marshal of Whitehorse hadn’t lasted long, only a few weeks. Then a whole troop of Mounties showed up, rumors having reached Dawson about Constable Fleming’s disappearance. They left a couple of men in Whitehorse to keep order, but by that time the settlement had gotten pretty much back to normal anyway.

Over the next several months, most of the respectable miners and businessmen in the area for a hundred miles around paid court to the ladies who had come to Whitehorse for husbands. They might not have been mail-order brides, as they had thought, but by spring they were all brides, Jessica marrying Pete Conway, Lucy marrying Vic Keenan, and the others all finding suitable mates…except for Meg. She had steadfastly refused to get involved with anyone, even though Frank had just as steadfastly insisted that a romance between them wasn’t in the cards.

But when the time came for Frank and Salty to leave Whitehorse, Meg had gone with them. Nothing would sway her from that decision. Instead of going back over the passes, they had ridden south through British Columbia and eventually back to Washington. It was a long trip through rugged country, and there had been a couple of late spring storms to cope with along the way, which slowed them down even though the storms weren’t as bad as the blizzard that had punished them on the way to Whitehorse.

Frank didn’t mind the delays. Stormy, Goldy, and Dog were always good company, and Salty and Meg were, too, even though Salty was still a little scandalized by the idea of a young woman traveling with a couple of men, neither of whom was her father, brother, or husband. Meg, as usual, didn’t give a damn about that.