Port Hazard by Loren D. Estleman Page A

of pennies, which had surely established a record for depth of feeling for so small a sum. Hodge had done the disarming and carrying. We had our legs crossed.
    â€œThe swag and Tom’s trinkets blow back to Cap’n Dan, that’s settled,” she said. “If they don’t he’ll hush us all and burn the place for spite. How’s the thing what’s got me smoky. If we come a-crawling with the skep in hand, he’ll hoist the tariff, and who’s to stubble him? We’re scraping close to shinerags as things stand.”
    Hodge said, “Send it to him in an eternity-box with these two inside. That ought to show him we’re plumb.”
    â€œI ain’t turned up the toes of so much as a slingtail hen in forty years of grief, and I ain’t about to set precedent. What was that game about? You both gone cranky?” She’d stopped pacing to stand in front of us.
    I said. “I got the idea from no one but you, right here in this room. ‘Stifle a Hoodlum,’ you said; but I’m not that blood-thirsty.”
    â€œI was just pecking words. I never thought you’d try it on, I’ll smack the bishop’s calfskin I didn’t. Anywise, you’d of done better to twist his nub and give him an earth-bath than buzz him and leave him leg to peach to Cap’n Dan. We’ll be up to our arses in Hoodlums come morning.”
    â€œTake the air, Nan,” Hodge said. “Sluice your gob down at Haggerty’s. When you come back, it’ll all be rub.” He smacked his widow-maker against his open palm.
    She said nothing. Her face was impossible to read. I wondered if I could get to the weapons on the bed before Hodge caught up to me and swung his ball, and if Beecher had the reflexes to slow him down. Then there was Nan and the eight loaded chambers in her pocket. I was thinking about all this when someone knocked. The sound came from the direction of the side door to the alley.
    Nan looked at Hodge.
    â€œCould be a fish looking to flop,” he said.
    She shook her head. “Tide’s out.”
    The knocking came again, louder. Someone was kicking the door.
    Nan picked up Tom Tulip’s bulldog pistol and gave it to Hodge. “If it’s more than one, empty it. Then leg it for the front door. I’ll be scarce by then.”
    â€œWhat about these two?”
    She took out the pepperbox. He nodded and withdrew.
    Beecher started to say something. Nan eared back the hammer. He fell silent.
    The knocking ceased. A powder-charged silence followed. Voices rumbled. Another silence, longer than the first. None of us was breathing.
    A floorboard yelped outside the room. Nan swung her pistol that way. Hodge came in. He had the bulldog stuck under his belt and an envelope in his hand.
    â€œJust a cove with a stiff.”
    Nan took the pistol off cock and put it in her pocket. She snatched the envelope. The address side was blank. She frowned at the signet on the crimson seal, cracked the wax, and fumbled with the flap. She frowned again and tipped something out onto her palm. It was a deputy’s star.
    Hodge snorted. “Crikey! The old town’s full to the facer with tin. Who’s minding the store?”
    I said the star was mine. He told me to shut my mummer.
    Nan unfolded a square of paper, read what was written on it, and held it out toward me. I got up from my chair and took it.
    The letter was written in neat copperplate on heavy linen bond with gold edges.
    P. Murdock, Deputy United States Marshal
    The Sailor’s Rest
    Dear Deputy Murdock:
    I am in receipt of your communication.
    Your presence is requested in my quarters at the Bella Union Melodeon tomorrow at 11:00 A.M .
    Until then, I am
    Yours very truly,
Daniel Webster Wheelock,
Alderman,
City of San Francisco

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    BELLA UNION MELODEON
    NIGHTLY
    A CONSTANTLY VARIED ENTERTAINMENT
    Replete with FUN and FROLIC
    Abounding in SONG and DANCE
    Unique for GRACE and BEAUTY
    And