“Any new claims paying off?” Clint asked.
Jack said, “You’re a mighty curious little fella, ain’t you?”
Clint didn’t appear to take offense at the blunt question or the description of him. He laughed and said, “I’ve already signed on as a deputy, but I still like to know what I’m getting myself into.”
“You’re getting into a town that’s already busting at the seams,” Frank said, “and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. Those new claims you asked about haven’t produced any significant finds yet, at least not that I know about, but somebody could stumble onto a new vein at any time. If that happens, everything that’s already going on in Buckskin will just go through the roof.”
“In other words, there’ll be plenty of trouble for three good lawmen to handle.”
Frank nodded. “Yeah…but we can handle it.”
He hoped the confidence he felt in himself and Jack—and in Clint Farnum—wasn’t misplaced.
Chapter 16
Gunther Hammersmith wasn’t expecting anything like the blonde who opened the door of the suite on the second floor of the old hotel. She said, “You must be Mr. Hammersmith,” then smiled at him. The smile hit him in the gut harder than any punch he could remember ever taking.
He wanted this woman. He would have this woman.
But she had to belong to Munro, which meant she was off limits to Hammersmith, no matter how beautiful she was, no matter what that smile of hers did to his insides.
He recalled hearing something about how Munro had gotten himself a pretty wife back there in San Francisco. Hammersmith hadn’t worked for Munro recently, and he hadn’t been to San Francisco either. If he had ever seen this woman before, he would have remembered her, that was for damned sure.
He became aware that she was standing there in the doorway with an expectant look on her face. She was waiting for him to respond to what she had said, he realized. He took off the battered old derby he had crammed on his head before he rode into Buckskin and said, “Yes, ma’am. I’m Hammersmith.” His voice sounded thick and awkward to his ears.
She stepped back, still holding the door. “Come in. Hamish has been waiting for you.”
That wasn’t good. Munro didn’t like to be kept waiting. Hammersmith worried that they would get off on the wrong foot.
That concern was justified. As Hammersmith walked in to the sitting room, Munro stalked out of the bedroom and glared at him. “I expected you earlier,” the mining magnate snapped.
“We had a problem with one of the shoring timbers this morning,” Hammersmith explained. “I thought I ought to stay until it was taken care of. A cave-in would have just set us back.” With uncharacteristic humility, he added, “But I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Mr. Munro.”
Hamish Munro was one of the few men in the world Hammersmith would have taken that tone with. Mostly, he despised other men for being weaker than he was, and he didn’t bother trying to hide that disdain. Munro was different, though. Even though Hammersmith was almost twice as big as him and could have picked Munro up and broken him in two with his bare hands, he didn’t want to cross the man. Everyone who had ever tried that had lived to regret it—but sometimes they hadn’t lived much longer than that.
Munro waved a hand and said, “I suppose it was better that you stayed at the mine and made sure the problem was repaired properly.” His voice took on a harsher tone as he continued. “But you’re here now. What do you have to report? How soon will we be taking ore out of the Alhambra?”
“The shaft and the main drift have been cleaned out and the timbers that needed it have been repaired or replaced,” Hammersmith said. He was on firmer footing here. No matter what else anyone said about him, no one could dispute that he was a good mining man. “We did some work on the rails for the ore carts. The stamp mill is in good working order, and we’ve installed all the new equipment for the amalgamation process. All we need now is the ore.”
“And what about it?” Munro asked. “Have you located the vein?”
Hammersmith hesitated, then shook his head. “Not yet, but I haven’t been able to spare as many men to look for it as I’d like. I’m going to hire some more miners, and I’m sure we’ll find color any day now.”
“You’d better.” Munro scowled. “It’s bad enough the Lucky Lizard has a jump on us. I don’t want the Crown Royal getting too far ahead.”
Hammersmith smiled. “They’ve had some trouble at the Crown Royal. Somebody tore up their rails. They’ll have to fix all that damage before they can really get started bringing any ore out of the ground.”
Munro took a cigar from his vest pocket, clipped the end of it with a fancy silver cutter, and put it in his mouth. He gave Hammersmith a cold, thin smile as he struck a match and lit the cheroot.
“That’s good to know,” he said.
Hammersmith hated talking around a subject. He liked things blunt and simple. It would have been fine with him to just say, We sabotaged the Crown Royal like you told us to. Munro liked to maintain the fiction that he was an honest, upright businessman, though, and that meant never admitting that he would stoop to sabotage to damage a competitor.
The mines were close enough together that the vein in the Crown Royal might well connect to the one in the Alhambra. In that case, the miners had the right to follow a vein as far as they could, as long as it didn’t run into another mine’s tunnels. That meant it was to Munro’s advantage, at least potentially, to slow down the Crown Royal’s operation. Hammersmith understood that and didn’t mind doing something about it. Munro was paying his wages, after all, and they were good wages at that.
Hammersmith had been aware of the blonde moving around the room behind him. He could smell her perfume. He could damn near feel the warmth coming off her skin. He wanted to feel that warmth. She was enough of a distraction that he almost had trouble keeping his mind on what Munro was saying to him.
Now, she moved around where he could see her again. In the light, summery dress, she was prettier than any picture Hammersmith had ever seen. He recalled that he had once seen a picture in a magazine of a painting called “September Morn.” The painting was of a pretty woman standing stark naked at the edge of a stream, her arms and hands covering the important parts, her head tipped up and back and a little surprised expression on her face, like she was looking at somebody who had just come along and caught her skinny-dipping. Hammersmith didn’t know a damned thing about art, but he knew he liked that picture, and as he looked at the blonde now, he could imagine her just like that, all bare creamy skin glowing in the morning light…
“Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Hammersmith?” she asked, and the question forced that tantalizing image out of his mind.
“For God’s sake, Jessica,” Munro said. “It’s not even noon yet.”
“Almost,” she said.
“Hammersmith’s got to get back to work. He can’t stand around here all day lollygagging.” Munro jabbed a finger at his mine superintendent. “Hire as many men as you need, but find that ore. Let’s keep the pressure on the Crown Royal too. I don’t care how hard it is or how many hours the men have to put in. If you can’t handle the job, I’ll find someone who can.”
“I can handle the job, Mr. Munro,” Hammersmith said. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll drive those bastards from can to can’t.” He glanced at the woman. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
“It’s all right,” she told him. The sound of the words made a shiver go through him. He imagined himself lying under a tree somewhere, in soft grass, with his head pillowed on her lap as she stroked cool fingers along his cheek and said, “It’s all right. It’s all right.” He thought that if he could ever have an experience like that, he could die a happy man.