It was a warm night, but Frank’s blood turned cold at those words. The men had planted some dynamite or blasting powder or some sort of explosive and set it to go off soon. The only place around here they could have put a bomb like that was the Crown Royal.
Garrett Claiborne was there, along with all the other men he had hired to work the mine. Innocent men, each and every one of them, about to be blown to kingdom come.
And judging by what the riders had said, Frank had only minutes to stop the blast.
He came to his feet as his mind raced. The bomb could have been placed anywhere around the mine—in the stamp mill or the office or under the barracks or in one of the storage buildings. The Crown Royal had its own supply of blasting powder, and the bomb could be set to detonate that too. A blind search would take too much time. Frank had to force one of the men to tell him where the explosives were.
“Elevate!” he shouted as he levered a round into the Winchester’s firing chamber and brought the rifle to his shoulder. “Hands up or I’ll blow you out of the saddle!”
The men reacted instantly, as he had figured they would. They twisted toward him and clawed at the guns on their hips. In the thick shadows under the trees along the creek bank, Frank couldn’t see them very well, but they couldn’t see him either. As the first man to unlimber his Colt triggered a wild shot toward the sound of Frank’s voice, Frank aimed just above the muzzle flash and fired.
The Winchester cracked and the gunman yelled in pain as he slewed backward and toppled off his horse, landing in the creek with a splash. Frank caught a glimpse of a large, furry shape flashing through the air as Dog leaped from the creek bank toward the riders. Then Frank threw himself to the side and rolled over as a fusillade of shots roared out and orange flame jumped from gun barrels, throwing a harsh, inconstant light over the scene.
Bullets whipped through the brush around Frank as he came to a stop on his belly. From that prone position, he fired the Winchester again, working the lever fast as he cranked off four rounds. Another man fell, and a third galloped off, hunched forward over his saddle.
The fourth man was already down, thrashing around in the water and screaming as he tried to fight off Dog. The big cur had knocked him out of the saddle with that leap.
Frank surged to his feet, pivoted, and tried to draw a bead on the man who was riding off. Before he could pull the trigger, though, the man swayed violently and then toppled off his horse, falling into the creek. Obviously, he had been hit by one of Frank’s shots.
“Dog!” Frank called. “Hold!” He didn’t want the hombre Dog had been attacking to get away, but neither did he want Dog to tear out the man’s throat.
That fella might be the only one of the saboteurs left alive.
Frank ran out into the creek and checked the two men who had fallen close by. Both of them were dead, drilled cleanly through the body. The other man, who had fallen about fifty yards down the creek, had crossed the divide also. One of Frank’s bullets had caught him low in the belly, the sort of wound that took a long time to kill a man, but in this case, the fellow had passed out, fallen out of the saddle, and broken his neck when he landed. His head was twisted at an ugly angle on his neck.
Frank ran back to the survivor, who had scooted up against the bank and sat there staring in terror at the huge dog standing right in front of him. The fur on Dog’s back bristled, and his teeth were showing in a savage snarl. The animal quivered from the desire to launch himself at the man again.
“Listen to me, mister,” Frank said. “Tell me what you did at the Crown Royal, and be damned quick about it or I’ll turn him loose on you.”
“K-keep that wolf away from me, mister!” the man said. “He’s loco!”
“And he’ll be tearing your throat out in about two seconds if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
“All right! All right. We…we planted some dynamite up there at that mine. It ought to be goin’ off any time now.”
“Where is it?”
When the man hesitated, Dog growled and leaned closer.
“In the stamp mill! Oh, God, don’t let him get me! The dynamite’s in the stamp mill!”
“What about the guards?” Frank asked.
“A couple of the boys snuck up on ’em…cut their throats…but I swear I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, mister! I swear it!”
Frank didn’t know whether to believe the man or not, but it didn’t really matter. The bastard had been part of the killings, even if he hadn’t wielded a knife. And he had helped plant the explosives that might kill a lot more men. Frank was tempted to let Dog have him.
But instead he said, “Dog. Back.”
The saboteur started to relax and heaved a sigh of relief.
Frank stepped forward and drove the butt of the rifle against his jaw. He felt the satisfying crunch of bone shattering under the impact. The man slumped back against the bank, out cold. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Frank could come back and pick him up later.
“Come on, Dog!” he said as leaped onto the bank. A shrill whistle brought Stormy pounding toward him. As the Appaloosa came up, Frank grabbed the saddle horn, stuck a foot in the stirrup, and swung up before Stormy even stopped moving. He took off toward the Crown Royal as fast as the big horse could run.
He hoped that the shots had roused the men at the mine. Maybe they had found the slain guards and discovered the dynamite as well, in time to put out the fuse. The explosion hadn’t gone off yet, so that gave Frank hope.
On the other hand, rigging a fuse was an uncertain art unless a man was an expert. Maybe the fella who had set this one cut it so that it was burning quite a bit longer than he had expected it to.
At any rate, Frank wanted to draw anybody out who might be inside the stamp mill, so as he galloped toward the mine he slid the Winchester back in the saddle boot, pulled his Colt, and began firing into the air. He shouted, “Tell it, Dog!” and the big cur began to bark. Frank yelled too, raising such a ruckus that everybody at the mine would come outside, he hoped.
As he came within sight of the buildings, he saw that was the case. A couple of dozen men were milling around in the open area between the stamp mill and the barracks. Some of them held lanterns while others clutched rifles or shotguns. As Stormy pounded closer, Frank waved his arm and shouted, “Get away from the mill! Get away from the mill!”
Then, as a huge red and yellow ball of fire bloomed inside the big building, Frank knew that time was up.
The world shook, as hell came to call at the Crown Royal Mine.
Chapter 18
The blast was so strong that the ground jumped under Stormy’s hooves, making the rangy Appaloosa stumble. At the same time, the concussion struck Frank and knocked his hat off. Stormy almost went down, but Frank hauled up hard on the reins and kept the horse from falling.
Dog wasn’t as lucky. The big cur was thrown off his feet, and with a startled “Yipe!” he went rolling across the ground. He wasn’t hurt, though, and leaped right back up.
Frank pressed on toward the mine as a thick cloud of black smoke billowed up from the stamp mill. Shattered boards and other bits of debris pelted down around Frank, Stormy, and Dog. The debris had been thrown high in the air by the explosion, but what had gone up was now coming down.
A large piece of machinery crashed to the ground no more than ten yards to Frank’s left. He hoped none of the wreckage had his name on it, because he couldn’t see the stuff falling in order to avoid it.
The fire inside the stamp mill lit up the night for a long way around. In its hellish glare, Frank saw that the miners were scattered around the clearing between the mill and the barracks like ninepins. Some of them were moving around, crawling and trying to struggle to their feet, while others just lay there motionless. But at least not all of them had been killed.