The Last Gunfighter Hell Town

One of the loveliest women Frank had seen in a long time stepped out of the coach, looked around, and said, “So this is Buckskin.”

Chapter 12

Somehow, Frank wasn’t surprised to learn Hamish Munro’s identity. Everything he’d heard from Garrett Claiborne had indicated that the mining magnate was a thoroughly unpleasant individual, and this dapper stranger certainly fit the bill. Frank had halfway expected Munro to show up in Buckskin sooner or later.

He was a little startled that Munro would bring such a stunning woman to a rugged Nevada boomtown, though.

The woman was young, no more than twenty-five. She wore a dark blue traveling outfit, the color of which pretty well matched that of the stagecoach. It was an Abbott & Downing coach, Frank noted, the same sort used by most of the stagecoach lines, but Munro must have purchased it from the company for his personal use and had it repainted and fitted out with lots of fancy silver trim. The horses pulling the coach had that same silver trim on their harness.

Frank turned his attention back to the young woman. Thick masses of blond hair so pale as to be almost white were piled atop her head, under a neat little blue hat. The dress she wore was tight enough that it clung to the lines of a slender but well-curved body. Her lips were full and red, her eyes gray. She managed to be sensuous and reserved at the same time, not an easy feat.

Munro didn’t offer to introduce her. Instead, he took her arm in a smug, possessive manner and said, “Come along, my dear.”

They started toward the doors of the old hotel.

“Hold on a minute,” Frank said. “There are folks who have been living here, and they’re liable to not take kindly to being tossed out on their ears.”

Munro looked back at him and said, “As you can well imagine, Marshal, I don’t care whether they take kindly to it or not, to use your phrase. This is my building. I intend to use it as my residence and also the local office of my company. Anyone who has been staying here had been doing so unlawfully. I won’t press charges against them, since they weren’t aware of the situation, but I want them out. Now! ”

Having orders barked at him like that was more than Frank was going to stand. He moved a step closer to Munro and said in a low, dangerous voice, “Listen here, mister. I don’t give a damn who you are or what you own or how much money you have. You talk to me with some respect, or we won’t have just gotten off on the wrong foot. We’ll stay that way.”

Munro met Frank’s gaze without flinching, but didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he gave an abrupt nod. “All right, then, we understand each other. As the legal owner of this building, I request that you remove the people who have no right to be living in it.”

Frank thought it over and then said, “I reckon you have the right to make that request. This is going to be done in an orderly fashion, though. I’m not going to drive people out at gunpoint.”

“Handle the matter however you see fit, Marshal, just as long as that official, legal request that I made is carried out with a reasonable amount of promptness.”

Munro had adopted a formal attitude, but Frank could still see the anger seething inside him. He was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, and it made him furious when anyone defied him. Munro had enough money to get away with acting like that—most of the time.

But not here. Not with Frank Morgan.

“Most of the men who have been staying here won’t be in their rooms right now. They’re out prospecting, or working at one of the mines. I’ll get my deputy and we’ll go through the place. All the gear in the rooms can be moved over to the marshal’s office for now, and its owners can claim it later. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. That suit you?”

“Where do you suggest my wife and I wait in the meantime?” Munro asked. “We’ve had a long ride, and she’s tired.”

So the blonde was Munro’s wife. Frank had wondered if she was married to the mining magnate, or if she was his daughter, because she was only half of Munro’s age.

Obviously, the stagecoach wasn’t the only thing he had bought for his personal use.

Frank pointed across the street. “There’s a nice little cafe over there, and I’m sure the ladies who run it would be glad to serve you some coffee and maybe something to eat, if you’re hungry.”

The blonde said, “It has been a long time since we stopped to eat, Hamish.”

Munro jerked his head in a nod. “Very well. Would you mind letting us know when you have the hotel ready for us to occupy, Marshal?”

“Not at all,” Frank said.

He thought he might send Jack to deliver that message when the time came. He wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with Hamish Munro again so soon.

As Munro and his wife walked toward the cafe, another man got out of the stagecoach. He wore a suit similar to Munro’s, although not as expensive, and a brown hat. About thirty, he was handsome in a pale, bland sort of way. He offered a soft hand to Frank and said, “I’m Nathan Evers, Marshal. Mr. Munro’s confidential secretary. I heard the two of you discussing this hotel, and if you’d like, I can show you the legal documents proving that Mr. Munro purchased it from the previous owner.”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t reckon that’s necessary. You wouldn’t offer to show me the papers unless you really had ’em.” A thought occurred to him. “I wonder just how much real estate Munro’s managed to buy here in Buckskin by tracking down the folks who used to own it.”

Evers smiled and said, “As I mentioned, Marshal, I’m a confidential secretary. I’m afraid I can’t discuss such business matters with anyone except Mr. Munro.”