Gunther didn’t back down. He said, “I had a right to shoot at you! You’re on private property, mister.”
“That’s Marshal to you.”
Gunther sneered. “Marshal o’ Buckskin?”
“That’s right.”
“You got no authority out here. Your jurisdiction ends at the edge of the settlement.”
Technically, he was right. But as the only star-packer in this area, Frank figured that as a practical matter, his authority extended a little farther than Buckskin itself.
The man Dog had savaged was helped to his feet by his friends. His injuries looked worse than they really were, Frank knew.
“That…that varmint’s loco!” the man said as he pointed a shaking hand at Dog. “Came at me like a hydrophobia skunk!” He let out a groan of dismay. “Is he mad, mister? Am I gonna start foamin’ at the mouth from them bites?”
“I’m more worried about Dog coming down with something,” Frank said. “Who are you men?”
Gunther thumped his chest with a malletlike fist. “We work for Hamish Munro…and in case you don’t know, mister, Hamish Munro is the owner of the Alhambra Mine! That means we belong here, and you’re nothin’ but a damn trespasser! We’ve got a right to shoot trespassers.”
From just outside the door, a tentative voice asked, “Marshal Morgan, are you all right?”
Gunther’s eyes widened in surprise. “Claiborne!” he bellowed. “Is that you?”
Garrett Claiborne appeared in the doorway. “Good lord,” he muttered. “You.”
“You fellas know each other?” Frank asked.
A look of stern disapproval appeared on Claiborne’s normally mild face. “Yes, I know this man, Marshal. He’s Gunther Hammersmith. We’ve encountered each other before. He’s also a mining engineer.”
An ugly smile twisted Gunther’s mouth. “And a helluva lot better one than you’ll ever be, Claiborne.”
Frank was surprised to hear that the big, bald man was any sort of engineer. He had the look of a bruiser and a brawler, the sort of brutal hired hardcase who followed orders instead of giving them.
Gunther looked at Frank and went on. “Mr. Munro hired me and my boys to get this mine open and working again. Like I said, we’ve got a right to be here, and you don’t.”
“Haven’t seen you around Buckskin,” Frank said.
Gunther snorted in disgust. “Why would we bother going into your two-bit town? We brought our own supplies with us. We’ve been inspecting the mine and shorin’ up what needs to be shored up. We won’t need to go to Buckskin until we’re ready to hire miners, and that won’t be for a few days yet.”
Frank had to admit that the man sounded like he was telling the truth. He wasn’t completely convinced, though.
“You got any proof of what you’re telling me?” he asked.
“I don’t have to show you any proof of anything!”
“No,” Frank said, “but I’m the one holding the gun, and I’m still a mite riled up about those shots you took at us.”
“All right, all right,” Gunther said. He reached into a hip pocket and took out a folded envelope. He removed a sheet of paper from it, unfolded it, and held it out. “This is a letter from Mr. Munro authorizin’ us to be here.”
Without taking his eyes off the four men, Frank asked Claiborne, “Would you recognize Munro’s signature, Garrett?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ve seen it on quite a few documents.”
“Take a look then.”
Claiborne took the sheet of paper from Hammersmith, being careful not to get in Frank’s line of fire. He read the letter and then said, “It’s what he said it was, and Mr. Munro’s signature appears to be genuine.”
“All right.” Frank lowered the Colt but didn’t holster it. “Mr. Claiborne and I will be leaving now. We’re going to take your guns with us, though.”
“You can’t do that!” Hammersmith protested.
“We’ll leave ’em a half mile down the trail,” Frank went on as if he hadn’t heard the objection. “That way, we’ll already be gone by the time you get them back, and you won’t be tempted to take any more shots at us.”
“This ain’t right. It ain’t legal.”
“If you want to file a formal complaint, you can ride into Buckskin and do so.”
Hammersmith glared but didn’t say anything else. Claiborne gathered up the guns and, staggering a little under the weight of all the hardware, carried them back to the buggy. Frank backed out of the office, keeping his Colt trained on the open door. He whistled for Goldy, and he was thankful when the horse came trotting up to him. Obviously, one of his prior owners had trained the horse.
With practiced ease, Frank swung up into the saddle using only his left hand to grip the horn. His right was still filled with the butt of the Peacemaker. He waited until Claiborne had climbed into the buggy, turned it around, and sent it rolling along the trail at a quick pace before he turned Goldy around and rode away as well. Dog loped alongside, tongue lolling from his mouth, obviously pleased with himself.
Frank glanced over his shoulder several times, just in case Hammersmith and the others had more guns hidden somewhere in the mill, but by the time he and Claiborne were out of sight of the mine, they hadn’t emerged from the building.
