Winter Kill

Chapter 20

Before leaving the shack, Frank asked Salty if he had any more bottles of whiskey stashed there. The old-timer insisted that he didn’t. “I ain’t never had enough money to buy a whole bottle since Smith and his varmints cleaned me out,” Salty declared. “Most I could ever beg was enough for a shot or two.”

Frank believed him. “You can stay here for now, but tomorrow you’re going to help me pick out some sleds and dogs and everything else we’ll need for the trip.”

“Why’re you so bound and determined to go to Whitehorse? This got somethin’ to do with them pretty young gals who come into town with you?”

“It has everything to do with them,” Frank explained. “They’re mail-order brides, and they have husbands-to-be waiting for them in the Klondike.”

Salty let out a little whistle of surprise. “Doggone! No wonder you’re anxious to get through. I reckon some o’ them prospectors who’ve found good claims would pay a mighty handsome price to have a comely gal keep ’em warm all winter.”

“That’s the idea,” Frank said with a grin.

“Makes me feel like I’ll be doin’ some good for the world by helpin’ you get ’em there.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Frank said.

“One thing you got to remember, though…this late in the season, the best dogs is prob’ly already gone. You’ll be gettin’ the runts of the litter.”

Frank nodded. “We’ll do the best we can.” He wondered how Dog would take to being hitched to a sled. They might find out before the journey was over.

He and Conway and Jennings went back to the hotel to check on Fiona and the rest of the women. They had split up among the three rooms and were resting, some on the bunks, some on blankets spread on the floor. After everything they had been through, even such primitive accommodations seemed almost like the lap of luxury. Frank didn’t disturb them, but left them sleeping instead.

“I’m going down to Clancy’s,” he told Conway and Jennings. “I want to have a talk with Soapy Smith.”

Jennings shook his head. “I ain’t sure that’s a good idea. You’d do well to stay as far away from him as you can, Mr. Morgan. He’s a bad man, and he’s got those toughs workin’ for him.”

“You heard what Salty said. Smith stole his poke, or was responsible for stealing it, anyway.”

“You can’t prove that, and you can’t hope to get the old man’s gold back after all this time.”

“We’ll see about that,” Frank said with grim determination.

Conway sighed. “Then we’re coming with you. I am, at least.”

Frank shook his head and said, “I’d rather you didn’t, Pete. I want you and Bart to stay here and keep an eye on the ladies in the hotel and the horses in the stable. We can’t afford to have anything happen to any of them. And I’m sorry about the way I put that, Bart. I shouldn’t have told you to keep an eye on them.”

Jennings waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that, Mr. Morgan. I know what you meant. You can’t change the way you talk just on account of me.”

Conway said, “I don’t like the idea of you going to see Smith in his den by yourself. Although, I guess if anybody can handle something like that, it’d be you, Frank.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be looking for trouble. I just want to see if I can talk Smith into doing the right thing.”

“Pretty long odds against that,” Jennings said glumly.

Frank grinned. “I’ve beaten ’em before.”

He left the two men at the livery stable and followed the plank sidewalk around the corner, avoiding the worst of the mud in the street. As he approached Clancy’s Saloon, he saw a man stagger out of the place, vomit in the street, and then collapse on the plank sidewalk. By the time Frank got there, the man had started to snore.

Two men in derby hats came out of the saloon. From the looks of them, Frank wondered if they worked for Soapy Smith. That was confirmed when one of them said, “Grab that bum’s feet, Big Ed. Soapy wouldn’t want him blockin’ the sidewalk.”

The man called Big Ed got the drunk’s feet while the other one took hold of his shoulders. They lifted the man and threw him into the street. He rolled over a couple of times and came to a stop facedown in the mud without waking up. The two men turned to go back into the saloon.

“Hey!” Frank called to them. “Are you going to leave him like that? He’ll suffocate!”

They stopped and looked at Frank in surprise. “That fella a friend of yours, mister?” Big Ed asked.

“No, I never saw him before.”

“Then why do you give a damn whether he suffocates or not?”

“Because I wasn’t raised to stand by and let a man die when there was something I could do about it,” Frank snapped.

The other man shrugged. “Then do something about it. You go out there and turn him over. I ain’t gettin’ my boots muddy doin’ it.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, “you are.”

Both men stiffened in anger. “Do you know who we are?” Big Ed demanded.

“A couple of no-accounts, as far as I’m concerned,” Frank said.

“I’m Big Ed Burns, and this is Joe Palmer. Maybe you heard of him.”

Frank shook his head. “Can’t say as I have.”

Big Ed sneered. “He’s the fastest gun in Skagway, maybe in all of Alaska, that’s all.”

Slowly, Frank shook his head. “I’ve got my doubts about that.”

He knew from the rage that appeared on Palmer’s face that the gunman was going to rise to that challenge. Palmer stepped forward and pushed his coat back so that his hand hovered near the butt of his gun, fingers curled, ready to hook and draw. Frank was ready, too, although he didn’t make such a production out of it.

“Hold on, hold on,” Soapy Smith said as he stepped out the front door of Clancy’s. “What’s going on here, Joe?”

Palmer nodded toward Frank. “Me and Big Ed threw that drunk in the street to get him off the sidewalk, and this fella took exception to it.”

“I don’t want the man to suffocate,” Frank said.

“Well, of course not,” Smith said with a nod. “Look how he landed. You boys go get him out of the mud.”

Palmer and Burns looked at their boss in surprise. “What’d you say, Soapy?” Big Ed asked.

“I said go get that fella out of the mud,” Smith repeated. He gestured toward the drunk. “Prop him up against the wall so he can sleep it off safely.”

“But—”

“Do what I say now,” Soapy went on softly, but with a tone of menace in his voice.

Palmer and Burns looked at each other. Big Ed shrugged. They turned and went out into the street, slogging through the mud until they reached the drunk. They lifted him and carried him back to the sidewalk, where they propped him against the wall as Smith had told them.

“Sorry about the misunderstanding, mister,” Smith said to Frank with a friendly smile. “My boys and I sort of look out for the well-being of everybody in Skagway. Come on in and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Frank didn’t believe for a second that Smith’s jovial attitude was genuine, but he wanted to talk to the man anyway, so he said, “Don’t mind if I do.”

He walked past Palmer and Burns, well aware that they were giving him hard looks. He had made a couple of enemies there, not that he particularly cared.

Frank followed Smith into the saloon and saw that it was a notch or two above Ike’s. The place had plank floors instead of dirt and real tables and chairs instead of tree stumps. The bar had been nailed together out of planks, but at least they had been planed a little and weren’t just lying on top of whiskey barrels. There was no mirror on the wall behind the bar, but the shelves there held bottles with actual labels on them, although Frank would have been willing to bet that they no longer contained their original contents.

Smith led Frank to a large round table in the rear of the room. This was undoubtedly where the unofficial mayor of Skagway held court, so to speak. According to what Salty Stevens had said, Smith had a tame judge in his pocket, so actual court might be held here, too, although it would be mostly of the kangaroo variety. Smith waved Frank into one of the chairs and asked, “What’s your pleasure, friend? Beer or whiskey?”

“Beer’s fine,” Frank said as he took a seat.

“Two beers, Claude,” Smith called to the bartender. Still smiling, he sat down across from Frank. “Well, I never expected to see the famous Frank Morgan in my town.”

Before Frank could say anything, the Indian whore he had seen earlier came over to the table, carrying a tray with two mugs of beer on it. Obviously she doubled as a waitress, as well as a soiled dove. Frank waited until she set the mugs on the table and returned to the bar before he said, “I don’t recall telling you my first name when we rode into town.”

“You didn’t,” Smith said, “but you looked familiar to me and the name Morgan finally jogged my memory. You’re The Drifter. You rode through a town in Colorado where I was a few years ago.”

“Creede,” Frank said suddenly. “I remember.”

Smith inclined his head to acknowledge that Frank was right.

“You had a pretty shady reputation there, as I recall.” Frank didn’t preface the statement with the words “No offense,” because he didn’t really care whether or not he offended Smith.

“That was due to another series of misunderstandings,” Smith said without hesitation.

“Like the ones in Leadville and Denver?” The memories had come back to Frank in a flash once Smith’s mention of Colorado triggered them. Smith had been well known in those places as a swindler and thief and a suspected killer. Clearly, he hadn’t changed his stripes when he came to Alaska.

Smith picked up his beer and drank from it. He set the mug down and licked his lips. “If anyone would know about how a man’s reputation follows him, whether it’s deserved or not, it would be you, Frank,” he said. “I seem to recall that you’ve been run out of a few towns yourself.”

“If I was asked to leave by the local law, I went along with it because I didn’t want to cause trouble,” Frank said stiffly.

Smith gave a lazy shrug and smiled as if Frank’s answer proved his point. “I didn’t ask you in here to argue with you,” he said. “I really am glad to make your acquaintance. It’s not every day that Skagway gets such a famous visitor. When word gets around that Frank Morgan has been here, it’ll just attract more people to the settlement. I’m for anything that helps Skagway to grow and prosper.”

“So you’ll have more people to fleece?”

For a second, anger danced in Smith’s eyes before he banished it. “Think whatever you want about me. I’m just trying to help this town.”

“Like you helped yourself to all the gold in Salty Stevens’s poke?”

Smith frowned. “Who?”

His puzzlement seemed genuine, Frank thought. Then he realized that it probably was. Smith had had so many victims, he couldn’t be expected to remember them all.

“The old-timer who hangs around the hotel and Ike’s Saloon, begging for drinks and food because he’s broke.”

“You mean that sourdough who looks like a walking pile of furs?” Smith chuckled. “He’s still alive? I thought the booze would have killed him by now.”

“Nope. He’s alive, and he’s going to help me and my friends take those ladies to Whitehorse.”

Smith’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Really?”

“That’s right. And I’d appreciate it if you’d return what you stole from him.”

“Now, I didn’t steal anything from the man. As I recall, he was in violation of one of the local ordinances, and Judge Van Horn had to levy a heavy fine on him. After that, someone stole the rest of his gold, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. And I don’t really appreciate anybody saying that I did.” Smith waved his hand above his beer mug. “But that’s not really important. I’m used to people telling lies about me by now. What matters is the two of us.”

Frank was taken aback and couldn’t help repeating it. “What do you mean, the two of us?”

Smith leaned forward with a wolfish grin on his face. “You know where the real gold mine is, Frank? It’s not across the line in the Klondike. It’s right here!” He slapped the table. “Skagway is the gold mine. It’s where I’m making my fortune, and it’s where you can make your fortune, too. All you have to do is throw in with me!”

Frank stared. “You want me to work for you?”

“No, I want you to be my partner, fifty-fifty. And all you have to do to seal the deal is give me those women.”