“The hell we can’t,” Pool said. “This is a stroke of good luck for us.”
Clint frowned. “I don’t follow you, Jory.”
A grin spread across Pool’s face. “The soldier boys and them miners will be too busy fightin’ with each other to worry about us. And the people in town will be so caught up in that they won’t expect trouble to come at them from any other direction.”
“I don’t know,” Clint said.
“What’s the best time to jump somebody?” Pool asked. “When he’s watchin’ two other hombres fight. That’s when you hit him with a sucker punch.” He gave an emphatic nod. “That’s what we’re gonna do to Buckskin.”
Clint knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. Once Jory Pool’s mind was made up, especially when it came to the tactics of a raid, nothing would change it.
Like it or not, even more hell was about to come to call on Buckskin.
“What about Morgan?” Pool asked.
“I was watching from one of the hills,” Clint said. “I saw him ride out toward the Alhambra. My guess is that he was trying to get there before the militia did, so he could warn those miners.”
“So the only law left in town is one old pelican.”
Clint thought about Catamount Jack and nodded. “Yeah.” His throat was tight for some reason, and the word didn’t much want to come out.
Pool nodded and said, “You’ve done a mighty fine job spyin’ out this job for us, Clint. You’ve already earned your share of the loot. I reckon you can be right proud of yourself.” Pool leaned forward in the saddle and waved his men forward. “Let’s go.”
As the gang moved out, bound for Buckskin, Clint Farnum thought about what Pool had just said to him. Proud of himself? Clint thought about how Frank had given him a chance to wear a deputy’s star, about how Catamount Jack had befriended him, about how folks in the settlement had started smiling at him and looking at him with something like respect in their eyes. He thought too about how Frank had saved his life during that shoot-out with the drunken miner who’d had the fight with Professor Burton.
Funny…he didn’t feel proud of himself at all. He felt almost…ashamed, in fact.
But it wasn’t the first time in his life he’d been ashamed of something he was doing, not by a long shot. And as he sighed and hitched his horse into motion, Clint thought that he was too old to change now.
Besides, money spent just as good whether you were ashamed of how you got it or not.
He spurred ahead to catch up to Jory Pool.
Chapter 29
Goldy responded magnificently as Frank left the trail and started cutting across country to try to get ahead of Colonel Starkwell and the militia company. The horse took to the steep slopes almost like a mountain goat, bounding from rock to rock going up, and then deftly keeping his hooves under him as he skidded down the far sides. Goldy leaped gullies and weaved through trees, and even though Frank felt a little guilty for thinking it, he didn’t believe that Stormy could have done any better.
Dog raced alongside. The big cur seemed as happy to get out and stretch his legs, as eager for action, as Goldy did.
Frank came in sight of the bench where the Alhambra was located, with its overhanging cliffs and the rock formations that looked like battlements. He didn’t see the militia on the trail approaching the mine and knew he had beaten them here. He couldn’t be very far ahead of them, though, so he knew he didn’t have much time. He galloped down the hill and brought Goldy to a halt in front of the bunk house.
“Rogan!” Frank shouted. “Rogan, it’s Marshal Morgan from Buckskin! Trouble’s on the way!”
There was no response from the building. Frank dismounted and hurried to the door. When he looked inside, he saw that the bunkhouse was empty. Where could the striking miners be?
He walked over to the office and stamp mill, keeping one eye on the trail as he did so. The other buildings were empty too, as if the mine had been abandoned.
That wasn’t the case, though, as the warning shot that came from the mouth of the shaft proved a moment later as Frank walked back out into the open. The bullet whistled past, well above his head, and as instinct made him crouch and reach for his Peacemaker, a man shouted from the mine entrance, “Hold it, Morgan!”
Frank recognized Dave Rogan’s voice. He turned in that direction and saw Rogan standing at the tunnel mouth, along with several more of the striking miners. He realized that they must have barricaded themselves inside the shaft to keep Munro from bringing in any other workers.
Frank straightened and walked toward the mine. He kept his hands in plain sight so that Rogan and the others could see them.
Rogan fired again. This time the bullet kicked up dirt and rocks from the ground about ten yards in front of Frank. Frank didn’t break stride or slow down.
“Get out of here, Marshal!” Rogan shouted. “The next one might not miss!”
“Listen to me, Rogan,” Frank said in an urgent voice that was loud enough so that the rest of the men inside the shaft could hear him too. “Munro’s gotten the governor to send in the state militia to break this strike. A company of armed soldiers is on its way out here right now.”
“Let ’em come!” Rogan replied. “We’ll show ’em that we won’t be budged!”
Some of the other men in the mine shouted in agreement with him.
“You’ll all get yourselves killed, that’s what you’ll do,” Frank said as he came to a stop in front of the mine
