He called a halt half a mile down the trail, and Claiborne dumped the guns out of the buggy as Frank had promised. As they set off toward Buckskin again, Frank said, “I got the feeling you and that fella Gunther don’t like each other very much.”
“Gunther Hammersmith is a brute,” Claiborne said with more genuine anger in his voice than Frank had heard from him so far. “He’s the sort of man who thinks he has to enforce his will on the men working for him by means of fear and violence. He’s beaten a couple of men to death when they stood up to him. The last time was at a mine in Colorado. He was fired as superintendent, and I was brought in to take his place. He’s hated me ever since. I think he believes that I was responsible for him being discharged from the job.”
“If he beat a man to death, why wasn’t he put in jail instead of being fired?”
Claiborne shrugged. “The man who owned the mine had a considerable amount of influence. And some of the other miners swore that the man Hammersmith killed attacked him first. Hammersmith claimed he was just defending himself. Everyone was too afraid of him to contradict his story.”
“Sounds like the sort of gent this Hamish Munro would hire, if he’s as ruthless as you say he is,” Frank commented.
“Yes, Munro and Hammersmith certainly make a good match. Hammersmith has worked for Munro before, and I’m not surprised to see that he’s the one Munro picked up to supervise the Alhambra’s operation. This is going to complicate the situation, especially for you, Marshal.”
“You’re saying that I’m going to have trouble with him when he comes into Buckskin?”
“After today, with the grudge that he’s bound to hold against you…I’d say you can count on it.”
Chapter 9
Frank and Claiborne didn’t run into any more trouble on their way back to the settlement. By the time they reached Buckskin, it was early afternoon. Claiborne still hadn’t met Tip Woodford, so when they passed the rotund, overall-clad mayor on the street, Frank reined in, hailed him, and motioned him over.
“Tip, I’d like for you to meet Garrett Claiborne.”
“Yeah, you’re the minin’ engineer, come to take over the Crown Royal,” Tip said as he stuck out his hand. “My gal told me about you comin’ into the office. Put ’er there, Claiborne. I’m glad to meet you.”
Claiborne smiled as he shook hands with Tip. “I must say, that’s a friendly greeting considering that we’re competitors, Mr. Woodford. The pleasure is mine.”
“I don’t see us as competitors,” Tip explained. “I got my claim, and the folks who own the Crown Royal got theirs. I’m hopin’ there’s plenty o’ silver in the hills to go around for all of us.”
“That’s my hope as well.”
“Diana said for me to invite you to supper tonight if I happened to run into you.” Tip glanced toward Frank. “And you too, Marshal.”
“That’s very considerate of you and your daughter, sir, but—”
“We’ll be there,” Frank said. He still had hopes of getting Claiborne and Diana together.
After Tip had moved on, Claiborne frowned at Frank and said, “I had hoped to get started lining up workers for the mine.”
“You’ll still have time this afternoon to do that. Start at the Silver Baron Saloon. It’s Tip’s place, but all the prospectors show up there sooner or later, and Tip won’t mind you doing a little recruiting in there.”
Claiborne looked a little dubious, but he said, “All right. I’ll take your advice, Marshal.”
Frank gave Claiborne directions for finding the Woodford house, in case they didn’t run into each other again before it was time to go there for supper, then headed for the marshal’s office after putting up his horse at Hillman’s livery. He wondered if he ought to tell Claiborne that he was part-owner of the Crown Royal. Obviously, Conrad hadn’t seen fit to share that information with the mining engineer, so Frank decided he would follow his son’s lead.
The door to the marshal’s office was jerked open just before Frank got there, and Catamount Jack came out carrying a shotgun. A grim look was on the old-timer’s face, and Frank knew right away there was trouble.
“Marshal!” Jack said. “Glad you’re back.”
“What’s going on, Jack?”
“Fella came by just a minute ago and said a bad ruckus was about to break out down at one o’ them new whiskey palaces. Kelley’s Top-Notch, I think he said. I was about to go see about it.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Frank said.
Jack extended the shotgun. “Want the Greener?”
“No, that’s all right. If I need a gun, I’ve always got my Colt.”
Jack grunted and said, “I reckon that’s usually been plenty for you, ain’t it, Marshal?”
Frank didn’t reply to that. His reputation as a gunfighter dogged him enough already without him talking about it.
As he strode away from the marshal’s office, he recalled that Kelley’s Top-Notch Saloon, which had been in operation for a little over a week, was a hole-in-the-wall place around a corner, facing one of Buckskin’s side streets instead of the main street. Hardly a palace, as Jack had described it. As Frank’s long legs carried him around that corner, he heard a sudden crash from inside the saloon. He broke into a run and slapped the batwings aside.
The Top-Notch was a long, narrow room with the bar on the right, a scattering of tables on the left, and a big potbellied stove that was cold at the moment in the rear of the room. One of the tables had been knocked over and the chairs around it upset. Playing cards were strewn around on the floor, along with some bills and coins. That was
