All the while, the assembled miners cheered and shouted. Some of them grabbed the guard and took his rifle away from him, as well as the pistol on his hip. The man tore out of their grip and sprinted away, fearing for his life if he tried to stay and help Hammersmith.
The mine superintendent roared like a maddened bull, grabbed Rogan by the shoulders, and pitched him off to the side. Rolling to his feet, Hammersmith charged after Rogan and kicked him hard in the side, hard enough to maybe break a rib. Rogan grunted in pain and tried to get up, but Hammersmith’s foot thudded into his chest and knocked him onto his back. Hammersmith lifted his foot again, ready to drive the heel of his work boot down into Rogan’s face. Caught up in the grip of rage like he was, he didn’t care if he stomped the life out of the bastard.
Before Hammersmith could bring his foot down, the mob surged forward. Strong hands gripped him and pulled him back. He yelled in alarm as he felt himself lifted off his feet. He struck out, throwing wild punches as fast and hard as he could, in every direction. He knew that if he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the miners, he might be the one who wound up being stomped to death.
“Hold it!” The shouted command cut through the noisy confusion. “Let him go, damn it! If you kill him, you’ll be playin’ right into Munro’s hands!”
The orders came from Dave Rogan. He continued to shout as Hammersmith was shoved roughly back and forth. Gradually, the miners let go of him and moved back a little to give him some breathing room, although he was still surrounded. They looked like a pack of wild-eyed wolves, Hammersmith thought as he stood there with his chest heaving. His muscles already ached from the battering he had received, and his left eye was trying to swell shut.
“If you kill him, Munro will have the law on us,” Rogan said as he shouldered his way through the crowd to confront Hammersmith again. “It’s legal for us to strike, as long as we don’t murder anybody.” He sneered at Hammersmith. “No matter how much they might deserve killin’.”
“Why the hell do you hate me?” Hammersmith burst out, genuinely puzzled. “I never did anything to you!”
“You work for Munro. That’s enough. But I’ve heard plenty about you, Hammersmith. You’ve beaten men to death before for not obeying your orders. And you’ve worked them to death in the mines, damn you.”
Hammersmith wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away bloody. “I never laid into anybody except lazy sons o’ bitches who had it comin’,” he insisted. “Either that, or they jumped me first.”
“Well, it don’t matter now. You won’t run roughshod over us anymore.” Rogan thumped his chest with a clenched fist. “We’re on strike. Go tell Munro that he’d better meet our demands, or else he won’t ever take any more ore outta this mine!”
Hammersmith didn’t want to tell Hamish Munro any such thing. Munro would explode with fury when he heard about this. As if they didn’t have enough trouble with that damned nosy marshal!
Rogan waved an arm at the other miners. “Come on, boys, let’s get out of here. Somebody go down and make sure everybody’s out of the mine.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Hammersmith warned. “You’ll all just lose your jobs and get nothin’ for it. We’ll bring in more workers.”
“They’ll have to get through us first,” Rogan warned with an ominous glare.
“If that’s what it takes, then so be it,” Hammersmith snapped. Munro could afford to bring in an army of armed guards if he needed to. Rogan and the others would soon see that they had bitten off a hell of a lot more than they could chew.
But in the meantime, Hammersmith thought as he watched the miners stalk off, throwing angry glances over their shoulders at him as they did so, the Alhambra Mine was shut down.
Like it or not, Munro had to be told about this, and Hammersmith knew he was the one who would have to bring that bad news to Buckskin.
It was the guard who fled for his life, though, who reached the settlement first. He was breathless from the hard ride into town as he came into the Silver Baron Saloon, went to the bar, and asked for a drink. After he tossed back the whiskey, he began telling anybody who would listen how the miners at the Alhambra had gone on strike and were rioting.
“They’ve probably killed poor Mr. Hammersmith by now,” he said.
Frank was seated at one of the tables in the rear of the room with Tip Woodford. They had cups of coffee in front of them, and had been talking about Frank’s confrontation with Hamish Munro that morning.
Now Frank stood up and strode over to the bar, where he faced the newcomer and said, “You should’ve mentioned that somebody was in danger first.”
“Sorry, Marshal,” the man said. “I know how you and Mr. Hammersmith feel about each other, though. I didn’t figure you’d care what happened to him.”
“I wouldn’t stand by and let any man be torn to pieces by a mob,” Frank said, not bothering to keep the scorn out of his voice.
The guard from the mine flushed. “There was nothin’ I could do. They would’ve killed me too.”
Frank just turned away. He said to Tip, who had followed him to the bar, “I’d better ride out there and see what’s going on.”
“Want some company?” Tip asked.
Frank shook his head. “No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d find Jack or Clint Farnum and let them know where I’ve gone.”
“Sure, I can do that,” Tip said with a nod. “Be careful, Frank. You sure as blazes don’t want to get yourself killed over the likes o’ Gunther Hammersmith.”
Frank knew what the mayor meant. Still, he had chosen to expand his jurisdiction to the mines in the area, whether he really had any legal right to do so or not, so to Frank’s way of thinking, he had a job to do and wasn’t going to shy away from it.
He left the saloon and went to Hillman’s livery stable. Both horses were well rested, so he saddled Stormy and rode out, taking Dog with him. He headed straight for the Alhambra.
However, he had ridden only half a mile or so when he saw a man on horseback coming toward him and recognized Hammersmith’s bulky figure. The man didn’t sit a saddle all that well, and Frank knew he wasn’t really comfortable on horseback. Hammersmith was moving along the trail at a good clip, though.
Frank reined in to wait for him. He held up a hand in a signal for Hammersmith to stop. Hammersmith pulled his mount to a halt, but looked like he didn’t care for being delayed.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked in a guttural voice. His face was bruised and swollen and had several patches of dried blood on it.
“I’m a mite surprised to see you alive, Hammersmith,” Frank drawled. “Fella who works for you out at the mine came galloping into town, said the men were on strike and were about to tear you limb from limb.”
“Yeah, well, you can see for yourself that didn’t happen.”
“What about the part about being on strike?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Anything that affects the community is my business,” Frank said, “because it might have an effect on law and order too. Just answer the question, Hammersmith.”
“Yeah, they went on strike,” Hammersmith replied in a grudging tone. “That bastard Rogan started it.”
“Dave Rogan?” Frank asked in surprise. “I didn’t know he worked for the Alhambra.”
“Yeah, he hired on after Woodford fired him.”
Frank hadn’t forgotten the ruckus at Ed Kelley’s Top-Notch Saloon. That fight had gotten Rogan discharged from the Lucky Lizard, but evidently the miner hadn’t had much trouble finding another job.