“I think so. I overheard one of the ship’s officers telling another that we’d duck behind some island and run into a little port called Powderkeg Bay until the storm passes.”
“I hope he was right. I’m not sure I have my sea legs well enough to ride out a storm.”
Despite the potential danger, Frank was sort of enjoying the elemental drama playing out on this gray afternoon. He had never spent much time on ships during his life, and it was a new challenge for him.
But Meg was obviously worried, and Frank was curious about how well Salty was riding out the weather, too, so he said, “Why don’t we both go below? We’ll stop at Salty’s cabin and see how he’s doing.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Meg said with a nod. She held her hat on, pushing it down on her blond hair, as they turned toward the stairs that led below decks.
When they reached Salty’s cabin, a feeble moan was the only answer to Frank’s rap on the door. Frank opened it and stuck his head into the dim cabin.
“Salty? Are you all right?”
“I’ve rid stagecoaches that bounced over some of the worst roads west of the Mississippi, but I ain’t never felt no bouncin’ around like this dang ship does!” The querulous voice came from the cabin’s bunk. “Ding-blasted thing needs better thoroughbraces!”
“And the storm hasn’t even caught us yet,” Frank said as he stepped into the cabin.
He scratched a match to life and held the flame to the wick of a lamp that hung on gimbals from a wall sconce. The lamp swayed with the motion of the ship, casting a shifting pattern of shadows over the small room.
Salty sat up on the bunk and raked fingers through his white beard. He swung his legs off and let his booted feet thump to the floor. His rumpled thatch of hair was as snowy as his beard. Keen, dark eyes were set in pits of gristle in his leathery face.
“We’re gonna sink, ain’t we?” he asked glumly.
“I don’t think so,” Frank said. “We’re in sight of land. It shouldn’t be much longer until we’re in a bay, and the water ought to be calmer there.”
“I hope this don’t put us too far behind schedule. I’d like to make it to Mexico afore winter sets in. After freezin’ my—” Salty glanced at Meg as he caught himself. He went on, “After freezin’ in Skagway and Whitehorse last winter, from now on I plan to spend the rest of my days somewheres warm. I don’t know what in blazes ever possessed me to go north to Alaska, anyway.”
“Gold,” Frank said. “The same thing that possesses just about everybody else who heads up there these days.”
“Yeah, well, that didn’t work out too good, did it?”
Salty had been robbed by a gang of criminals operating in the Alaskan settlement of Skagway. Frank had hoped to recover some of the old-timer’s money when they returned to the settlement, but the leader of the outlaws was dead and the rest of the men had scattered. The chances of getting back any of the money they had stolen from Salty had dwindled to just about nothing.
That was a shame, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. As long as Salty and Meg were traveling with Frank, they wouldn’t have to worry about money.
Despite his cowhand garb, Frank Morgan was actually one of the richest men in the West, owning half of the vast business empire founded by the woman he had once been married to, Vivian Browning. When Vivian had been murdered, Frank and the son he hadn’t even known existed until recently, Conrad Browning, had inherited those lucrative holdings.
Conrad had run the business for a while and done a fine job of it, until another tragedy had changed the direction of his life. Now, firms of lawyers and financial officers in Boston, Denver, and San Francisco administered things and banked Frank’s share of the profits. His needs were simple, but he didn’t skimp on helping out his friends and other people who deserved help.
Now, Frank smiled at Salty and said, “Once you get down there south of the border, sipping on a glass of tequila some pretty senorita brings to you, you won’t even think about Alaska anymore.”
“Don’t that sound good,” Salty said with a sigh. He looked better now, but he still needed something to keep his mind off the ship’s motion. “Why don’t I set up the checkerboard? I reckon we got time for a game or two afore this boat hits land.”
“Why don’t you and Meg play?” Frank suggested. “I’ll take on the winner.”
“That’ll be me,” Meg declared confidently.
Salty slapped his thigh. “We’ll just see about that, missy!”
Frank and Meg exchanged a quick, satisfied glance. They had succeeded in distracting Salty from his worries.
Salty got out his checkerboard and set it up on the room’s small table. The ship’s motion made the pieces want to slide a little, but he and Meg succeeded in playing a game. Salty won, much to Meg’s apparent chagrin, and he was getting ready to play Frank when they all noticed how much calmer the water had gotten.
“We must have reached that bay,” Frank said. “Want to go take a look?”
“Yeah, I reckon I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a little fresh air,” Salty said as he reached for his battered old hat. “Don’t think you’re foolin’ me, though, Frank Morgan. You was just huntin’ for any excuse not to get whipped at checkers.”
“You’re too smart for me, Salty,” Frank said with a chuckle.
The three of them went up on deck, being careful not to get in the way of any of the sailors bustling around. Some of the other passengers were emerging from their cabins as well. They clustered on the starboard side of the ship to look at the rocky-sided, pine-covered island that now protected the vessel from some of the wind’s force.
