But he didn’t have any reason to leave the ship tonight, either. When Meg asked him if he was going ashore, he shook his head and said, “I never lost anything in Powderkeg Bay.” The decision was that simple to him.
But that evening as he was in his own cabin, stretched out on the bunk reading a book of stories by Stephen Crane in the light from the lamp on the wall, someone knocked on the door. Frank looked up from the book and called, “Who is it?”
“Meg.”
He frowned slightly. She didn’t make a habit of coming to his cabin, so he wondered if there was trouble.
“Come in,” he told her, and the look on her face when she opened the door and stepped into the room worried him even more. He swung his legs off the bunk and set the book aside as he asked, “What is it?”
“I can’t find Salty anywhere,” she said. “I’ve looked all over the ship for him. He’s gone, Frank.”
Chapter 2
As he stood up and moved to Meg’s side, Frank said, “I don’t hardly see how he can be gone. He’s bound to be somewhere onboard.”
Meg shook her head stubbornly. “He’s not, I tell you. I’ve looked everywhere except the crew’s quarters, and he’d have no business being there.”
“Unless he found a poker game or something like that going on,” Frank pointed out. He sat down on the bunk again and reached for his boots. “Stay here. I’ll go find him.”
“Nothing doing,” Meg said. Her firm tone left no room for argument. “I’m coming with you.”
Frank shrugged and finished pulling on his boots. He knew that arguing with a woman was usually a waste of time, breath, and energy. It wasn’t the wisdom of his years that told him that, either. He was smart enough that he had figured it out early on.
When he stood up, he hesitated, then picked up the coiled shell belt and holstered Colt from the stool where it lay next to the bunk. He didn’t figure he would need the gun, but it was better to have it with him just in case.
He had learned that lesson early on, too.
He put his hat on and followed Meg out of the cabin. She started toward the stairs. They would have to go up on deck and follow it forward to reach the crew’s quarters.
One of the sailors intercepted them as they crossed the deck. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the wind wasn’t blowing anymore.
“Something I can do for you folks?” the sailor asked.
“Our friend is missing,” Meg said. “Mr. Stevens? Do you know him?”
“The old-timer with the beard?”
“That’s right.”
The sailor scratched his jaw and frowned in thought under his short-billed cap. “I haven’t seen him. The cap’n told everybody they ought to stay onboard the ship tonight, though.”
The mist in the air gave the lights of the settlement a blurred look. Frank heard the faint strains of music drifting through the night air from somewhere as he asked, “You don’t have a guard posted to keep folks from leaving, do you?”
The sailor shook his head. “No, sir. What the cap’n told the passengers was just a suggestion, not an order.”
“That’s what I figured.” An idea had come to Frank when he heard the music, and he didn’t like it very much. Still, they ought to make sure Salty wasn’t onboard before checking out his new hunch. “Can you take us to the crew quarters? If there’s a poker game going on anywhere, Salty can usually sniff it out.”
“I can promise you, the old fella isn’t there, Mr. Morgan. I just came from there to go on duty.”
Frank didn’t have any reason to doubt the man’s word. “What about the officers’ quarters?” he asked.
The sailor shook his head. “No, sir, he wouldn’t be there. None of the crew is allowed to fraternize with the passengers. Cap’n Beswick wouldn’t stand for it.”
Meg sighed in frustration. “Then where could he have gone?”
“There,” Frank said, tipping his head toward the settlement. That made some mist that had collected on his hat drip off the brim in front of his face.
Meg’s eyes widened as she looked at him. “You think he went to …?”
Her voice trailed off as she didn’t finish the question.
“I reckon they have some saloons in that town, son?” Frank asked the sailor.
“Yes, sir, several. Does Mr. Stevens, uh, like to take a drink now and then?”
“He used to,” Frank said.
“He wouldn’t have any trouble finding a place to do that in Powderkeg Bay. Or to indulge in any other sort of vice you can think of.” The young salt cast an embarrassed glance toward Meg. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Meg told him with a wave of her hand. “Frank, we’ve got to find Salty. I thought he gave up drinking.”
“He did,” Frank said, “but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t get tempted from time to time. All it would take would be a moment of weakness.”
He turned toward the gangplank that led from the ship’s deck to the dock.
“Wait a minute, sir,” the sailor said. “Have you ever been to Powderkeg Bay before?”
“Never even heard of the place until today.”
“It has a bad reputation. It would be dangerous for a stranger to go wandering around alone. Cap’n Beswick even put the town off-limits to the crew.”
Frank smiled. “I can take care of myself, son.”
“But sir—”
“Do you know who this is?” Meg interrupted. “This is Frank Morgan. People call him the Drifter.”
The sailor’s face showed his surprise. “The famous gunfighter? Really?”
“I’m Frank Morgan,” Frank said. “The famous part doesn’t concern me.”
“Why don’t you let me take you to see the cap’n?” the sailor suggested. “Maybe he could send some men with you to help you search for Mr. Stevens.”
That wasn’t a bad idea, Frank decided. He nodded and said, “All right, son, let’s go.”
The sailor led the way forward and down another set of steps. Companionways, Frank thought they were called. Or maybe those were the corridors below decks. He wasn’t sure. He was a landlubber at heart, no doubt about that, he thought as he smiled wryly to himself despite his worry over Salty’s possible whereabouts.
A brisk voice answered, “Come in!” when the sailor knocked on a door.
The young man opened it and said, “Cap’n, a couple of the passengers need to speak to you.”
The captain didn’t invite them into his cabin. Instead, he stepped out into the corridor. He wasn’t wearing his coat or his cap, but he still stood ramrod-stiff as he frowned at the sailor.
“What’s this about, Monroe?”
Frank spoke up. “We asked the young fella if we could talk to you, Captain.”
The lantern-jawed man with bushy side whiskers regarded Frank with a cool stare. “Mr. Morgan, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Frank said with a nod. “This is Miss Goodwin.”
Captain Beswick inclined his head politely toward Meg. “What can I do for you folks?”
“Our friend Mr. Stevens doesn’t seem to be onboard the ship tonight.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“He’s not in his cabin or on deck,” Meg said.
“We haven’t looked in the officers’ quarters or the crew’s quarters,” Frank added.
“Or in the other passengers’ cabins, I’ll wager,” Beswick said.
Frank and Meg glanced at each other. She shook her head.
Beswick smiled an annoyingly indulgent smile as he said, “So you see, there are still plenty of places he could be.” His voice sharpened as he looked at the sailor and went on, “Monroe, get some of the crew and conduct a search. Locate Mr. Stevens and then report back here.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Monroe said. He hurried off.
“Won’t you come in?” Beswick invited Frank and Meg. “You might as well be comfortable while we wait.”
They followed the captain into his cabin. Like all the other cabins on the Jupiter, the room was small, but it was comfortably furnished with a bunk, a desk, a map table, and a couple of chairs. A bookcase was built into one wall.