Hell Town. William W. Johnstone
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climbed out of the buggy and headed straight for the mine entrance. “I want to check the shoring timbers in the shaft,” he said over his shoulder as Frank and Dog followed him. After a second, Dog bounded ahead and darted toward the black opening in the hillside.
“Probably smelled a rabbit in there,” Frank said.
Claiborne stopped short and cast a nervous look in Frank’s direction. “What if it’s one of those grizzly bears or mountain lions you mentioned?”
“Dog’s got more sense than to charge into a hole that’s got a grizz or a cougar in it,” Frank assured him. The big, wolflike cur disappeared into the shaft. Loud barks echoed as Dog gave chase to whatever prey had lured him in there.
Frank and Claiborne both stopped short as they heard a low rumble from inside the mine. “Damn it!” Frank said. “Dog! Dog! Get out of there!”
“Good lord!” Claiborne said. “The noise must have set off a cave-in!”
Frank started forward at a run. He and Dog had been trail partners for a long time, had endured a lot of hardship and danger together. The idea of the big cur being trapped in a cave-in horrified him.
To his great relief, Dog darted back into sight at the mine entrance, racing out of the black shaft as a cloud of dust boiled from the opening behind him. Claiborne groaned as the rumble of falling rock died away.
“The timbers must have been practically rotted away,” he said. “There’s no telling how much damage was done.”
“Sorry,” Frank said as Dog came trotting up to them. “To tell you the truth, I never even thought about the old fella causing a cave-in.”
Claiborne sighed. “It’s all right. I suppose in a way it’s a blessing. The most unstable parts of the shaft will have already collapsed, and now it won’t be quite as dangerous when we go in there to dig it out and shore up the rest of the tunnels.”
“You hear that, boy?” Frank said with a grin as he scratched Dog’s ears. “Good job.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far,” Claiborne said, “but this is certainly not an insurmountable obstacle.”
They spent the next hour examining the shaft and the buildings. Frank felt a twinge of nervousness when he stepped in to the hole in the hillside, but Claiborne looked at the thick timbers supporting the roof and told him it was safe enough. Still, Frank was glad to be back in the open air.
Most of the machinery in the stamp mill had been dismantled and hauled away when the mine was closed down before, but as Claiborne said, “That’s all right. We’ll bring in more modern equipment and do an even better job now. There have been great improvements in the pulverization and amalgamation processes in the past ten years.”
“That’s good to hear,” Frank said, “even though I don’t really know what you’re talking about. But if Conrad Browning has faith in you, Garrett, then so do I.”
“I won’t let you and Mr. Browning down, Marshal.”
When they had finished looking around, Claiborne nodded and said, “I don’t see why we can’t have this mine up and running in a month, maybe less, depending on how many workers we’re able to hire. The initial expenditure will be fairly high, but the Browning Mining Syndicate can afford it. I’ve seen the assay reports on the ore coming out of the Lucky Lizard now, and if we can approach the same quality here, the Crown Royal should be a lucrative venture once again.”
“Well, whatever I can do to help you, just let me know. Most of my time is spent keeping the peace in town, of course, but I’ll be glad to lend a hand out here as much as I can.”
Claiborne smiled. “Marshal, can I be blunt?”
“Sure,” Frank said.
“What I really need is for you to just stand back and let me get to work.”
Frank laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I reckon I can do that!”
On their way back to Buckskin, Frank and Garrett Claiborne had to pass fairly close to the Alhambra Mine, and when Frank asked if Claiborne wanted to take a look at the place, he shrugged and said, “We might as well. Just a quick look, though. I’m not sure it would be ethical to do too thorough an inspection of it, since it’s owned by a competitor.”
“That’s a good point,” Frank agreed. “Shouldn’t hurt anything to have a glance around, though.”
Frank found the trail that veered off toward the other mine, and he and Claiborne followed it for the next quarter of an hour as it ran around rugged hills and along spiny ridges. They came to a shelf of land that jutted out from a gray cliff that rose almost straight up for a couple of hundred feet. Several squarish towers of rock stuck up from the top of the cliff, like battlements on a castle or fortress. They were natural formations, but they had a striking, man-made look about them.
“I can see how the mine got its name,” Claiborne commented as he and Frank approached. “The original owner must have been a world traveler. That cliff bears a distinct resemblance to the Spanish palace known as the Alhambra.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, since I’ve never been there myself,” Frank said, “but I’ll take your word for it, Garrett.”
He reined in when they were still about fifty yards from a group of ramshackle buildings and the black mouth of a mine shaft in the hillside. From the looks of things, the Alhambra was in worse shape than the Crown Royal. Claiborne brought the buggy to a halt beside Frank.
“I don’t see any signs of life,” the engineer said. “Munro’s men must not have gotten here yet.”
“You’re sure this fella Munro’s going to open up this mine again?”
Claiborne smiled. “The mining industry is like any other business, Marshal. It’s full of rumors, and everyone tries to keep up with everyone else’s activities. From everything I’ve heard, Hamish Munro has high hopes for this—”
Before Claiborne could go on, Frank shouted, “Get down!” He had seen a telltale glint of sunlight on metal just inside at one of the windows in the old mill building.
Claiborne just looked confused and wasn’t budging, so Frank kicked his feet from the stirrups, leaped from the saddle, and landed in the buggy. He grabbed Claiborne and dived out the other side of the vehicle, dragging the startled engineer with him.
If that reflection he had seen didn’t mean anything, Frank was going to feel mighty silly when they hit the ground.
As they sprawled on the rocky earth, however, a rifle cracked and sent a bullet whistling through the space where Claiborne had been a few seconds earlier. Frank’s instincts had been right again—there was a bushwhacker lurking in the old stamp mill.
But as more shots slammed out and slugs began to kick up dust around them, Frank figured this was one time when it might have been better to be wrong!
Chapter 8
Frank surged to his feet with one hand hooked in Claiborne’s collar. He hauled the smaller man upright and hustled him around to the rear of the buggy. The vehicle wouldn’t provide much cover, but it was better than nothing. As they ran, Frank heard the wind-rip of another bullet close beside his ear. It was a sound he had heard all too many times in his eventful life.
They ducked behind the buggy as another shot ricocheted off some of the brass trim on it. The horse hitched to the front of the buggy snorted in fear and moved around skittishly. If the horse bolted, they would be left out in the open, exposed to the bushwhacker’s fire.
“My God!” Claiborne exclaimed in a shaken voice. “Why are they shooting at us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Frank said. He drew his Colt as he crouched there. The range was a little far for a handgun, but his Winchester was in the saddle boot strapped