Winter Kill

Chapter 10

Frank managed to thrust a booted foot behind him, between the legs of the man who had hold of him. Their ankles tangled up, and with a startled curse, the man tripped and fell forward, taking Frank with him. They crashed to the deck about five feet short of the railing.

Frank still couldn’t see or think very straight, but again his instincts served him well. He lashed out with a foot. The kick connected with his assailant and drove the man away from him. Frank got his hands on the deck and pushed himself up.

This area of the ship was fairly dark. A light burned on the bridge, but the glow from it barely reached this far. Frank’s attacker was only a shadowy shape as he got to his feet and rushed again. Frank recognized that move, though. Brewster had tried it on him the day before. Frank knew it was a feint.

He went the other way, the way he knew Brewster was going to dodge at the last second, and threw a punch. Brewster ran right into Frank’s fist. The blow knocked him back, but Brewster managed to stay on his feet. He bore in, swinging wild punches. Frank was able to block most of them, but a few thudded against his body. Brewster forced him back a step, then another and another, until Frank reached the railing. He felt it pressing into his back.

Brewster suddenly changed tactics. His hands shot out and locked around Frank’s throat. With a grunt of effort, he heaved up, and Frank felt his feet come off the deck. In another second, Brewster was going to force him over the railing.

In desperation, Frank lifted his knee into the officer’s groin. Brewster groaned in pain but didn’t loosen his grip. That made him hesitate, though, and in that moment, someone else loomed up out of the shadows and yelled, “Hey! Let him go!”

Frank recognized Pete Conway’s voice. The brawny young cheechako grabbed Brewster’s shoulder and jerked him away from Frank, turning him so that he could drive a fist into Brewster’s face. The terrific blow sent Brewster spinning away across the deck.

Frank slumped as Brewster let go of him. He caught hold of the railing and pushed himself upward. Brewster recovered and charged at Conway, slugging ferociously. The young cheechako was big and strong, but he wasn’t an experienced brawler the way Brewster was. Brewster landed several punches that drove Conway to the deck, half stunned. Then Brewster lifted a brutal kick into Conway’s belly that sent the young man rolling.

Someone must have seen the struggle and reported it, because Frank heard running footsteps coming closer, and then Captain Hoffman shouted, “Brewster! Belay that! Stop it, you damned fool!”

Brewster ignored the command. He charged Frank again, and even in the dim light, Frank could see how contorted with hate the officer’s face was. He wasn’t going to stop. He was trying to barrel into Frank, drive him back against the railing, and either snap his spine or force him overboard.

Frank dived to the deck, going low into Brewster’s legs. Brewster let out a startled yell as his momentum carried him on and he pitched forward. Frank rolled and came up on hands and knees, looking around for his opponent.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

A shock went through Frank as he realized what had happened. Brewster had fallen forward, out of control, and went right over the railing. Frank hadn’t heard the splash, but he knew that Brewster must have gone into the water.

Captain Hoffman confirmed that by bellowing, “Man overboard! Man overboard!” as he rushed to the rail. He turned toward the bridge, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “All engines stop! All stop!”

The Montclair slowed as whoever was on duty on the bridge relayed the command to the engine room, but the ship didn’t come to a stop. The sails were still raised and full of air.

“Strike the sails! Strike the sails!” Hoffman leaned over the rail and searched the black water. “Brewster! Can you hear me? Brewster!”

Frank and Conway climbed to their feet and stumbled over to join the captain. Frank peered over the railing, but couldn’t see anything out there except darkness. He listened, but heard nothing except the slapping of the waves.

Sailors came running with life preservers tied to thick ropes. They threw them out into the area in which Brewster had disappeared. The ship finally shuddered to a dead stop in the water as the sails were lowered. With the engines stopped, there was an eerie quiet on board, broken by the shouts of the crew as they called out to Brewster.

No response came back from the sea.

Some of the officers brought bull’s-eye lanterns to the rail and swept the beams from them over the waves. The searching and shouting went on for a good half hour before Captain Hoffman sighed and turned away from the rail, wearily shaking his head. He motioned for the other men to step back as well.

“It’s been too long,” he said. “Brewster was a good swimmer, but no man could stay afloat for this long in water that cold. He might have been knocked out when he struck the surface. He must have gone down quickly.”

Frank said, “I didn’t mean for him to go overboard.”

Hoffman shook his head again. “I know that. He wouldn’t have if he had obeyed my order and stopped fighting. His stubborn pride just wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat, either this time or the time he clashed with you before, Morgan.” Hoffman looked at Frank and added, “You may not believe this, but that quality was one of the things that made him an exceptional sailor. He never quit.”

“I reckon I can understand that. A man needs to stick to what he starts…most of the time, anyway.”

“Are you all right? Were you injured?”

“He hit me a pretty good wallop with something when he first jumped me,” Frank said. He felt of his head and found a sore, swollen lump. “There’s a little goose egg up there, but this old skull of mine is too hard to dent very easily. I’ll be fine.”

Hoffman turned to Conway. “What about you, young man?”

“I’m fine,” Conway replied. “The fella got in some good licks, but that’s all.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“I sure did. That man jumped Mr. Morgan and tried to force him over the rail.”

Frank said, “He likely would have, too, if you hadn’t pitched in when you did, Pete.”

Conway shrugged. “When I saw what was going on, I just tried to help.”

“You probably saved my life. I won’t forget that.” Frank turned back to Hoffman. “I’m sorry for the loss of your officer, Captain, but this wasn’t my fault or young Conway’s.”

Hoffman waved a hand. “No, as I said, it was Brewster’s foolish pride that caused his death. An unfortunate tragedy, but no one else is to blame.”

“I wouldn’t want anybody trying to get back at me by hurting Mrs. Devereaux or the young ladies. Any members of the crew who have a problem with me need to take it up with me.”

“There won’t be any of that,” Hoffman said firmly. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll make it clear that there are to be no repercussions.” The captain paused, then added, “I doubt if there would have been, anyway. Brewster was admired for his qualities of seamanship, but he wasn’t well liked.”

That was the impression Frank had gotten, so he wasn’t surprised by Hoffman’s words.

The captain turned to his first mate and said, “Go up to the bridge and tell the engine room to get some steam up again. The wind’s dying for the night, so we won’t raise the sails.”

“Aye, Cap’n. Ahead full, on the same bearing, once we have steam?”

“Aye,” Hoffman said. He cast one final look at the stretch of dark water where Brewster had disappeared. “We’ll be heading north again.”

The rest of the group of cheechakos had come up while the search for Brewster was going on. As the crewmen scattered to go about their tasks, the novice gold-hunters gathered around Frank and Conway. They threw questions about the fight at the two men.

“I guess this is what you meant about a life-and-death struggle, Morgan,” Neville, the man from New York, said. “That trouble came at you without any warning, and you had to deal with it. The same thing’s liable to happen to any of us in Alaska.”

“Not exactly the same thing,” Conway said. “Nobody’s going to throw us off a ship up there.”

“There are plenty of other things that can kill a man,” Frank said.

The gold-hunters talked about the fight and Brewster’s death for a while longer. Then Frank finally managed to get away from them. He motioned for Conway to follow him as he started once again toward the door leading belowdecks.

“I’m obliged to you for your help, Pete,” he said quietly. “I reckon you really did save my life.”

“I’m glad I could lend a hand, Mr. Morgan.”

“Make it Frank.”

“All right. I’m glad I could help, Frank. I didn’t really think about it. I just saw that you were in trouble.” Conway hesitated, then went on. “But if you really want to thank me…maybe you could talk one of those ladies into having a dance with me before they all have to go off to Whitehorse and get married.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Frank said.

An air of gloom hung over the ship the next morning. Brewster might not have been well liked, but his loss still affected most of the passengers and crew on board. People couldn’t help but think about how easily the sea could claim them, too, if they were unlucky enough to fall overboard.

Fiona was getting her sea legs, and since she felt better, she spend part of the time fussing over Frank. “That man could have killed you!” she told him. “I intend to speak to Captain Hoffman about this.”

“No need for that,” Frank said. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“In a way it was. He should have had better control over his crew.”

Frank couldn’t argue with that, although he wasn’t sure anybody could have controlled a stiff-necked son of a bitch like Brewster. He managed to talk Fiona out of filing an official complaint with the shipping line that owned the Montclair. He didn’t see how that would do any good.

Fiona wasn’t too receptive to the idea of the young women spending some time with Pete Conway and the other novice gold-hunters. “How do we know we can trust them?” she asked.

“Well, Pete saved my life,” Frank pointed out. “I owe him a favor.”

“And since you’re working for me, I suppose by extension, I do, too. If I still can’t talk you into becoming my partner, that is.”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t figure that would be a good idea. Once we get these gals where they’re going, I’ll have kept my promise to Jacob.”

“What about making sure I get back safely to Seattle next spring?”

Frank thought about it and nodded. “I reckon I could do that.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him. “That gives me all winter in Skagway to change your mind about, how do you Westerners say it, throwing in with me. I can be quite persuasive, you know.”

Frank didn’t doubt that for a second.

Fiona went on. “And as far as having some sort of little…get-together…with those prospectors, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

Frank smiled. “Good. I’ll tell Pete.”

“But I’m holding you responsible for their good behavior,” Fiona warned. “If they get out of line, I’m counting on you to put a stop to it.”

A short time later, Pete Conway let out an excited whoop when Frank told him about Fiona’s decision. “One of the fellows plays the fiddle,” he said. “We can have a regular dance, right here on the deck of the ship!”

“Just make sure they all understand that they can’t try anything improper.”

“Just some dancing and conversation, that’s all,” Conway said with a grin. “That’ll give us some good memories to hang on to when the temperature is forty below, the snow is ten feet deep outside, and there’s a bear trying to get into the cabin to eat us!”

“When you put it like that,” Frank said dryly, “it almost makes me want to go hunt for gold, too.”