Smith chuckled. “Even more impressive. It’s not every day you meet a group of mail-order brides who can tangle with outlaws and come out on top.”
Frank didn’t want to continue this discussion. He asked, “Have you got a hotel here in town?”
“Yeah. It ain’t fancy, but you can put up there.” Smith turned to point along the curving street. “Go on around the corner, past the general mercantile, and you’ll see the Klondike Hotel on the left.”
“I thought the Klondike country was in Canada,” Conway said.
“It is, but since that’s where so many of the gents who come to Skagway are bound, the proprietor thought that would be a good name for the hotel,” Smith explained.
Frank nodded. “Much obliged for the information.” He lifted Stormy’s reins.
“If there’s anything else I can help you with, come on back down here to Clancy’s place and ask for me,” Smith said quickly. “I’m sort of the unofficial mayor of Skagway, I guess you could say, and Clancy’s is the unofficial city hall, until I can get a place of my own built.”
“We’ll remember that,” Frank said. In reality, though, he wanted as little as possible to do with Soapy Smith. He didn’t trust the man and had been suspicious of him on sight.
In fact, there was something familiar about Smith, both his name and his appearance, and Frank couldn’t help but wonder if he had run into the man somewhere before. A memory tickled at the back of his brain, and he knew it would come to him sooner or later.
In the meantime, he led the group around the corner, following Smith’s directions, and found the Klondike Hotel. As Smith had said, it wasn’t fancy. It was a one-story frame building with a false front, and extending out from each side were a couple of wings with walls made of canvas. In the winter, which was coming soon, it would probably be ice-cold in those rooms, but at least the canvas would block the wind and keep most of the snow out.
A cadaverous man with a smile on his skull-like face stood near the hotel entrance with a Bible in his hands. “Welcome to Skagway, my friends,” he said as Frank and the others drew rein in front of the place. “I’m Reverend Bowers, and if you have any spiritual needs to tend to, I’d be happy to help you in coming to the Lord. In the meantime, I’m collecting for our permanent fund for widows and orphans, if you’d care to contribute.”
Frank swung down from Stormy’s back and shook his head. “Sorry, Reverend. We don’t have any spare cash.” He didn’t add that so far he hadn’t seen any children at all in Skagway, and the only woman he had seen other than the ones with him was an Indian whore leaning in the doorway of Clancy’s Saloon. Frank wasn’t sure there was a single widow or orphan in the whole settlement, not counting Fiona, of course.
“Well, if I can be of assistance to you, don’t hesitate to let me know.” Still smiling, Reverend Bowers moved off down the muddy street.
As Frank helped Jennings down from the horse, the blinded outlaw asked quietly, “Was that that phony sky pilot talkin’ to you, Mr. Morgan?”
“Reverend Bowers? Yeah.”
“Don’t trust him. He’s in with Soapy Smith. I got a feelin’ he’s a crook, too.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Frank left Jennings standing there holding on to the hitch rail where he looped Stormy’s reins, then moved over to Goldy to help Fiona dismount. He would have tried to help Meg, too, but she swung down with ease on her own. Conway lifted Jessica from the saddle with one hand on either side of her waist, handling her as if she weighed no more than a doll. Then he hurried to help the other young women dismount, too, although he wasn’t quite as solicitious of them.
The Klondike had a narrow porch that ran along the front, with a couple of ladderback chairs on it. A bulky bundle of furs was piled on one of the chairs. As Frank started past it, the bundle of furs moved, and he was startled to see a head lift from it. An old man’s wizened eyes peered out from under a fur cap and a mop of white hair. Not much of his leathery skin was visible because a bushy white beard covered most of his face.
“I heard the rev’rend put the touch on ye,” the old-timer rasped, “so I won’t bother. But if ye’ve ever got a spare crust o’ bread or such, I’d be obliged if ye’d remember ol’ Salty.”
“That’s you?” Frank asked.
“Aye. Salty Stevens, by name. And I’ve fallen on hard times, amigo. Mighty hard times.”
Frank heard the soft drawl of the Southwest in the old man’s voice and felt an immediate kinship with him. He rested a hand on the man’s shoulder for a second, or where he thought the shoulder would be in that pile of furs, and said, “Maybe I’ll have something for you later.”
“Be much obliged, Tex. That’s where you hail from, ain’t it?”
Frank smiled. “You’ve got a good ear, Salty.”
“Been all over that country.” The old-timer sighed. “Wisht I was down on the Rio right now, listenin’ to some Mex play the guitar in a cantina and watchin’ the senoritas.”
Frank patted his shoulder. “Sounds good. We’ll have to get together and talk about old times.”
He led the others into the hotel, where a skinny, balding man with spectacles perched on the end of a long nose waited behind a desk. Frank gestured toward his companions and said, “We’re going to need some rooms.”
The prominent Adam’s apple in the clerk’s neck bobbed up and down. “I don’t have but three rooms empty, mister, and they’re in the east wing. No heat over there. Got plenty of blankets, though. You’re lucky we have any empties at all.”
Frank wasn’t so sure about that. The streets of Skagway were less crowded than he had thought they would be. He figured that most of the men who were headed for the gold fields around Whitehorse had already set out, hoping to reach their destination and get situated before winter closed everything down. Most of the people in Skagway now were either gold-hunters who planned to wait out the winter here or folks who worked in the settlement.
