The other outlaw shook his head. “Nope. Ever’body’s bettin’ on one or the other.”
“Then I’ll bet that neither one of them makes it through this fight alive,” Jory said.
“Hell, I’ll take that bet!”
Several of the other outlaws joined in and within minutes, Jory had a sizable amount of money wagered on the outcome. Meanwhile, Tucker and Dabney were bloodier than ever and were visibly tiring. It would only be a matter of minutes before one of the men made a fatal slip.
All the bets were down, so Jory shouted, “Hey! Gates! Dagnabbit!”
Both of the fighters paused, startled by the shout. As they looked around, Jory pulled his gun from its holster and shot them both, the pair of shots slamming out so close together, the reports sounded almost like one. Tucker and Dabney crashed to the ground, their brains blown out.
Jory slid his gun back into leather, smiled at the shocked outlaws, and said, “Neither one of ’em lived through the fight. Pay up, boys.”
A few jaws clenched in anger, but nobody said anything, and after a second the men began paying off on their bets.
Because this was the infamous Jory Pool they were dealing with, their leader, the fastest on the draw and the most vicious member of the bunch, and nobody wanted to cross him.
A hail from one of the lookouts posted up on the canyon wall told Pool that riders were coming in. The newcomers had to be members of the gang; otherwise they would have been gunned down out of hand if they approached the hideout. Pool collected his winnings, then walked out to meet the two riders.
He recognized Hap Mitchell and Lonnie Beeman, both of whom had ridden with the gang on several jobs in the past. They hadn’t been here to the hideout for quite a while, so as they reined in and raised their hands in greeting, Pool said, “Howdy, boys. Where you been lately?”
“Oh, here and there,” Mitchell answered, being deliberately vague about it. Pool wouldn’t have expected any less.
“You didn’t lead no posse back here, did you?” Pool asked with a scowl.
Beeman laughed and said, “You know us better’n that, Jory. No bunch of lawdogs could follow us less’n we wanted them to.”
“We came across something a few days ago we thought you might be interested in,” Mitchell said. “You heard of a place called Buckskin?”
“Ghost town, ain’t it?” Pool asked with a grunt.
“It used to be, but it’s not anymore. They found silver there again. One of the mines has opened back up, and it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the others did too. And there are prospectors roamin’ all over those hills looking for other veins. Buckskin’s a boomtown again, and I expect it’ll just get bigger.”
An avaricious grin spread across Pool’s bearded face. “Lots of
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Beeman said. “They got themselves a marshal.”
Pool gave a contemptuous snort. “I’m not worried about some two-bit tin badge.”
In a quiet voice, Mitchell said, “The fella packing the star in Buckskin is Frank Morgan.”
Pool’s eyes widened in surprise. “Morgan? The one they call The Drifter?”
“His own self,” Mitchell confirmed.
“Never thought anybody as fiddle-footed as Morgan would ever settle down and take a marshal’s job. I’ve wanted to cross trails with him for a long time.” Pool grinned again. “You’re right, that is interestin’. Mighty interestin’.”
He started to laugh. It wasn’t a pretty sound.
Behind him, the rest of the gang had finished emptying the pockets of Gates Tucker and Dagnabbit Dabney. Now, some of them picked up the bodies and started to carry them toward the ravine, where they would be tossed in to await the scavengers.
“What’s goin’ on over there?” Mitchell asked as he looked past Pool.
“Never mind about that,” Pool said. “Tell me more about this place called Buckskin.”
Garrett Claiborne wanted to go out and have a look at the Crown Royal Mine the same afternoon he arrived in Buckskin, but Frank convinced him it was too late in the day for that. Although Frank had a good general idea of the mine’s location and was sure he could find it, he hadn’t been out there himself since coming to Buckskin, even though he knew he was a part-owner of the property.
Instead, Frank took Claiborne around town and introduced him to people, explaining that Claiborne had come to reopen the Crown Royal. That created quite a bit of interest among Buckskin’s merchants, especially Leo Benjamin. Another working mine meant more miners with money to spend.
When they went into the offices of the Lucky Lizard Mining Company, Tip Woodford wasn’t there, but Diana was. She was seated at a desk, going over columns of figures entered in a ledger. Frank knew that Diana did some of the bookkeeping work for her father, but he had never seen her actually engaged in that chore. Nor had he seen her wearing spectacles, as she was now.
To tell the truth, they didn’t look bad on her.
She seemed embarrassed, though, and reached up to remove the spectacles as soon as she saw Frank coming in to the office. She put a smile on her face and said, “Hello, Marshal. What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d stop by and introduce Garrett Claiborne here to your father,” Frank said.
