Dead Before Sundown

Hopkins broke in, saying desperately, “He’s got your money, you loco old coot!”

Chapter 4

Salty’s eyes just about bulged from their sockets as what Hopkins had just said sunk in on him.

“My money!” he repeated. “You mean—”

“Not the same exact coins and greenbacks we took off’a you,” Hopkins grated through clenched teeth. “But when we got outta Skagway two jumps ahead of those damned vigilantes, Joe and me managed to get our hands on a lot of the loot Soapy had cached. There’s more than what you lost, old man, a lot more.”

Salty’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Hopkins’s vest. He dragged the man up off the floor a little, which brought a pained cry from him.

“Where’d he go?” Salty demanded. “Tell me how to find him, durn your sorry hide!”

Hopkins’s lips stretched in an ugly grin. “I’ll tell you where to look for him … after you get me a sawbones.”

Frank said, “The other fella behind the bar could use a doctor, too, Salty. Let’s get these men patched up, and then Hopkins can talk.”

“How about he talks now, or I just blow his damn fool head off?”

“If you do, you’ll never find your money,” Hopkins warned.

Frank put a hand on Salty’s shoulder. “I understand how you feel, but you’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Wouldn’t be cold-blooded,” Salty muttered. “My blood’s plenty hot right now.” He sighed, took the gun away from Hopkins’s neck, and eased the hammer down. “But I reckon you’re right, Frank.”

Frank looked over behind the bar. “How’s that man doing, Handlesman?”

“He passed out, but he’s still alive,” the second mate answered. “Monroe!”

The young sailor, who along with the other men from the Jupiter, had come closer to the saloon’s door when the shooting stopped, hurried in and asked, “Sir?”

“Come here and put some pressure on this man’s shoulder so he doesn’t bleed to death,” Handlesman ordered.

While Monroe did that, Frank asked Hopkins, “Where’s the doctor’s office?”

“I ain’t sure. Joe and me haven’t been here that long.” Hopkins’s face had lost most of its color. “For God’s sake, go and find him. I’m dyin’ here!”

“You may hurt like hell, but you’re not losing enough blood to die,” Frank told him. “Not right away, anyway. But if we were to let you lie there for an hour or so …”

“I’ll tell you what I know, I swear it,” Hopkins said. “Just as soon as the doc’s tended to those bullet holes.”

“I’ll go find the doctor,” Handlesman volunteered. “If I have to, I’ll fetch our ship’s doctor from the Jupiter. Come to think of it, that might be even quicker.”

Frank nodded. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead.”

Handlesman hurried out of Red Mike’s, leaving Frank and Salty to keep an eye on the wounded men, along with the other sailors.

Salty told Hopkins, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me now, just in case you’re hurt worse’n you think you are?”

“Go to hell,” Hopkins muttered.

Handlesman was back in ten minutes with the ship’s doctor, a lean, craggy-faced man named Johnston. He was about to check on Hopkins when Frank said, “The man behind the bar is hurt worse.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Hopkins protested.

“The more you argue, the longer it’ll be before somebody tends to those wounds,” Frank told him.

Hopkins subsided, muttering curses. Johnston went behind the bar and worked for quite a while on the injured man back there. When he came over to Frank and Salty again, he reported, “I think he’ll live, but he’ll never get much use out of that arm again.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to use it to shoot me,” Frank said. He gestured toward Hopkins. “See what you can do for this varmint, Doc.”

Johnston knelt beside Hopkins, cut away the man’s trousers to get at the wounds, and started cleaning them. Hopkins gritted his teeth and made groaning sounds through them as carbolic acid bit at the raw flesh on his hip and thigh.

The wound on his hip was just a deep graze, messy and painful but not serious since it didn’t seem to have nicked the bone. The hole in his thigh went all the way through, again resulting in a lot of blood and misery but not posing a threat to his life. Johnston cleaned and bandaged both wounds.

The only fatality was the bartender. Frank’s first shot had taken him cleanly in the heart.

When the doctor was finished, Frank and Handlesman took hold of Hopkins’s arms and lifted him into a chair.

“Time for you to keep your end of the bargain,” Salty said.