The Last Gunfighter Hell Town

gotten themselves gunned down for their trouble. At least, Hammersmith wasn’t taking potshots anymore at anybody who happened to come riding along.

Hamish Munro’s private stagecoach was parked in front of the building. His guard and driver sat on the edge of the porch, smoking. The guard had his rifle across his lap, and his eyes followed Frank closely.

“What do you want, Marshal?” he asked.

“I’m looking for your boss,” Frank replied. “Is he inside?”

Before the guard could answer, the door of the office opened and Hamish Munro stepped out. “What do you want, Marshal?” the mining magnate demanded.

“Hammersmith around?”

“I thought I heard you say you were looking for me.”

Frank nodded. “Oh, I was. I just thought I’d talk to both of you together, save a little time that way.”

“Hammersmith is tending to some chores I assigned to him,” Munro said. “Anything you have to say, you can say it to me. If I deem it worthwhile of his time, I’ll pass it along to him.”

“All right then, if that’s the way you want it.” Frank hooked his thumbs in his belt and asked, “Have you had any trouble out here at the mine?”

“What sort of trouble?”

“I reckon you heard about what happened at the Crown Royal a couple of nights ago.”

Munro pursed his lips. “Yes, of course. A terrible accident. Sorry for the loss of life. But nothing like that has happened here.”

Frank didn’t think Munro sounded the least bit sorry. He said, “I want you to know, I’m going to find out who was responsible for that blast and bring them to justice.”

“I thought you killed the four men who set that dynamite,” Munro said with a frown.

“I shot three of them when they threw down on me. I reckon the fourth one was killed by whoever hired them, so that he couldn’t answer any questions about who was really to blame for what happened.”

Munro shook his head and scowled. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Didn’t say you would,” Frank pointed out. “All I’m saying is that I’m going to continue to investigate until I get to the bottom of that business, and when I do, whoever came up with the idea of blowing up the Crown Royal’s stamp mill is going to be mighty sorry.”

In a harsh, angry voice, Munro asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

Frank shrugged. “So you’ll know that if anything suspicious happens around your mine, I’ll look into it the same way. If you have any trouble, just let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

Munro’s bushy, reddish-gray eyebrows lowered even more, as Frank’s reply appeared to confuse him. “All right,” he said. “Is that all?”

“You’re sure nothing’s happened out here that you want to report?”

“I’m certain,” Munro snapped.

Frank reached for Stormy’s reins. “I reckon I’ll be getting back to town then.” He swung up into the saddle. “Come on, Dog.”

He turned the Appaloosa and rode away. Without looking over his shoulder, he felt Munro’s eyes on him anyway, gazing after him with what had to be a mixture of hatred, anger, and puzzlement. Munro had been ready to take offense when he thought that Frank was about to accuse him of being involved with the explosion at the Crown Royal, but Frank’s sudden change of tactic had confused him.

That was the idea. It was always better to keep an enemy off balance—and Frank was still convinced that Munro was the enemy. He had put the man on notice that he was going to continue investigating that dynamite blast until he found the true culprits. Maybe that would spook Munro into doing something rash, like trying to have him killed.

Frank hoped that Munro would send a bushwhacker after him. He would take his chances, willing to run the risk because he was confident that if he could get his hands on a prisoner, he could get a confession implicating Munro or Hammersmith—or both of them.

Then, as he had promised Munro, he would see to it that they got what was coming to them.

Hammersmith fully expected Jessica to pull away from him, to slap him across the face, to run screaming for her husband. He figured it would be worth losing his job to taste the sweetness of her mouth and feel the warmth of her body in his arms.

She did none of those things.

Instead, she returned the kiss with the same passionate intensity that Hammersmith put into it.

When she finally took her lips away from his after a long, delicious moment, she said in a half whisper, “My goodness, Gunther, I was beginning to think you were never going to get around to that.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You…you wanted me to kiss you?”

“Of course. What girl wouldn’t want to be kissed by a big, strong, handsome man like you?”

A tiny voice in the back of his head warned him that she had to be flattering him like that for a reason. Big and strong he was, sure enough, but handsome? No one had ever accused him of that.

Logic was one thing, though, and the incredible feeling he had inside him at this moment was something else entirely. Maybe she had some unknown motive for playing up to him. He didn’t care. All he knew was that she