He stepped aside so that Clint could carry the tray into the office and set it on the desk. The food was covered with a clean cloth.
“Miss Stillman asked after you,” Clint said as he stepped back.
“Did she now?”
“That lady might be a little interested in you, Frank,” Clint said with a grin.
That was an intriguing possibility, except for Frank’s less-than-stellar history with women. Too many of them wound up dead because he was a famous gunfighter, and he wouldn’t wish that fate on Lauren Stillman. Anyway, he had plenty of his plate already, what with all the trouble that had cropped up since Hamish Munro came to Buckskin.
“Lauren’s a fine woman,” Frank said, keeping his voice expressionless.
“Used to be a madam, from what I hear. Of course, I never hold it against a woman what she had to do to get along in the world.”
“Neither do I. But I’m too tired tonight to think about things like that. I think I’ll eat this supper and then get some shut-eye. You can go home, Clint. I’ll stay here on the cot tonight.”
“You sure?”
Frank nodded. “I’m sure.”
Clint thumbed his hat back. “All right. Maybe I’ll mosey on back over to the cafe. They were getting ready to close down for the night, and Miss Becky might need somebody to walk her home.”
“You do that,” Frank said with a smile.
Clint left the office, and Frank sat down behind the desk with his cup of coffee. He took the cloth off the tray, found a platter full of steak, potatoes, gravy, and biscuits. Simple fare, but mighty good.
At least, it would have been if he’d been able to pay any attention to what he was eating. Instead, he took the chunk of wood from his pocket and placed it on the desk where he could see it. The acid wasn’t the only thing that had been put on it.
To Frank’s eyes, it was also stained with the blood of two innocent, murdered men.
The next morning, Frank told Catamount Jack he was going to be gone for a while, then fetched Stormy from the stable and rode out to the Alhambra.
Earlier in the morning, he had stopped by Dr. Garland’s house to talk to Garrett Claiborne, and the engineer had confirmed Frank’s suspicion that quantities of sulfuric acid could be found around most mines. He also agreed that it was corrosive enough to eat deeply into a wooden beam such as the shoring timbers, especially if it was applied in a highly concentrated form.
“I heard about what happened at the Lucky Lizard,” Claiborne had said. “Diana was here last night and told me all about it. She’s very upset, and she says that her father is too.”
“I’m not surprised,” Frank had replied. “Tip Woodford’s a good man, and despite what those no-good Fowler brothers are claiming, he cares about the men who work for him. Mining is dangerous work and everybody knows it, but I don’t think Tip would take reckless chances with anybody’s life.”
“You think that cave-in was caused deliberately?”
“That makes the most sense to me,” Frank had said. “Not only did it cause physical damage to the mine that will have to be repaired, but it made Tip look bad and bolstered all the troublemaking talk that the Fowlers had been doing. After the cave-in, all Red Mike had to do was point at Tip and yell that it was all his fault, and the rest of the men went along with that strike.”
“Which stopped work completely at the mine.”
Frank had shrugged. “Tip’s foremen are still doing what they can, I reckon, but they won’t be able to accomplish much without some help. And that’s going to be hard to come by as long as the rest of the crew is on strike and claiming the Lucky Lizard is such a dangerous place to work.”
“A diabolical scheme, if ever I heard of one,” Claiborne had said. “You lay it at the feet of Munro and Hammersmith?”
“They benefit more than anybody else. And Red Mike and his brother used to work at the Alhambra.”
“They claim that they were fired and implied that they have a grudge against Hammersmith and Munro.”
Frank had smiled at that, but there wasn’t any genuine humor in the expression. “They could be lying to throw me off the trail. Could be they’re still working for Munro, and have been all along.”
“If history is any indication, you’ll have a devil of a time proving it.”
“I know,” Frank had said with a nod. “But that’s not going to stop me from poking my nose into it anyway.”
Now, as he approached the Alhambra, he didn’t forget his visit to the mine a couple of days earlier, when he had attempted to prod Munro and Hammersmith into doing something rash, like trying to bushwhack him. He kept his eyes open, figuring that they weren’t likely to have him ambushed this close to the Alhambra but unwilling to bet his life on it. Experience had taught him that it always paid to be careful.
He came within sight of the mine. No stagecoach was here today, so he supposed Munro was back in Buckskin. That was all right. Hammersmith was big and brutal, but he wasn’t as smart as Munro. It would be easier to get him off balance and maybe get him to say something that he shouldn’t.
A man stood on the porch of the office building with a rifle cradled in his left arm. Frank pegged the man as a sentry, and sure enough, the hombre went inside the office a second later, no doubt to let Hammersmith know that a rider was coming.
By the time Frank drew rein in front of the building, Hammersmith was stepping out onto the porch, an unfriendly frown of recognition on his face. “You’re getting to be a regular visitor out here, Morgan,” he said, “but not a welcome one. What the hell do you want today?”
