Frank came in sight of the bench where the Alhambra was located, with its overhanging cliffs and the rock formations that looked like battlements. He didn’t see the militia on the trail approaching the mine and knew he had beaten them here. He couldn’t be very far ahead of them, though, so he knew he didn’t have much time. He galloped down the hill and brought Goldy to a halt in front of the bunk house.
“Rogan!” Frank shouted. “Rogan, it’s Marshal Morgan from Buckskin! Trouble’s on the way!”
There was no response from the building. Frank dismounted and hurried to the door. When he looked inside, he saw that the bunkhouse was empty. Where could the striking miners be?
He walked over to the office and stamp mill, keeping one eye on the trail as he did so. The other buildings were empty too, as if the mine had been abandoned.
That wasn’t the case, though, as the warning shot that came from the mouth of the shaft proved a moment later as Frank walked back out into the open. The bullet whistled past, well above his head, and as instinct made him crouch and reach for his Peacemaker, a man shouted from the mine entrance, “Hold it, Morgan!”
Frank recognized Dave Rogan’s voice. He turned in that direction and saw Rogan standing at the tunnel mouth, along with several more of the striking miners. He realized that they must have barricaded themselves inside the shaft to keep Munro from bringing in any other workers.
Frank straightened and walked toward the mine. He kept his hands in plain sight so that Rogan and the others could see them.
Rogan fired again. This time the bullet kicked up dirt and rocks from the ground about ten yards in front of Frank. Frank didn’t break stride or slow down.
“Get out of here, Marshal!” Rogan shouted. “The next one might not miss!”
“Listen to me, Rogan,” Frank said in an urgent voice that was loud enough so that the rest of the men inside the shaft could hear him too. “Munro’s gotten the governor to send in the state militia to break this strike. A company of armed soldiers is on its way out here right now.”
“Let ’em come!” Rogan replied. “We’ll show ’em that we won’t be budged!”
Some of the other men in the mine shouted in agreement with him.
“You’ll all get yourselves killed, that’s what you’ll do,” Frank said as he came to a stop in front of the mine entrance. “You boys are tough, but those militia men are professionals at this. They’ll do whatever they have to in order to break this strike. They’re liable to heave a bomb in there to blast you out.”
Rogan sneered. “That would damage the mine,” he pointed out.
“You think Munro wouldn’t be willing to have the damage repaired if it meant that none of his workers would ever dare to defy him again?”
Rogan wasn’t so quick to respond to that, and for the first time Frank saw doubt appear on the miner’s rugged face. Rogan was a troublemaker, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Munro would do whatever it took to suppress this challenge to his authority.
“We got a right to strike,” Rogan said, but the doubt was in his voice now too.
“It’s not about rights anymore,” Frank said. “It’s about Munro wanting to crush you and teach a lesson to anybody else who ever works for him.”
“Yeah, well, what business is it of yours?”
“I don’t want to see all of you massacred,” Frank said. “Munro thinks that he’s above the law. I don’t like that.”
“That’s mighty funny, comin’ from a gunfighter like you. I didn’t reckon you ever worried all that much about the law.”
“Maybe I didn’t in the past.” Frank tapped the badge pinned to his shirt. “That’s before I put this tin star on.”
Rogan lowered his rifle and frowned. “What do you think we ought to do?”
“Get out of here,” Frank said without hesitation. “Clear out and let Munro have his mine back.”
“But that’s giving up!”
Frank shook his head. “Go over to the Lucky Lizard and get the miners there who are on strike. All of you come to Buckskin. There’s a tunnel from the mine that runs under Tip’s office in town, so you can get there without the militia seeing you. We’ll all sit down and have a meeting with Tip Woodford and Munro. Tip’s a reasonable man. His workers will be able to work out something with him.”
“What about Munro? He ain’t reasonable.”
“No, but out in the open like that, where everybody in town can see what’s going on, he’ll have to make a show of listening anyway. And once he sees that Woodford is going to settle the strike at the Lucky Lizard, public opinion may force him to go along and reach a compromise too.”
Rogan scratched at his jaw and frowned in thought. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Might be worth a try.”
This argument was taking too long. “You can decide what to do later,” Frank said. “Right now, you’ve got to get out of here while you still have the chance. That militia company will be showing up any minute now.”
Rogan turned to the other men clustered just inside the mouth of the shaft. “What do you say, boys?” he asked.
“I think we ought to do what the marshal says,” one of the miners replied. “If we join forces with Woodford’s men, then Woodford and Munro will have to listen to us.”
“What about the Crown Royal?” Rogan asked Frank. “Once it starts up again, will the men who work there be treated fairly too?”
Frank nodded. “I can just about guarantee that. You see, I’m well acquainted with the fella who owns it.”
“All right,” Rogan said, reaching a decision. He waved to the men behind him. “Let’s go.”
As they began to file out of the mine, Frank said, “I’ll go back down the trail and stall the militia. Head for the Lucky Lizard and then come on into town this evening. I’ll have Woodford and Munro waiting for you.”
Rogan jerked his head in a nod.
Frank hurried back to Goldy, grabbed the reins he had left trailing on the ground, and swung up into the saddle. “Come on, Dog,” he said as he heeled Goldy into a run.
Following the main trail this time, Frank rode hard. He spotted a haze of dust in the air up ahead and knew the militia was only a few hundred yards away. He sighted them as he came around a bend where the trail looped around a cluster of large boulders.
Frank said, “Dog, stay,” then reined in and sat there in the middle of the trail, blocking it as the riders approached. Of course, he was outnumbered by more than twenty to one, and if they really wanted to get past him, he wouldn’t be able to stop them. He could take a few of them with him if they rode him down, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to draw and fire on them. Even though they were being used for a purpose he considered corrupt, the militia men weren’t outlaws or anything like that. He didn’t want to have to kill any of them.
Colonel Starkwell rode in front of the troop. He raised a hand in a signal to halt, and the sergeant who rode behind him bawled out the order. Starkwell walked his horse forward to confront Frank.
“What are you doing here, Marshal?” Starkwell demanded. “I thought that when we left you back in Buckskin I made it clear this was none of your affair.”
“I’m making it my affair,” Frank said. “I took a shortcut and rode out to the Alhambra. You might as well turn around and go back. The mine’s deserted. All the strikers are gone.”
Starkwell’s mouth thinned in anger under the mustache. “You mean you warned them and they fled,” he snapped. “By God, I ought to put you under arrest! You should be clapped in irons and thrown in your own jail!”
“You can try it if you want,” Frank said in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Starkwell glared at him for a couple of heartbeats, then said, “Move aside. I’m not going to take your word for it that the strikers have abandoned the mine. We’re going out there anyway.”
Frank hoped that Rogan and the others had had plenty of time to get into the thickly wooded hills above the mine by now. He pulled Goldy to the side of the trail and said to Starkwell, “Fine. Go right on ahead, Colonel.”