While he waited for the proprietor, Stewart was given a couple of drinks on the house and then invited to come out back and have a look at Soapy’s captive eagle. Stewart found an eagle there all right — Soapy had bought it from some boys who had caught it, and it had participated in the Fourth of July parade — but he also found a nest of three-shell gamesman who suddenly got into a violent quarrel over one another’s honesty. One of them stumbled into Stewart and, the nest thing he knew, he was picking himself up off the floor. He was alone with the bird, and his bonanza had flown.

Subscribe Today

• Did you enjoy our article?
• Read more in Wild West magazine
• Subscribe online and save nearly 40%!!!
 

Rushing out front and confronting the bartender, Stewart was told that the whole thing was just a harmless little joke, and that his gold would be returned to him shortly. Stewart was not amused, and went to the local lawman, one Deputy Marshal Taylor, appealing for help. Taylor asked Stewart who had stolen his gold and, when the prospector could not provide a positive answer, the lawman said with visible disinterest that he would investigate the matter.

Recognizing a song and dance when he heard it, Stewart stamped angrily about the streets of Skagway, calling the attention of anyone who would listen to how he had been wronged, and then went to Dyea and stated his case to the U.S. commissioner there, C.A. Sehlbrede. Sehlbrede made some inquiries in Skagway, then summoned Smith before him and advised him that if any of his men had Stewart’s gold, it would save everybody a lot of trouble if they returned it. Smith replied that if any of his men had the gold and gave it up, he could ‘cut their damned ears off,’ stating that Stewart had gambled it away fair and square in a shell game.

At that point, Stewart’s grievance had become a local cause célèbre. A revived Committee of 101 called a meeting at Sperry’s Warehouse, but so many members of Smith’s gang sneaked in that it had to be adjourned. Another meeting was scheduled to take place in Sylvester Hall at 9 that night, but was moved to Juneau Wharf at the foot of State Street to lessen the chances of being infiltrated again. Four guards were posted to further ensure their privacy.

Back at Jeff Smith’s Parlor, its namesake heard of the new meeting and, after downing a glass of whiskey, he stormed toward the dock. Some of his men apprehensively followed him, but he impatiently waved them back, determined to settle the matter alone, wither with personal charisma or the .44/40-caliber Model 1892 Winchester rifle he carried with him.

As Soapy stormed up the boardwalk, two of the guards jumped over the railing an took cover under the wharf. Another, J.M. Tanner, seemed to be unarmed, and Soapy strode past him. As Frank Reid stood in his path, Smith came to an abrupt halt and swung his rifle at him.

Reid caught the rifle barrel with his left hand, pushed it aside and, with his right hand, drew a revolver and squeezed the trigger. Its first cartridge misfired. Grasping his rifle in both hands, Smith jabbed it into Reid’s groin and fired. Almost simultaneously, Reid snapped off a shot, fell, raised his gun and fired again.

Reid’s last shot hit Smith eight inches above the knee, but that wound was superfluous, for a previous bullet had gone through Soapy’s heart. Popular lore credits Reid with putting it here, but it could have come from any of the other guards, or even from an adjacent building overlooking the wharf, owned and occupied by employees of the White Pass & Yukon Railroad, who regarded Smith as an obstacle to their own interests in the area. In any case, the crime lord of Skagway was dead before he hit the deck. For all intents and purposes, so was his empire.

‘Smith is killed,’ someone shouted. About half a dozen of his gang watched, aghast, from the edge of the wharf as Tanner told them, ‘They’ve got Soapy and they’ll get you next.’

Help HistoryNet by bookmarking to