So far, though, they hadn’t seen a single sign of human habitation. Frank had thought they might come across a trapper’s cabin, or some sourdough’s gold claim. Not along this coast, obviously.
On the fifth day after leaving the camp where they had come ashore, the women were barely able to stagger along. Conway and the other cheechakos were pretty worn out, too. Frank began to consider calling a halt and giving them a day to rest. He squinted at the gray sky. Was there snow up there? He couldn’t tell, but he felt a tingle of unease along his spine. Would taking a day to rest just doom them when they were practically at their destination?
He didn’t have much choice in the matter. Some of the women collapsed, dropping off their feet and unable to get up again. Frank said, “All right, unsling your packs. We’ll stop here for a while.”
Maybe after an hour or two, they could go on, he thought. It was worth a try.
All of the women except Meg Goodwin slumped to the ground. Meg had been a real trouper. She had to be as worn out as the others, but she had kept on as if she could go all day. She came over to Frank now and said, “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. Mrs. Devereaux and the other girls are really tired.”
“And you’re not?” he asked her with a smile.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I grew up on a farm and did most of the plowing from the time I was ten years old. I must have walked thousands of miles behind an old mule. This…” She gestured toward the beach. “This is nothing.”
“Farm girl, eh?”
“That’s right. So I figured being a sourdough’s wife wouldn’t be much harder.”
“You might be right about that.” Frank nodded toward the north. “I was thinking about scouting on ahead with Dog. You want to come with us?”
Meg’s quirky smile lit up her face. “I’d like that.”
Frank went over to Conway and said, “Miss Goodwin and I are going to scout on up the beach a ways. You mind staying here and keeping an eye on things?”
“Nope, that’s fine,” the young man replied. He glanced at Jessica Harpe, and Frank figured Conway planned on spending the break talking to the curvy little brunette. If Fiona was able to follow through on her plan and take the women to Whitehorse, Conway was liable to be disappointed when he had to say good-bye to Jessica and let her travel on to the man who had paid to have her brought up here to marry him. But Frank couldn’t do anything about that. It was just Conway’s bad luck.
He and Meg set off up the beach. Dog ran ahead of them, darting into the woods at times and then running back out onto the sand. As they walked, Meg talked about her life on her family’s farm back in Ohio.
“What about you, Mr. Morgan?” she asked after a while. “You must have had a very interesting life, what with being a gunfighter and all.”
“A lot of hard, lonely trails,” Frank said. “That’s what most of it has been.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“A couple of times.”
Meg frowned. “What happened?”
“I lost them both,” Frank said.
She put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. Although I guess I should have known that I would, with questions like that.”
“It’s all right,” Frank told her. “Life goes on and time passes, and after a while, if you’re lucky you’re left with more good memories than bad ones.”
“What about children?”
Frank had to grin. “I’ve got a boy. Conrad. He had some trouble along the way, but he grew into a fine man.” He grew sober again as he thought about what had happened in Conrad’s life in recent months. “Then he had some more trouble. But he’ll come through it all right. He’s strong.”
“Like his father,” Meg said. Her hand still rested on Frank’s arm.
He frowned suddenly as he realized how easy it was to talk to this woman. But she was young, he reminded himself. His son’s age, or thereabouts, which meant he was old enough to be her father. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed like there was quite as big a difference between him and Fiona…
He didn’t have time to ponder on those troubling thoughts, because at that moment, somewhere behind them, the roar of gunshots suddenly filled the cold air.
Chapter 16
Frank whirled toward the sound and saw to his surprise that he and Meg had walked so far along the beach the others were now out of sight. The shots were definitely coming from that direction, though. He broke into a run along the hard-packed sand, calling over his shoulder to Meg, “Stay here!”
“No!” she said as she hustled after him. “You may need my help!”
Frank knew there was no time to argue with her. He wanted to get back to the rest of the survivors as fast as he could. It was possible that they had just spotted a bear or a moose and were blazing away at it, but he had a bad feeling that this was something worse.
A point of land jutted out into the water ahead of them. Frank and Meg had walked around it without him really noticing it. That point cut off the view down the beach.
Instinct suddenly send Frank veering toward the trees on the point. “Follow me!” he called to Meg. He didn’t want to go charging blindly around there until he knew what the situation was. He whistled Dog back beside him, too.
They slowed as they reached the trees. The shooting stopped, and an ominous silence fell over the beach. Frank crouched and held the Winchester at the ready as he weaved his way through the trunks. The thick carpet of decaying pine needles muffled his footsteps. Meg started to say something, but Frank made a curt gesture that silenced her. He didn’t want to give away their presence.
As they neared the far edge of the trees, he went to his belly and motioned for Meg to do likewise. They crawled forward until they could look along the beach and see what was happening.
Meg’s breath hissed between her teeth in surprise. Frank didn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightened. He watched as eight roughly dressed, heavily armed hardcases rounded up Fiona and the nine remaining young women. Conway, Neville, and the other three cheechakos were sprawled limply on the sand. Frank saw blood staining their clothes, and none of them moved.
“My God,” Meg whispered. “Oh, Frank—”
“Shhh.”
She cast an anguished look over at him. “But we have to help them!”
“If we do anything to let those varmints know we’re here, they’ll just kill me and take you prisoner, too,” Frank whispered, leaning over to put his mouth close to her ear. “The only way we can help them is by waiting for a better chance.”
“But you’re a gunfighter—”
“And there would be eight to one odds against me,” he said. “I’d get half of them, maybe more, but they’d get me, too.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Meg, but we have to bide our time.”
She bit her lip as she thought about what he’d said. Then she nodded. “What do you think happened?” she asked as the men started forcing their prisoners into the trees at gunpoint. The hardcases had picked up all the packs of supplies and were carrying them as well.
“Those hombres ambushed our bunch. Conway and the other men put up a fight, but they didn’t stand a chance.”
“Who are those men?”
“Outlaws, most likely.” Frank had been studying the men. They wore fur coats and a mixture of headgear ranging from Stetsons to derbies to fur caps. Each man carried a rifle, and when their coats hung open, he saw holstered six-guns on each man as well, not to mention knives and a couple of hatchets.
“Did they do it to steal our supplies?”
“I’m sure that’s part of it.”
“Then why are they taking Mrs. Devereaux and the other—Oh. Oh, no.”
Frank nodded. “Yeah, they either plan to keep the girls for themselves or maybe sell them. Maybe both, eventually. Sorry to be so plainspoken about it.”