“That’s all right, friend,” Frank told him. “No need to wear yourself out. We understand now what happened.”
“Didn’t mean to … shoot at strangers….”
“Don’t worry about it. Just rest easy.”
The man grimaced and seemed to bow in on himself as a fresh surge of pain hit him. When it eased a little, he whispered, “I could use … some more whiskey….”
Frank lifted the jug again, but before he could bring it to the man’s mouth, a shudder went through the man and a long, rattling sigh eased from him. His muscles went slack and his eyes turned dull with death.
“He’s gone,” Frank said.
“Yeah,” Salty agreed. “Poor varmint. He died for nothin’.”
“Not completely for nothing.” Frank looked up at Salty and went on grimly, “At least now we know for sure that we’re on Palmer’s trail.”
Chapter 7
Frank wished he had taken a moment to find out the man’s name before that unfortunate passed away. As it was, all he could carve on the crude cross he and Salty made were the date and the letters RIP. They set up the cross at the head of the grave they dug to one side of the cabin, after they’d filled it back in.
Salty glanced at the sky and said, “It’s a mite late in the day to be pushin’ on, but I ain’t sure I feel too good about spendin’ the night here where that poor varmint crossed the divide.”
A shiver ran through Meg. “I feel the same way,” she said. “I’d rather make camp somewhere else.”
Frank nodded. “Let’s ride. We’ve done all we can here.”
They headed east, following the creek as it meandered along the valley. Soon the cabin and the lonely grave were out of sight behind them.
That night they made a cold camp. “Palmer is less than a day ahead of us,” Frank pointed out. “If he hasn’t spotted us before, we don’t want him to now.”
“We’re gonna catch the no-good varmint,” Salty said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“No disrespect to your bones, Salty, but there’s still a lot that could happen.” Frank gazed off into the darkness. “But we know now that he’s up there somewhere ahead of us, and that’s something, anyway.”
For the first time in several days, Joe Palmer wasn’t hungry. He had looted the trapper’s cabin of all the supplies he could pack onto his horse, after moving his saddle over to the horse in the corral behind the cabin.
Now, with a week’s worth of provisions and a spare mount, he felt better about his chances than he had at any time since he’d fled from Powderkeg Bay. As he leaned back against the fallen tree that lay in the clearing where he’d made camp, he wondered idly about his former partner.
Palmer had been trying to get away from Yeah Mow Hopkins ever since they had left Skagway together with that loot Soapy had cached. It wasn’t that Palmer had anything against Yeah Mow. He wasn’t that bright, but he was strong and loyal.
Palmer wanted all the money for himself, though. He had never planned on partnering up permanently with Hopkins. That was just a way for both of them to get out of Skagway with their hides intact when the vigilantes started their rampage.
But in the months since then, Hopkins had watched him like a hawk. Hopkins didn’t mind Palmer carrying the loot, but he didn’t let him out of his sight, either. Yeah Mow was cunning, even if he wasn’t exactly what anybody would call smart.
So as far as Palmer was concerned, running into that old pelican Salty Stevens was a stroke of luck. It was amazing that Stevens was even still alive. He had disappeared from Skagway with winter coming on, and Palmer had just assumed that the old bastard had frozen to death somewhere.
The worrisome thing was that if Stevens was still alive, Frank Morgan might be, too. Morgan had befriended the old-timer in Skagway. The gunfighter was definitely dangerous. Palmer and the rest of Soapy’s men had found that out when they tried to get rid of him.
When the shooting had started in Red Mike’s, Palmer had seized the opportunity to get out of town while Hopkins was pinned down behind the bar. Palmer had mixed emotions about the outcome of that gunfight. If Stevens had killed Hopkins, then he didn’t have to worry about Yeah Mow coming after him. If it was the other way around, chances were that Hopkins would follow him. Hopkins knew that the plan called for them to cross the mountains and head for Calgary.
Hopkins wouldn’t be in a forgiving mood. He would want the money, and he would want revenge for Palmer running out on him like that. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea, Palmer mused now. He hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about it, though. He had just acted when the chance presented itself to him.
As usual, he was damned either way, he brooded. And damned even more if Frank Morgan was still alive and coming after him.
But he couldn’t do anything about that now except try to stay ahead of any possible pursuers, no matter who they were. He’d have a lot better chance of doing that with the supplies and the extra horse. Since leaving Powderkeg Bay he had been living on the game he could shoot. Now with any luck, he could make those stolen supplies stretch all the way to Calgary.
Once he reached the settlement, the biggest in western Canada, he was confident that he could link up with some fellas he knew there and be safe, even if Frank Morgan was still alive and on his trail.
Both of the horses suddenly lifted their heads and pricked their ears. Palmer tensed as he noticed the reaction from the animals. They had heard or smelled something.
A moment later, he smelled it, too. Wood smoke. Somebody had a campfire burning not too far away. Palmer muttered a curse under his breath.
