The would-be killer had made two mistakes, though. He had gotten too close before firing, so the loads of buckshot didn’t have time to spread out much and Frank was able to avoid them by diving to the ground. The other mistake was triggering both barrels at once. Now the weapon was empty.
As he sprawled on the thin layer of snow, Frank tilted his revolver’s barrel up and fired at the spot where the muzzle flashes had ripped through the night. The Colt blasted just once, but the shot was rewarded by a cry of pain. Even though Frank was a little deafened by the shotgun going off, he heard the thud as the weapon hit the ground.
Before he could get to his feet and investigate, a woman screamed somewhere nearby. Knowing the cry had to come from either Fiona or one of the brides, he leaped up and whipped around the east wing of the hotel. A smaller-caliber pistol cracked several times. The gunfire had a panicky sound to it, as if the wielder of the pistol had simply pointed it and started pulling the trigger as fast as she could.
As Frank approached the back of the room where the women were staying, he saw lantern light from inside spilling out through a huge rent in the canvas. Knowing that one swipe of a knife could open up a big hole in the wall, he had been afraid that Soapy might try something like that. Some of Smith’s henchmen could try to grab the women at the same time as the shotgunner attempted to dispose of Frank.
Not surprisingly, shots blasted from across the street, too, as Smith and his men tried to make a clean sweep of it by attacking Conway and the other two men at the livery stable as well. Frank couldn’t go to their aid right now, so they would have to fight off their assailants alone. He had to make sure the women were safe before he did anything else.
A man reeled into the light between Frank and the hole in the canvas wall. He moved like he was injured, but he wasn’t hurt so bad that he couldn’t jerk up a revolver and fire. Frank dropped to a knee as he heard a slug whistle past his head. The Colt roared and bucked in his hand. The man doubled over as the slug from Frank’s gun punched into his belly.
Frank sprang up and clubbed the man in the head to get him out of the way. “Fiona!” he shouted. “Meg!”
More muzzle flame spurted from the shadows. Frank returned the fire, then a second later heard running footsteps slapping against the ground. The second gunman had lost his stomach for the fight. Was he the only one left, or were there more of Smith’s men lurking in the shadows?
“Frank!” That was Fiona’s voice, coming from inside. “Frank, are you all right?”
“Blow out that light!” Frank called to her. “Get down and stay down!”
As the room went dark, Frank weaved to the side in case anybody in the shadows tried to aim at the sound of his voice. Knowing that they might be able to spot the dark shape of his body against the light-colored canvas, even without a lantern burning inside, he moved away from the hotel, stepping as quietly as he could in the snow.
A man loomed up beside him and whispered, “Where’d that bastard go?”
Frank just grunted.
“Soapy’s gonna be mad as hell if he gets away. He wants that son of a bitch dead!”
Frank didn’t wait to hear any more. His hand rose and fell, and the Colt crashed against the man’s head. Smith’s henchman folded up without a sound.
Pouching his iron, Frank bent over and yanked the man’s belt off, then used it to tie his hands behind his back. He left the man there and resumed stalking any more of Smith’s men who might be hanging around the rear of the hotel.
He didn’t find anyone, though. A considerable uproar had started in the street. No more shots came from the area of the livery stable, and now that the trouble seemed to be over, men were coming out of hiding and demanding to know what was going on.
What Frank wanted to know was whether Fiona, Meg, and the other women were all right, as well as Conway, Jennings, and Salty. He moved along the back of the hotel’s east wing, and as he approached the slit-open canvas wall, he called softly, “Ladies, it’s me, Frank Morgan.” He didn’t want any of them getting trigger-happy and blasting him when he stuck his head through that opening.
Fiona stepped out through the flapping canvas. “Frank!” she said as she flung her arms around his neck. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Didn’t even pick up a nick, even with all that lead flying around. What about you and the rest of the ladies?”
“None of us are hurt,” she said, and a wave of relief went through him when he heard that. “We’re just scared. Most of us had dozed off when there was a sound like cloth ripping, really loud.”
Frank nodded, even though she probably couldn’t see him in the dark. “That was Smith’s men cutting through the canvas.”
“Smith?”
“Who else would try to grab you like that? They sliced open the wall and were probably planning to drag you off and lock you up somewhere. They came after me at the same time, and from the sound of it, Pete and Salty and Bart over in the livery stable, too.”
Jessica must have heard that inside the room, because she rushed out through the opening. “Pete!” she exclaimed. “You say Pete was attacked, too?”
“I’m about to go find out,” Frank replied grimly. “You ladies stay here. Keep your guns handy.”
“I’m coming with you,” Jessica insisted.
“Better not.”
Meg stepped out and put an arm around her smaller friend’s shoulders. “Stay here and let Frank check it out, Jess. That would be best.”
Fiona still had hold of Frank. He stepped away from her and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Be careful,” she told him.
