breathed.
“Talk like that can get a man killed.”
“Yeah, you! Take a look at that table to your right. Yeah Mow’s over there with a gun pointed at you, Morgan, and all I have to do is say the word for him to pull the trigger.”
“You see my right hand?” Frank asked quietly.
“What?” Smith looked at the table. Frank’s left hand was still wrapped around the handle of the beer mug, but his right was nowhere to be seen.
“I’ve had a .45 lined up on your belly pretty much from the moment we sat down,” Frank went on. “My thumb’s over the hammer, and that’s all that’s holding it back. You can have your boy Yeah Mow shoot me, but you’ll get a bullet in the guts at the same time. I’ve got a hunch there’s not a doctor up here who could pull a man through with a wound like that. You’d be a long, slow, hard time dying, too.”
Smith’s lips writhed with hate. “You…you…”
“Don’t call me a son of a bitch again,” Frank said.
“Get out.”
“Have Hopkins put his gun on the table first, then stand up and move away from it.”
Smith hesitated, and for a second Frank thought the man was going to call his bluff…although it really wasn’t a bluff at all. Frank was prepared to shoot his way out of here if necessary. Then Smith made a curt gesture to Yeah Mow and said, “Put your gun on the table and get out.”
“But, Boss—” the man started to protest.
“Just do it!”
Hopkins laid a heavy revolver on the table and stood up. He glared at Frank as he moved toward the doorway.
Frank got to his feet, keeping his Colt in his hand. The men drinking in Clancy’s must have sensed that something was going on, and at the sight of Yeah Mow’s gun and now Frank’s, they knew it. Most of them headed for the door, eager to get out of the line of fire if gunplay broke out.
“You’re going to walk me back to the hotel, Soapy,” Frank said.
“The hell I will,” Smith snarled.
“It’s that or I gun you down right here and now and take my chances.”
Their eyes dueled for a second; then Smith muttered a curse and stood up. “All right. But you’re gonna regret this, Morgan.”
“Now, you see, that’s another mistake.”
“Another?”
“Your first was thinking that I’d ever throw in with a polecat like you,” Frank said. “It’ll be your second if you don’t let this go. You see, I didn’t come to Skagway to clean up the town or anything like that, Smith. I don’t like you, and somebody ought to put a stop to what you’re doing here, but I have another chore I need to take care of, namely keeping a promise to an old friend and getting those women to Whitehorse. We’ll be leaving tomorrow, and if you and your boys don’t bother us in the meantime, we won’t bother you. But if anything
“You always act so high-handed with folks, Morgan?”
“Only those who deserve it.”
Muttering under his breath, Smith turned toward the door. Frank followed closely behind him, gun still drawn. As they stepped out onto the plank sidewalk, Frank glanced in both directions. He saw Yeah Mow Hopkins standing nearby, along with Big Ed Burns and the opium addict, Sid Dixon. There was no sign of Joe Palmer.
“If Palmer tries to bushwhack me, my thumb’s going to slip off this hammer, sure as hell,” Frank told Smith. “At this range, the slug will blow your spine clean in two. I’d speak up if I was you.”
“You’re trying to make a fool of me in front of the whole town,” Smith said between clenched teeth.
“You made a fool of yourself when you asked me to help you turn those women into whores.”
Smith took a deep breath, then said in a loud voice, “I’m gonna walk over to the hotel with Morgan. Nobody better bother us.”
Frank nodded. “Go ahead.”
With Smith in front, the two of them walked around the corner toward the hotel. As they approached, Pete Conway stepped out of the livery stable across the street, holding a rifle. “Are you all right, Frank?” he called.
“Yeah, fine,” Frank replied. Dog stepped out of the stable as well and stood there stiff-legged, the fur on his back ruffled with anger. Frank knew that at a word from him, the big cur would bound across the street in the blink of an eye and rip Smith’s throat out before anyone could stop him.
The two of them came to a stop on the hotel porch. Frank said, “You can send Salty’s gold over here to the hotel. I’ll see that it gets to him, and I’ll expect it before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“You believe in pushing your luck, don’t you?” Smith said.
“It’s not luck if you can back it up. And I can, Soapy. Don’t doubt that for a second. I’ve been through all sorts of hell getting here with those women, and I’m not going to let a second-rate crook like you stop us now. So take my advice. Return the old man’s gold, let us go on about our business, and you go on about yours. Just forget we ever came to Skagway.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
