Frank nodded and said, “I figured as much.”
The man bristled. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
Conway came up in time to hear that last exchange. He said, “Take it easy, Neville. I asked Mr. Morgan to join us. I don’t want you getting in an argument with him.”
“I’m not arguing with anybody,” Neville insisted. “But he insulted New York.”
Frank shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I reckon it’s a fine place. But it’s been settled for a long time. It hasn’t been a real frontier for, what, a couple of hundred years? So you folks back there have forgotten what it’s like to have to fight to defend yourself and your loved ones. You’ve never known any real danger.”
Neville sneered. “If you’d ever been in certain parts of New York City, you wouldn’t say that, Morgan.”
“You might be right,” Frank said with a shrug. “All I’m saying is that you look at things different than folks who grew up out West do. We’re used to relying on ourselves. And if you’re going to Alaska to hunt for gold, that’d be a good thing for you to learn, too, amigo.”
That seemed to mollify Neville a little. He said, “I suppose you’re right. I didn’t mean any offense, Morgan.” He changed the subject by asking, “How pretty are those girls you’re taking to the Klondike?”
The other would-be prospectors crowded around to hear Frank’s answer.
“They’re nice-looking young ladies,” he said. “And they’re
“To men they’ve never met,” Peter Conway pointed out. “It might as well be us.”
“But it’s not. Like I told you, Pete, they’re spoken for, and that’s the way it is.”
One of the other men suggested in a plaintive voice, “Maybe they wouldn’t mind dancin’ with us, or just talkin’ to us a little?”
“I can ask them,” Frank said. “But it’s up to them.”
Or more likely, it was up to Fiona, he thought. She was in charge of this expedition. He would go along with whatever she said and enforce her wishes…within reason, of course.
He polished off the stew and had a cup of coffee with the cheechakos as well. Then he told them good night and started back toward the door that led belowdecks.
He went around one of the low, square structures that housed a hatch opening into the cargo hold. As he strode past the corner of it, he suddenly heard the scuff of shoe leather on the deck behind him. Instinct made him pivot sharply toward the sound, but whoever was behind him struck with deadly swiftness. Something hard crashed against Frank’s head with stunning impact. The blow drove him to his knees.
He struggled to get up, but his attacker grabbed him from behind, looping an arm around his neck and tightening it like an iron bar. Frank’s breath was cut off. His head was already spinning from the hard clout on his skull, and now a red haze began to settle over his vision, brought on by the lack of air. He realized that he was about to pass out.
And as the man behind him began to rush him toward the rail, Frank knew that if he lost consciousness now, he was dead. His attacker intended to shove him over the rail into the icy waters of the Pacific.
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
