or even if they would come. Dave Rogan could have changed his mind and backed out of the deal. There was no guarantee either that the men from the Lucky Lizard would come along, even if Rogan and the other miners from the Alhambra did as Frank had suggested.
This room was where Frank’s long vengeance quest against Charles Dutton had ended. Dutton had betrayed Vivian Browning and been responsible for her death, he had put Conrad Browning in mortal danger, and he had sent hired gunmen after Frank to kill him. Those gunmen had failed, and instead Frank had tracked Dutton to what had then been an isolated ghost town in the foothills of the Wassuck Mountains. Frank had caught up to Dutton here, and so had justice….
A faint noise caught Frank’s attention and pulled him out of his reverie. He leaned closer to the open trapdoor and listened. The echoing sounds of footsteps and voices came to his ears. Men were moving along the tunnel toward him.
A tight smile appeared on Frank’s lips. The miners were on their way.
He stepped into the front room, where Tip Woodford, Diana, Catamount Jack, and Garrett Claiborne waited. Even though Claiborne, as the superintendent of the Crown Royal, had no direct stake in what happened tonight, he was here because of his belief that Munro had been behind the explosion that had almost cost him his life, and because he and Diana had grown closer as well. Claiborne’s broken arm was still in a sling, but he was getting around well enough these days that he had been supervising the rebuilding of the mine’s stamp mill.
“They’re on their way,” Frank reported. “I can hear them coming down the tunnel.”
“I sure hope we can settle this mess,” Tip said. “It’ll get everything out in the open, anyway.”
Frank nodded. “Jack, stay here and keep Rogan and the others here for the time being. There’s no place in town big enough to hold everybody on both sides, so the meeting will have to take place in the street. I’ll go tell Munro what’s about to happen.”
“What if he refuses to negotiate?” Claiborne asked.
Tip said, “Then I’ll settle things with the fellas who work for me, and Munro’s problems will be his own lookout.” He glanced at Frank. “You know Munro’s liable to tell that militia colonel to arrest Rogan and the rest of the bunch from the Alhambra.”
“He can’t do that, because they’re already going to be in my custody. And as the duly appointed marshal of Buckskin, here in town I have the authority to make that stick.”
“You and a couple o’ deputies against a whole troop of militia?”
“I’ve been going around the town this afternoon talking to folks,” Frank explained. “Amos Hillman said he’d back my play, and so did Professor Burton. Leo Benjamin and Johnny Collyer and Claude Langley want in on it too. Ed Kelley said he would come to the meeting and would spread the word, and so did the others. The citizens of Buckskin are ready to say that enough is enough and put a stop to all this squabbling.”
“I hope you’re right, Frank,” Tip said with a sigh. “But I sure wish Hamish Munro had never come to town.”
Frank jerked his head in a curt nod as he started out of the office. “You and me both, Tip,” he said. “You and me both.”
He crossed the street at an angle, heading for the old hotel. Munro had guards posted on the porch as usual, and they moved to block Frank’s path as he started toward the door.
“You’re not welcome here, Marshal,” one of the men said. “Mr. Munro’s orders.”
“I’m here on official business,” Frank said, “so step aside.”
The men hesitated, but Frank’s steely-eyed stare reminded them that while he might be the marshal of Buckskin now, he was also still the notorious gunfighter known as The Drifter. Finally, the guard who had spoken before said, “Well, I reckon if it’s official business…”
The two of them moved away from the doors.
Frank went inside, into the lobby, and the sound of voices drew him to an arched entrance that led into the dining room. He found Hamish and Jessica Munro there, along with Gunther Hammersmith, Nathan Evers, and Colonel Starkwell. The men were gathered around a table talking while Jessica sat alone at another table.
Munro, Hammersmith, and Starkwell all glared at Frank. Evers was as blandly inscrutable as ever. Munro demanded, “What are you doing here, Morgan? I gave orders that I didn’t want to be bothered by you.”
“You’d better be bothered, Munro,” Frank snapped. “Those men of yours who are on strike have come to town to negotiate a settlement.”
Starkwell surged to his feet. “What! Those fugitives are here?”
“They’re not fugitives. They haven’t been charged with any crime. But I’ve placed them in protective custody, just as a precaution.”
“You can’t do that.” Starkwell snatched up his hat from the table where he had been sitting with the others and jammed it on his head. “I’m going to get my troops and place those men under arrest—”
“I don’t think so.” Frank played his trump card. He had made the long, hard ride to Virginia City and back during the afternoon, pushing Stormy as hard as he dared, and the big Appaloosa hadn’t let him down. Frank took a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Starkwell, who hesitated before taking it as if Frank were trying to give him a rattlesnake.
Starkwell’s eyes went to the words printed on the Western Union form, and his face reddened with fury as he read them.
“As you can see, the governor has rescinded his previous orders to you,” Frank said. “You’re to assist me in maintaining order in Buckskin,
“How…how…” Starkwell sputtered, too angry to go on.
Munro pushed himself to his feet and demanded, “What sort of trick is this, Morgan?” He jabbed a finger at the telegram in Starkwell’s hand. “How do we know that wire isn’t a fake? How do we know it’s really from the governor?”
