Dead Before Sundown Page 4

  Crossing the Canadian Rockies, even in summer, was likely to be more than a little side trip, Frank thought. But he had to admit it probably wouldn’t be as bad as traveling from Skagway over Chilkoot Pass to Whitehorse with winter coming on, and Meg had survived that. She was a good rider, could handle a gun, and certainly wasn’t lacking for courage.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have her along.

  “All right,” he said as he nodded.

  Salty stared at him. “Have you gone touched in the head? You want to bring a gal along while we’re chasin’ a owlhoot like Palmer acrost Canada?”

  “Meg can take care of herself,” Frank said. “And she probably won’t go sneaking off and get mixed up in a gunfight.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Salty muttered. “I done said I was sorry.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Meg said. “Tomorrow morning we head east toward Calgary and try to pick up Palmer’s trail.”

  “Providing we can find some decent horses,” Frank said. “That might not be as easy as it sounds.”

  Chapter 5

  Captain Beswick intended to sail early the next morning, so Frank was up at first light to head into the settlement. He thought he had seen a livery stable the night before, while he and the party from the ship were headed toward Red Mike’s, and he wanted to find out if he was right.

  As it turned out, he was. Parkhurst’s Livery dealt in saddle horses and pack animals for the fur trappers who made Powderkeg Bay their headquarters. The proprietor, a white-haired man with the bulbous red nose of a heavy drinker, was glad to sell Frank three mounts and a couple of pack mules.

  The horses weren’t much for looks or speed, but they were sturdy animals that ought to stand up well to traveling over the mountains, Frank thought.

  “You can ride the mules if you need to,” Parkhurst assured Frank. “They’ll take a saddle. Their gait’ll loosen your teeth, though, if you have to ride ‘em for very long.”

  “We don’t intend to,” Frank said. “We’ll need saddles and the rest of the rigs, along with packs for the mules.”

  Parkhurst nodded. “I can fix you up, Mr. Morgan.”

  “What about a general store for supplies?”

  “Right along the street here.” Parkhurst pointed. “Haney’s Emporium. Tell Todd Haney I sent you.”

  The sun had just begun to peek over the mountains to the east by the time Frank had bought the supplies and loaded them on the mules. He left all five animals tied up in front of the store while he went back to the ship to let Salty and Meg know they were ready to ride out.

  Both of them had their gear gathered. It didn’t amount to much, since they had been traveling light. Meg was wearing a holstered .32-caliber revolver and had a short-barreled Winchester carbine tucked under her arm. She looked as if she was ready for trouble.

  And they were liable to find it, Frank mused. That was just the way things seemed to go where he was concerned.

  Captain Beswick was waiting at the gangplank to bid them farewell. He shook hands with Frank and Salty and tipped his cap to Meg.

  “Good luck to you,” the captain said. “To be honest, I think this is a bit of a fool’s errand you’re going on, but perhaps it will work out. I hope so.”

  Salty said, “No offense, Cap’n, but it ain’t your money that’s involved. To my way of thinkin’, I’d be a fool not to go after Palmer and try to get it back.”

  “If you get a chance, write to me in care of the shipping line. I’d like to hear how this all comes out.”

  “We’ll do that,” Frank said with a nod.

  When they reached the dock, Frank looked back at the ship and saw Handlesman and Monroe at the railing. He lifted a hand in farewell to the second mate and the sailor. Both of them had been helpful during the ruckus the night before.

  No one had bothered the horses, the mules, or the supplies. Frank, Salty, and Meg swung up into their saddles. Captain Beswick had a map of Canada among the numerous maps in his cabin, and Frank had studied it. Calgary was approximately four hundred miles east and a little bit south of Powderkeg Bay. In mountainous country, it would take three weeks, possibly more, to get there.

  Frank was confident that he could find the settlement. They might not follow exactly the same trails between here and there as Joe Palmer did, but on the other hand, there were a number of mountain ranges in their path and probably only a limited amount of routes through them. If Palmer wasn’t in too much of a hurry, they might be able to catch up to him before he reached Calgary.

  Only one trail led out of Powderkeg Bay, winding up the side of the mountain that loomed above the town. When they had climbed quite some distance, Frank reined in and motioned for the others to do likewise.

  “In terrain like this, we’ll have to stop pretty often to let the horses rest,” he told Salty and Meg as he dismounted. “We don’t want to wear them out. According to Captain Beswick’s map, there are a few small settlements between here and Calgary, but we may not be able to get fresh mounts until we get there.”

  They stood on the trail, holding the reins, and looked down the mountainside at the bay, the island a short distance off shore, and the vast Pacific beyond it. From up here they had a good view of the town, and Frank could also see the Jupiter’s sails as the ship turned south toward Seattle.

  Frank pointed out the vessel to his companions. “I hope Hopkins gets what’s comin’ to him,” Salty muttered.

  “He will,” Frank said. “Sooner or later, all owlhoots do.”

  “I ain’t interested in later. The sooner that varmint’s dancin’ a jig at the end of a hang rope, the better.”

  Frank didn’t know if Hopkins would wind up being hanged or not. It would depend on what charges the authorities could prove against him. But at the very least he would spend a long time in jail.

  When the horses had rested for a few minutes, the three of them mounted up again and resumed their trek. Frank had already spotted a flat shoulder jutting out from the mountain higher up and had a hunch the trail followed it around the peak.

  That turned out to be the case, but it took them until the middle of the afternoon to reach the shoulder. They hadn’t even gotten out of sight of the sea before dusk began to settle down and Frank started looking for a place to make camp.

  He found a clearing in the evergreens that thickly coated the mountainside and bordered both sides of the trail. Plenty of dry branches littered the ground under the trees, so they would have an abundance of firewood. It would come in handy to ward off the chill the night would bring.

  As they sat by the fire eating a supper of salt pork and biscuits, Frank said, “You know Palmer’s not going to give up that money without a fight, Salty.”

  The old-timer snorted. “Wouldn’t expect him to. Hope he don’t. That way I’ll have a good excuse to plug the varmint.”

  “If you do get the money back, what then?” Meg asked. “Are you still coming to Mexico with us?”

  “If I recollect right, headin’ south of the border was my idea to start with,” Salty pointed out. “I ain’t changed my mind about it, neither.”

  Frank smiled. “South of the border in these parts means back in the United States.”

  “Yeah, I know.” A wistful tone crept into Salty’s voice. “I appreciate the two o’ you comin’ with me like this. I know you’re prob’ly anxious to get back home.”

  “I don’t have anything waiting for me,” Meg said.

  “Yeah, but Frank does.”

  Frank knew the old-timer was talking about Stormy and Goldy, his two horses, and Dog, the big, wolflike cur that had been Frank’s friend and trail companion for a long time. All three of the animals had been left with a friendly stable owner in Seattle, and Frank trusted the man to take good care of them. Paying for that care wasn’t a problem, either.

  But Frank had to admit to himself that it would be good to see his old pards again. He had no idea how long it was going to be before that happened. In the meantime,
he would concentrate on the job at hand.

  Another advantage to having a fire was that it would keep wild animals away from the camp. Frank didn’t know for sure what sort of varmints might be roaming these mountains, but he figured it was certainly possible there might be wolves and bears around here.

  The drawback was that Joe Palmer might spot their fire and take it as a sign that someone was coming after him … which was true, of course. It was possible that Palmer might double back and try to ambush them.

  For that reason, Frank thought it would be a good idea if they took turns standing guard at night. He suggested that Meg take the first shift, since it was the easiest, then he would take the second and Salty the third.

  They nodded their agreement. “What are you worried about, Frank?” Meg asked. “Wild animals?”

  Salty said, “More like varmints of the two-legged variety, I’m bettin’.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “We don’t know how far ahead of us Palmer is. If he knows he’s being chased, he might try to bushwhack us.”

  “That’d be fine,” Salty said. “That way we won’t have to chase him clear to Calgary.”

  “Assuming he doesn’t kill us,” Frank said drily.

  Salty snorted again. “’Tain’t likely. Not with a couple o’ old hands like you and me on his trail.”

  The night passed quietly, with no sign of Joe Palmer or any other dangerous varmint, and the next morning the three of them resumed their journey.

  That was the beginning of a week’s travel through rugged but spectacularly beautiful country. The trails they followed led through lush green valleys between towering, snow-capped peaks. Fast-flowing streams danced merrily along those valleys. Eagles wheeled through the clear blue sky, and every day Frank spotted elk, moose, and antelope herds, as well as the occasional majestic, lumbering bear.

  Not once, though, did they see another human being in this vast Canadian wilderness.

  That changed abruptly on the seventh day of their trip.

  “Look yonder,” Salty said, reining in and pointing. “Smoke from somebody’s chimney.”

  Frank had already spotted the thin column of gray curling into the sky. It was rising from a spot a mile or so down the valley they were following.

  “Are we going to stop?” Meg asked as she and Frank brought their mounts to a halt as well.

  Frank nodded. “It would probably be a good idea. That smoke’s likely coming from some trapper’s cabin. He might have seen Palmer go by. It would be nice to have some proof that we’re on the right trail.”

  “We’re on the right trail,” Salty insisted. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  Frank didn’t want to dispute what Salty’s bones said, at least not to the old-timer’s face, but some actual evidence would be welcome. If whoever was responsible for that smoke had seen Palmer, he could tell them how far ahead of them the fugitive was.

  They heeled their horses into motion again. The pack mules plodded along behind at the end of ropes tied to Frank’s and Salty’s saddles.

  The smoke led them to a long meadow with a shallow stream running along one side of it. At the far end of the meadow and on the other side of the stream, between the water and the trees, sat a log cabin. The smoke rose from a stone chimney built onto one side of the cabin.

  Frank lifted a hand to stop the others. He leaned forward a little in the saddle, easing his muscles as he studied the cabin. He saw a pole corral and a lean-to shed behind it, but no horses were in there. In fact, he didn’t see any movement anywhere around the cabin.

  The smoke rising from the chimney was the only sign of life.

  “What are we waiting for?” Meg asked.

  “It’s not a good idea to just go riding up to somebody’s place without taking a look around first,” Frank explained. “You don’t want to pay a visit unannounced, either. People can get spooked easy, especially out in the middle of nowhere like this.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Do you think a trapper lives here?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Maybe the fella ain’t home,” Salty suggested. “I see his horses are gone.”

  Frank rubbed his jaw and frowned. “Yeah, maybe. But would he go off and leave a fire burning in the fireplace?”

  “There ain’t no tellin’ what some folks’ll do. Not ever’body’s been to see the elephant like you and me have, Frank.”

  “That’s true, I suppose,” Frank said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

  He hitched his horse into motion again, riding slowly forward along the creek. When he came to a likely looking spot where the stream flowed shallowly over its rocky bed, he sent his mount into the water. This was as good a place to ford the creek as any. Salty and Meg followed.

  The closer they got to the cabin, the more Frank felt the skin on the back of his neck prickling. Over the long, dangerous years, he had learned to put complete faith in his instincts, and now those instincts were warning him that something wasn’t quite right here.

  An instant later, that hunch was confirmed as the barrel of a rifle suddenly thrust out from a window and gushed flame and smoke.

  Chapter 6

  Frank was in the lead, so he saw the rifle first. He reacted instantly, yanking his horse’s head to the side and calling, “Follow me!” to Salty and Meg, at the same time as the shot blasted out from the window.

  The bullet came close enough that Frank heard its high-pitched whine. He galloped toward the trees. It wouldn’t do any good to cross back over the creek. There was no cover over there in the open meadow.

  A glance over his shoulder told him that Salty and Meg were close behind him. He was relieved to see that neither of them appeared to be wounded.

  The whip crack of another rifle shot came to his ears, over the pounding of hooves. Then he reached the trees and sent the horse plunging into the thick growth. He pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot as he hauled the animal to a stop and dropped from the saddle.

  Salty and Meg were close by, shielded by the tree trunks as well. As they dismounted, Frank called over to them, “Either of you hit?”

  “Nope,” Salty said. “Not me.”

  “I’m fine, too,” Meg said. “How about you, Frank?”

  “That first shot was a mite close, but it didn’t get me,” he told them without taking his eyes off the cabin. “Meg, hold the horses. Salty, get your rifle.”

  The old-timer worked the lever of the Winchester in his hands. “Already got it,” he said. “Let’s pour some lead into that shack.”

  “Hold your fire,” Frank ordered. “We can’t just start blazing away without knowing who we’re shooting at or why.”

  “We may not know who, but I dang sure know why!” Salty responded. “Because the son of a buck shot at us!”

  “Maybe he thought he had good cause.”

  “Maybe,” Salty allowed as he crouched behind the thick trunk of a pine. “That don’t mean I aim to let him get away with tryin’ to kill us. Dagnab it, Frank, that could be Palmer his own self in there!”

  “It could be,” Frank said. “Why don’t we try to find out?”

  No more shots had come from the cabin after the second one. Frank eased forward to the edge of the trees. He couldn’t see the rifle anymore. Whoever was using it had pulled it back inside the window.

  “Hello, the cabin!” Frank shouted. “Hello in there! We’re not looking for trouble!”

  There was no response.

  Frank tried again. “Can you hear me in there? We’re friends!”

  “That’s stretchin’ it a mite,” Salty muttered. “I ain’t friends with nobody who tries to part my hair with a bullet!”

  “Hush,” Frank said. He raised his voice again. “Hello, the cabin!”

  Nothing met the call but silence. There weren’t even any sounds in the underbrush. The shots had caused all the birds and small animals to flee.

  “Something’s wrong,” Frank said quietly.
<
br />   “Yeah, some polecat shot at us!”

  “It’s more than that,” Frank said. “Salty, you and Meg keep an eye on the place.”

  “What are you going to do?” Meg asked.

  “Work my way through the trees and see if I can get behind the cabin. There might be a door or a window back there by that corral and shed.”

  “Be careful,” Meg cautioned him. “There might be more than one man in there. If there is a back way in, somebody may be watching it.”

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Frank said. Before she could argue with him, he slid off through the trees, moving quickly but quietly.

  He pulled back deeper into the woods so that anybody watching the trees wouldn’t be as likely to see him. The cabin was only about fifty yards away. Frank covered twice that distance in circling around it. When he thought he had gone far enough, he ventured a look.

  He was past the cabin now, so he was able to look at the back side of it. The shed was built right against the wall. There was no window or door.

  But that didn’t mean this side was a blind approach. There could be chinks between the logs big enough for a man to look out through them but too small for Frank to see from this distance. There could even be loopholes through which a rifle barrel could be slid.

  But he had to take the chance. The only other option was for him and his companions to mount up, work their way through the woods until they were out of sight of the cabin, and then ride on.

  They could do that, but Frank didn’t like unanswered questions. Nor did he care for the possibility that the man they were looking for could be in that cabin.

  The cabin and its adjacent shed and corral lay about twenty yards from the edge of the trees. Frank took a deep breath and then charged out from cover, running toward the structures as fast as he could.

  Riding boots weren’t made for running. All too aware that he was out in the open, Frank felt like he was barely making any progress at all. He knew with every step that somebody could be drawing a bead on him.

  In reality, only a few seconds passed before he reached the corral. He paused for a second, crouching beside the pole fence. When no shots roared out from the cabin, he moved closer. He reached the corner of the cabin.