“I intend to.”
The three-pronged attack didn’t surprise him. He’d had a hunch Smith would try something tonight, while they were still in Skagway. The man’s pride had been wounded too deeply to let Frank get away with showing him up in front of the whole settlement. Plus Smith’s greed meant that he really wanted to get his hands on the women and use them to turn a big profit.
The street was full of men who had emerged from the saloons to see what all the shooting and yelling was about. They got out of Frank’s way as he strode toward the livery stable. He felt relief go through him again as he saw Conway and Salty emerge from the barn, carrying rifles. Jennings followed them.
“Frank!” Conway called. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. How about the three of you?”
“I got a little scratch on my side from a bullet, but that’s all. What about the ladies?”
“None of them are hurt,” Frank said, leading Conway to exclaim, “Thank God!”
Frank went on. “Some of Smith’s men tried to get into the hotel by cutting through that canvas wall, but the ladies held them off until I got there.”
Salty said, “I thought I heard a Greener go off. You know anything about that?”
Frank chuckled. “Yeah, it was pointed at me when it made that racket. I was able to duck under the buckshot, though.”
Conway let out an impressed whistle. “That was lucky. They came at us with pistols, front and back, and it was a hornet’s nest in there for a while. That dog of yours got hold of one of them, though, and tore him up. We must’ve winged a couple of others, because they yelped and ran.”
“Took off for the tall and uncut, they did,” Salty added. “Reckon we put up more of a fight than they was expectin’.”
“How about the horses?” Frank asked. “Any of them hurt?”
Conway shook his head. “No. The walls of those stalls are pretty thick. They stopped all the bullets that came their way.”
“Did you manage to grab any of the varmints?” Frank hoped to have at least one prisoner who could testify that the attackers had been acting on Soapy Smith’s orders. There might not be any official law here, but faced with solid proof of Smith’s villainy, the community might rise up against him.
Conway replied, “No, I’m afraid not. The only one who was left behind was the fellow your dog got hold of, and…well, he won’t be talking anymore.”
Frank knew what the young man meant. Dog had probably torn the attacker’s throat out. The big cur didn’t take it easy when it came to fighting.
“I knocked one man out and tied him up, and there may be some others behind the hotel who are wounded,” Frank said. “I’d better go see.”
“We’ll come with you,” Salty said.
“No, Salty, you and Bart stay here. Pete, go across to the hotel and get the ladies.”
Conway sounded confused as he said, “And do what with them?”
“Bring them back over here with you. Everybody’s staying in the barn tonight. If Smith tries anything else, he’ll find us all forted up together.”
Conway nodded. “That sounds like a mighty good idea.” He headed toward the front of the hotel while Frank began circling the canvas-walled east wing again.
He drew his gun as he moved along the wall. His foot struck something soft, and he knew he had found the man he’d left tied up. Frank figured the man might have regained consciousness by now, but he didn’t react to the inadvertent kick. Reaching down to grab the man’s shoulder, Frank said, “Wake up, mister. You’re going to tell everybody in Skagway that Soapy Smith ordered this attack tonight.”
The man simply sagged back and forth limply when Frank shook him. Frank knelt, fished a lucifer from his coat pocket, and snapped it into life with his thumbnail.
The sudden flare of light revealed a grisly picture. The man lay there with his hands still tied behind his back with his own belt. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. Blood stained the snow crimson in a big circle around his head.
Frank muttered a curse under his breath as he dropped the match, letting it hiss out in the snow. He came to his feet and turned in a half circle, ready to fire if the murderer was still nearby and came at him. Everything was quiet back here, though.
He had gotten a pretty good look at the man’s face and hadn’t recognized him. That wasn’t surprising. Smith probably had dozens of henchmen working for him. He had probably recruited some of them to come along on tonight’s raid, although Frank suspected that one of Smith’s cronies, like Joe Palmer or Big Ed Burns, had been in charge of the attacks.
During their conversation in Clancy’s, Smith had mentioned that the little opium addict, Sid Dixon, was good with a knife. Frank had a hunch that Dixon had been responsible for slitting this man’s throat so that he couldn’t tie Smith to what had happened. Frank knew he couldn’t prove that, though.
He struck another match and looked around quickly, finding more splashes of blood on the snow but no dead or wounded men. The others must have taken the man he shot in the belly with them. That hombre would be dead soon, too, if he wasn’t already, and unable to testify against Smith.
Soapy’s try for the women had failed, but he was going to get away with making the attempt, Frank thought.
The question now was, would he try again before they could leave Skagway?
