man forget anything he had done in the past….
Even cold-blooded murder.
All Hammersmith had to do was bide his time.
As Frank had told Garrett Claiborne he would do, he rode to Virginia City the next day and sent a telegram to Conrad to let him know what had happened. He wired his own lawyers in Denver and San Francisco too, to let them know that he was throwing his considerable financial resources behind the Crown Royal Mine near Buckskin, Nevada. Some minor sabotage was one thing; this attack on the mine was an act of war as far as Frank was concerned. Hammersmith and Munro had made this personal.
Frank stayed in Virginia City for several hours, burning up the telegraph wires. When he started back to Buckskin that afternoon, he brought with him his son’s assurances that new equipment for the stamp mill would be on its way to the Crown Royal as soon as Conrad could arrange to have it freighted out there. He would send some professional armed guards to beef up the mine’s security too.
In the meantime, Frank would see about having the mill rebuilt, so that it would be ready when the new equipment arrived. Conrad had considered having the men who were all right continue to mine the raw ore, but in the end he had decided it would be better for them to devote their efforts to repairing and rebuilding the mill.
Frank was torn between wanting to help out at the mine and taking care of his duties as the marshal of Buckskin. He had promised Tip Woodford and the other citizens that he would enforce the law, and he couldn’t do that if he was out at the Crown Royal all the time. He couldn’t dump all the responsibility for law and order in the settlement on Catamount Jack and Clint Farnum. He would talk to Claiborne and get his advice on which of the men might be able to handle the job of temporary superintendent.
It was dusk when he reached Buckskin. His empty belly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the middle of the day, and he was tempted to stop at the cafe and let Lauren, Ginnie, and Becky feed him a good supper.
But he wanted to check on Claiborne and the other injured miners, so he headed for Dr. Garland’s house instead.
Frank reined in and said, “Hell,” as he recognized the wagon parked in front of the doctor’s place. It belonged to Claude Langley. As he watched, Langley and Roy, the undertaker’s assistant, emerged from the house carrying a blanket-wrapped figure. Frank had ridden Goldy to Virginia City, since Stormy had had the hard run the night before. Now he walked the horse over to the wagon and asked, “Who are you picking up, Claude?”
“Oh, howdy, Marshal,” Langley greeted him. As they placed the body in the back of the wagon, the undertaker went on. “This is that poor fella who had the fractured skull. Lambert, his name was. Dr. Garland said he passed away a little while ago without ever regaining consciousness.”
That was one more mark against the man or men responsible for last night’s carnage, Frank thought. One more score to settle.
He dismounted and tied Goldy at the hitch rail while the wagon rattled off toward Langley’s place. When Frank went inside, he found Dr. Garland at a desk in the front room, writing out some notes.
“I talked to Claude Langley outside,” Frank said as the physician glanced up from his work.
Garland nodded. “Yes, I didn’t hold out much hope that poor fellow would pull through, and unfortunately, I was right. He never woke up.”
“How are the rest of your patients doing?”
“As well as can be expected.” The doctor smiled. “In fact, they have some visitors at the moment, if you want to go in and see for yourself.”
“Thanks,” Frank said. “I’ll do that.”
He opened the door to the other room, and stepped in to find Diana Woodford sitting in a ladder-back chair beside Garrett Claiborne’s bed, spooning soup into his mouth from a bowl she held in her other hand. Ginnie Carlson was feeding one of the other patients, the miner with the broken leg, which by now Dr. Garland had enclosed in a plaster cast as he had done with Claiborne’s busted arm. Frank took off his hat and nodded to the two women.
“Hello, Marshal,” Claiborne said after he swallowed the mouthful of soup. “Were you able to get in touch with Mr. Browning?”
Frank was glad to see Diana taking care of Claiborne. That boded well. He nodded and said, “We exchanged several telegrams, and the upshot is, new equipment for the stamp mill will be on its way in a day or two.”
“Excellent! By the time it gets here, we’ll have the building rebuilt and waiting for it. I need to get back out to the mine tomorrow to see about starting work—”
“Dr. Garland said you weren’t going anywhere for at least a week, Garrett,” Diana put in. “Remember, he’s not sure you don’t have some internal injuries.”
“I’m fine, confound it,” Claiborne declared. “This arm of mine hurts, but it’s nothing I can’t put up with.”
Frank pointed his Stetson at the mining engineer and said, “You’d better do what the doctor says. It won’t do any good for you to go back out there and collapse. There’s bound to be somebody on the crew you can trust to supervise the work on the new mill.”
Claiborne frowned and looked like he wanted to argue the matter, but then he glanced at Diana and saw the stern expression on her face. He said, “I suppose Ernest Truman could handle the job. He’s been an assistant superintendent at other mines before.”
“There you go,” Frank said. “I’ll ride out there tomorrow and tell him what’s going on, so he can get started.”
Diana said, “All right, now that that’s settled, no more business talk until Garrett’s finished this soup. It’s getting cold.”
Frank smiled and pulled up a chair to sit down. “Go right ahead,” he told her.
Diana finished feeding the soup to Claiborne, and then he and Frank talked for several minutes about what would need to be done at the Crown Royal to get the mine operating again as soon as possible. Claiborne agreed with the idea that they should get the stamp mill rebuilt right away, but once that was done, if the new equipment
