“Really, Mr. Hammersmith,” Jessica said in a weak voice, and Frank wondered if she was more embarrassed by what the miner had done or by Hammersmith’s bellowing about it like an angry old bull.
Frank had seen Hammersmith in town several times over the past few weeks, usually going in or out of the hotel that Hamish Munro had taken over. Whether by accident or design, though, their paths hadn’t crossed. Frank had heard that the miners who worked for Munro had struck the vein again in the Alhambra, and the mine was producing a decent amount of high-grade ore. He knew from talk he had overheard in the saloons that Hammersmith had hired enough men to have a full crew at the mine, and he worked them hard too, keeping shifts down the shaft day and night, and the stamp mill working full-blast too. He was known to be a hard, even brutal taskmaster, just as Claiborne had said.
This incident today didn’t have anything to do with the mine, though. The man Hammersmith had been abusing wasn’t one of his workers. Frank recognized the miner as being one of Tip Woodford’s employees. He also suspected that the man had been trying to get a peek under Jessica Munro’s dress. That wasn’t a very gentlemanly thing to do, but it probably didn’t deserve a beating like the one that Hammersmith had been handing out to him.
“All right, this is over,” Frank said. “Whatever that hombre did or didn’t do, he’s been walloped a few times for it, and that’s punishment enough.” He glanced at Jessica. “Unless Mrs. Munro wants to press charges of disturbing the peace against him…”
She shook her head. “No, that’s all right. Let the poor man go, Marshal.”
The miner had managed to sit up, and was shaking his head back and forth groggily. Frank said, “He’s a mite addled right now, ma’am, but when he gets his wits about him, I’ll send him on his way.”
“Thank you.”
“As for you, Hammersmith,” Frank went on, “I reckon I can’t blame you for defending a lady’s honor. Remember, though, we’ve got law in Buckskin. If you’ve got a problem with somebody, you can come take it up with me.”
A harsh laugh came from Hammersmith. “I stomp my own snakes, Morgan. You’d best remember that. And this is the second time you’ve pointed a gun at me.”
“Second time you’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” Frank countered.
Hammersmith glowered even more. “Next time, we’re liable to finish this,” he threatened.
Frank lowered the Colt’s hammer and holstered the gun. “Reckon that’ll be up to you,” he said.
Hammersmith glared at him for a second longer, then turned to Jessica and said, “I’ll escort you back to the hotel, ma’am.”
“Really, Mr. Hammersmith, that’s not necessary.”
“I insist.”
Jessica smiled, and Frank thought that despite her protests and her embarrassment over the incident, she was pleased that Hammersmith had been willing to give somebody a thrashing on her account. With that coy smile on her face, she allowed Hammersmith to slip his arm through hers and walk beside her as they headed along the street toward the hotel. They hadn’t gone a block before she was laughing at something Hammersmith had said.
Leo Benjamin had come out of the store to stand on the porch and watch the confrontation. He said to Frank, “That woman is the sort who can cause trouble, Marshal. She likes to have men fighting over her.”
Frank nodded. “I know. But there’s not much the law can do about something like that. It’s not a crime for a woman to be beautiful.”
“No, but perhaps flirting and stirring up trouble should be.”
Frank laughed and clapped a hand on the storekeeper’s shoulder. “Tell you what. I’ll deputize you and you can go out and arrest all the flirty females in the world. Let me know when you’re done.”
Leo just sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back in the store. Frank watched Hammersmith and Mrs. Munro go into the hotel, and his expression grew more serious.
He had been joking with Leo, but he knew that the storekeeper was right in a way. Going all the way back to Helen of Troy, some women just had a natural-born talent for getting all hell to bust loose.
Frank had a feeling that Jessica Munro was one of those women.
That evening, Frank left Catamount Jack and Clint Farnum in charge of things in town and rode out toward the Crown Royal. Clint had asked if Frank wanted him to come along, but Frank had said no. The deputies would have enough on their plate keeping things peaceful and quiet in the settlement. Frank’s interest in the Crown Royal was less official and more personal. He went out to the mine several nights a week, just to keep an eye on the place and maybe catch any would-be saboteurs.
Once again, Frank was acting on his son’s behalf. When Conrad had been building that spur rail line down in New Mexico Territory, bitter rivals had done their best to stop him. Frank had stepped in then too, taking a hand in the fight. This was no different. He had a stake in the Browning Mining Syndicate, just as he did in the Browning railroad interests.
It might have been nice, he reflected as he rode toward the Crown Royal on Stormy, if Conrad had taken the name Morgan. After all, Frank was his father.
But Vivian’s second husband had raised the boy, and Conrad had thought of that man as his father until after he was grown. Couldn’t expect him to just forget about all those years as if they hadn’t meant anything, Frank thought. At least, he and Conrad weren’t enemies anymore. They had grown to respect each other. That was something at least.
If he could have taken back all those lost years when he and Conrad hadn’t even been aware of each other’s existence, though, he would have. In a heartbeat.
Dog trotted along beside the Appaloosa. Frank intended to ride up to a hilltop overlooking the bench where the mine was located and spend a few hours there, just watching the place. He had a pair of field glasses in his saddlebags, and once the moon rose he would be able to see if anybody came skulking around the mine.
Before they reached the hill, though, Dog let out a sudden growl and took off like a shot, dashing away into the darkness. Frank started to call out after the big cur, then stopped himself. Chances are, Dog was after a rabbit or a gopher or something like that, but there was also a possibility he had caught the scent of a two-legged varmint who was up to no good. Frank reined in, swung down from the saddle, and ground-hitched Stormy. The Appaloosa was well trained and wouldn’t go anywhere unless Frank whistled for him.
Frank pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot and then went ahead on foot, going the same direction Dog had. He knew that once Dog was on the scent of some prey, he would go in a straight line toward it, as much as possible, so Frank did the same. As silent as an Indian, he moved through some brush and came to the bank of a small creek that wound through the hills. Frank knew this creek ran beside the stamp mill at the Crown Royal and provided the water for the steam engine that powered the mill.
He dropped to a knee as the scent of tobacco smoke drifted to him. The smoke was a dead giveaway that somebody was out here, since no wild creature had ever mastered the art of rolling a quirly. Silent and still, Frank listened, and a moment later he heard the splashing of hooves as several riders moved along the rocky bed of the stream.
They moved into sight, heading away from the Crown Royal. Frank counted four men. They had to be riding in the shallow creek like that because they didn’t want to leave a trail, and that told him beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were up to no good. It looked like his continued vigilance might finally pay off.
“The time ought to be up already, shouldn’t it?” one of the men asked as they neared the place where Frank waited on the bank.
“Give it a few more minutes,” one of the others replied. “We want to be well away from there before it blows, so I cut that fuse plenty long.”