Winter Kill. William W. Johnstone
After a healthy swallow, Frank set his mug on the table and said, “All right, Jacob. Let’s hear it.”
Trench took another drink from his mug, then thumbed his hat back on his thinning hair. Like Frank, he was well advanced into middle age, but still a vital, powerful man.
“I was walking along the other side of the street from you,” he began, “although I didn’t know it at the time. Just as I passed that alley, I heard a little noise, and I reckon I was jumpy enough that it made me duck. That’s when the fella who was lurking there pulled the trigger. The bullet came mighty close to parting my hair anyway, but it missed and went on across the street.”
“Where it went right past my ear and busted out a window in the building I was passing,” Frank said. The moment was still vivid in his mind.
“Yep. That’s about the size of it,” Trench agreed.
“Question is, if he was trying to kill you, why did he keep shooting at me?”
“Because you were shooting at him,” Trench said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
And it was, Frank supposed. When he had felt the hot breath of that bullet, his instincts had taken over, making him whirl toward the source of the shot, drop to a knee, and return fire. Once things had gone that far, the man in the alley had kept shooting to try to save his own life. Frank could see now that that was the way it must have been.
He took another sip of his beer. “All right, that explains part of it,” he said. “Where were you while the rest of it was going on?”
“I got the hell out of the line of fire, of course. Once Haggarty opened the ball and you accepted his invitation to dance, there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
Frank grunted. “You knew the fella, then?”
“Damn right. His name was Leon Haggarty. Mean as hell.”
“Had a grudge against you, did he?” Frank guessed.
Trench shrugged. “Yeah. He and his brothers think I killed a cousin of theirs over in Idaho a while back.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose. “Brothers?” he repeated.
Trench rubbed a hand over his jaw and grimaced. “Yeah.”
“How many brothers are there?”
“Three more.”
“They as mean as Leon?”
“Meaner,” Trench admitted with a sheepish grin.
Frank shook his head. Despite his reputation, he had the most peaceful intentions in the world, especially now that he was getting on in years, and yet he still managed to walk right into trouble, usually through no fault of his own, again and again.
Both men drank from their mugs, then Trench went on. “It wasn’t until after you’d plugged Leon that I got a good look at you and realized who you were. I didn’t know my old compadre Frank Morgan was anywhere close to Seattle.”
“I wasn’t until today,” Frank said. “This cousin of the Haggarty brothers they think you killed in Idaho…did you?”
“Well…yeah. But I didn’t have any choice. He was trying to open me up from one end to the other with a bowie knife. He found an extra jack somewhere in a game of cards we were playing and took exception to it when I pointed out that fact.”
Frank nodded slowly. He supposed he couldn’t blame Trench for getting in that jam. He couldn’t abide anybody who cheated at cards, either.
So it wasn’t really Trench’s fault that Leon Haggarty had tried to ambush him from that alley, or that the bullet had come within a whisker of Frank’s head. It was just bad luck all around.
Not too bad, though, considering the fact that Haggarty was dead and Frank and his old friend were still drawing breath.
“Anyway, when I recognized you, I knew I had to talk to you and let you know what was going on,” Trench continued. “It’s on my account that the other Haggarty brothers will likely come after you, too, now, just like they’re after me. I figured I had to warn you.”
“I appreciate that,” Frank said. “To tell you the truth, though, this won’t be the first time I’ve had people gunning for me.”
Trench laughed. “I should hope to smile it’s not. Hell, you’re Frank Morgan, The Drifter. You must be used to it by now.”
“I didn’t say that,” Frank drawled.
Trench drained the last of the cold beer from the mug and then said, “Well, you don’t have to worry too much about it, because I’ve got a plan.”
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah. You’re coming with me to Alaska.”
Frank started to shake his head. “I already told you—”
Trench lifted a hand to stop him. “Just hear me out, Frank. I’ve got a good deal working. The money’s not great, but it’s not bad, either. The work’s easy and downright pleasant.”
“The money’s good enough to split two ways?” Frank still wasn’t interested in whatever Trench was proposing, but he was curious to hear what the man would say.
Trench hesitated. “Well…sure. I guess.”
Frank knew then what was going through Trench’s mind. Trench was afraid that the Haggarty brothers would follow him all the way to Alaska to settle their grudge, and he wanted Frank along to help him handle that trouble. Frank didn’t really blame him for that, but he didn’t want to be roped into Trench’s ruckus, either.
“You said that in a few weeks, it’ll be winter up there. Do boats get in and out once that happens?”
Trench grimaced a couple of times, then admitted, “Not to speak of.”
“So if I go with you, we’ll be stuck up there until next spring.”
“You could look at it like that. But we’ll be in Skagway, Frank. It’s a new town, a boomtown. All the prospectors go through there on their way to the Klondike, just over the border in Canada. That’s where the big strike is going on. The closest, easiest way in and out is through Skagway.”
“Have you been there?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard plenty about it. There’ll be saloons and whorehouses, and all we’d have to do all winter is sit by the stove and roast our old bones. Maybe sip a little whiskey and cavort with the soiled doves when the mood struck us.” That infectious grin appeared on Trench’s face again. “Doesn’t sound like a bad way to spend the winter, now does it?”
“I sort of had in mind staying here.”
“In Seattle?” Trench sounded like he couldn’t believe it. “Hell, it’ll rain for three or four solid months, Frank. You don’t want that.”
“I don’t want to sit in the middle of a blizzard for three or four months, either.”
“It won’t be that bad. I give you my word.”
“Thought you said you’d never been there.”
Trench leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “All right. I’m not going to argue with you. I was just trying to show my gratitude to you by letting you in on a good deal, but if you’re not interested…”
Frank heaved a sigh. “When are you leaving? I’m not saying that I’ll go with you, but I reckon it won’t hurt anything to think about it.”
Trench leaned forward again, the eager grin reappearing. “That’s all I’m asking,” he said. “The boat’s called the Montclair. It sails day after tomorrow. I’m expecting the cargo to arrive tomorrow.”
“You didn’t say anything about any cargo, Jacob,” Frank