Hammersmith didn’t want to tell Hamish Munro any such thing. Munro would explode with fury when he heard about this. As if they didn’t have enough trouble with that damned nosy marshal!
Rogan waved an arm at the other miners. “Come on, boys, let’s get out of here. Somebody go down and make sure everybody’s out of the mine.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Hammersmith warned. “You’ll all just lose your jobs and get nothin’ for it. We’ll bring in more workers.”
“They’ll have to get through us first,” Rogan warned with an ominous glare.
“If that’s what it takes, then so be it,” Hammersmith snapped. Munro could afford to bring in an army of armed guards if he needed to. Rogan and the others would soon see that they had bitten off a hell of a lot more than they could chew.
But in the meantime, Hammersmith thought as he watched the miners stalk off, throwing angry glances over their shoulders at him as they did so, the Alhambra Mine was shut down.
Like it or not, Munro had to be told about this, and Hammersmith knew he was the one who would have to bring that bad news to Buckskin.
It was the guard who fled for his life, though, who reached the settlement first. He was breathless from the hard ride into town as he came into the Silver Baron Saloon, went to the bar, and asked for a drink. After he tossed back the whiskey, he began telling anybody who would listen how the miners at the Alhambra had gone on strike and were rioting.
“They’ve probably killed poor Mr. Hammersmith by now,” he said.
Frank was seated at one of the tables in the rear of the room with Tip Woodford. They had cups of coffee in front of them, and had been talking about Frank’s confrontation with Hamish Munro that morning.
Now Frank stood up and strode over to the bar, where he faced the newcomer and said, “You should’ve mentioned that somebody was in danger first.”
“Sorry, Marshal,” the man said. “I know how you and Mr. Hammersmith feel about each other, though. I didn’t figure you’d care what happened to him.”
“I wouldn’t stand by and let any man be torn to pieces by a mob,” Frank said, not bothering to keep the scorn out of his voice.
The guard from the mine flushed. “There was nothin’ I could do. They would’ve killed me too.”
Frank just turned away. He said to Tip, who had followed him to the bar, “I’d better ride out there and see what’s going on.”
“Want some company?” Tip asked.
Frank shook his head. “No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d find Jack or Clint Farnum and let them know where I’ve gone.”
“Sure, I can do that,” Tip said with a nod. “Be careful, Frank. You sure as blazes don’t want to get yourself killed over the likes o’ Gunther Hammersmith.”
Frank knew what the mayor meant. Still, he had chosen to expand his jurisdiction to the mines in the area, whether he really had any legal right to do so or not, so to Frank’s way of thinking, he had a job to do and wasn’t going to shy away from it.
He left the saloon and went to Hillman’s livery stable. Both horses were well rested, so he saddled Stormy and rode out, taking Dog with him. He headed straight for the Alhambra.
However, he had ridden only half a mile or so when he saw a man on horseback coming toward him and recognized Hammersmith’s bulky figure. The man didn’t sit a saddle all that well, and Frank knew he wasn’t really comfortable on horseback. Hammersmith was moving along the trail at a good clip, though.
Frank reined in to wait for him. He held up a hand in a signal for Hammersmith to stop. Hammersmith pulled his mount to a halt, but looked like he didn’t care for being delayed.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked in a guttural voice. His face was bruised and swollen and had several patches of dried blood on it.
“I’m a mite surprised to see you alive, Hammersmith,” Frank drawled. “Fella who works for you out at the mine came galloping into town, said the men were on strike and were about to tear you limb from limb.”
“Yeah, well, you can see for yourself that didn’t happen.”
“What about the part about being on strike?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Anything that affects the community is my business,” Frank said, “because it might have an effect on law and order too. Just answer the question, Hammersmith.”
“Yeah, they went on strike,” Hammersmith replied in a grudging tone. “That bastard Rogan started it.”
“Dave Rogan?” Frank asked in surprise. “I didn’t know he worked for the Alhambra.”
“Yeah, he hired on after Woodford fired him.”
Frank hadn’t forgotten the ruckus at Ed Kelley’s Top-Notch Saloon. That fight had gotten Rogan discharged from the Lucky Lizard, but evidently the miner hadn’t had much trouble finding another job.
A part of Frank was tempted to tell Hammersmith that he had gotten just what he deserved. Frank was as convinced as ever that Hammersmith and Munro were behind the strike at the Lucky Lizard. Now their tactics had backfired against them, as their own workers, inspired by the strike at the other mine, had walked out on their jobs.
“You want anything else, Morgan?” Hammersmith snapped. “I got to tell Mr. Munro about what happened.”
