The Last Gunfighter: Hell Town

by William W. Johnstone

  “They’ll have more trouble of their own once I show everybody what I found inside the shaft at the Lucky Lizard.” Frank took the acid-damaged piece of timber from his pocket so that the two deputies could look at it. “Somebody’s bound to have seen one or both of the Fowler brothers hanging around those support beams that gave out. Once they realize they’ve been found out, they won’t take the blame for those deaths by themselves.”

  Clint nodded and said, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, all right.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” Frank said. “All three of us are going to be on hand for that meeting, to keep things as peaceful as we can.”

  “I’ll go put my horse up.” Clint looked back as he started to lead the animal toward the livery stable. “Again, I’m sorry for disappearing on you like that, Frank.”

  “You’re here now,” Frank said. “That’s all that matters.”

  He couldn’t have said for sure, but he thought he saw something flicker through Clint’s eyes just then, an unreadable expression that was still somehow troubling, as if Clint were wrestling with some sort of inner demon.

  But then the little gunman’s face was as bland and smiling as ever, and Frank wasn’t sure he had even seen anything unusual. He told himself not to worry about it.

  With the meeting looming between the striking miners and the mine owners—a meeting that might well turn into a violent showdown despite his best efforts—Frank figured he had bigger problems on his plate right now than whatever was bothering Clint Farnum.

  * * * *

  Hap Mitchell walked up to the top of the ridge where Pool was studying Buckskin through a pair of field glasses. “Any sign of the signal?” he asked.

  Pool lowered the glasses and glared at Mitchell. “If there was, don’t you think I’d’ve said somethin’ before now?”

  “I didn’t mean any offense, Jory,” Mitchell said. “I just figured from the way you were talking earlier that we’d ride right into the settlement and start lootin’ the place.”

  “It never hurts to be sure everything’s lined up just right. That’s why we’re gonna wait for Farnum’s signal before we move in.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. You know best, Jory.”

  “Damn right I do,” Pool said in a harsh tone of voice that was almost a growl.

  But despite what he had just said, Hap Mitchell wasn’t so sure about that anymore. There came a time when bad luck caught up to every gang, no matter how careful they were. It had happened to Frank and Jesse James and their cousins the Youngers up in Northfield, Minnesota, and just a couple of years earlier the Dalton boys had run into the same thing in Coffeyville, Kansas.

  Mitchell had to ask himself if Buckskin, Nevada, might turn out to be the Pool gang’s Northfield or Coffeyville. If that was the case, he didn’t want to be there for it. He ought to get Lonnie Beeman and slip away from here while there was still time. Hap and Lonnie had been riding together for a lot of years. Maybe they should git while the gittin’ was good.

  But if they did that and then the raid went off perfectly, just as planned, then not only would they miss out on their shares of the loot, but they would have earned the enmity of Jory Pool for deserting him. Jory wouldn’t take kindly to that. In fact, he might just track them down and kill them for their disloyalty.

  No, Mitchell thought with a sigh, it looked like he and Lonnie were stuck. They would have to join in the raid with the rest of the gang.

  As soon as Clint Farnum gave the signal.

  * * * *

  Frank was waiting in the back room of the building that housed the Lucky Lizard’s office when dusk settled down over Buckskin. He had already lifted the trapdoor and exposed the ladder that led down to the tunnel from the mine. That tunnel ran for a mile or more into the nearby hills. Frank didn’t know when the miners would be arriving, or even if they would come. Dave Rogan could have changed his mind and backed out of the deal. There was no guarantee either that the men from the Lucky Lizard would come along, even if Rogan and the other miners from the Alhambra did as Frank had suggested.

  This room was where Frank’s long vengeance quest against Charles Dutton had ended. Dutton had betrayed Vivian Browning and been responsible for her death, he had put Conrad Browning in mortal danger, and he had sent hired gunmen after Frank to kill him. Those gunmen had failed, and instead Frank had tracked Dutton to what had then been an isolated ghost town in the foothills of the Wassuck Mountains. Frank had caught up to Dutton here, and so had justice….

  A faint noise caught Frank’s attention and pulled him out of his reverie. He leaned closer to the open trapdoor and listened. The echoing sounds of footsteps and voices came to his ears. Men were moving along the tunnel toward him.

  A tight smile appeared on Frank’s lips. The miners were on their way.

  He stepped into the front room, where Tip Woodford, Diana, Catamount Jack, and Garrett Claiborne waited. Even though Claiborne, as the superintendent of the Crown Royal, had no direct stake in what happened tonight, he was here because of his belief that Munro had been behind the explosion that had almost cost him his life, and because he and Diana had grown closer as well. Claiborne’s broken arm was still in a sling, but he was getting around well enough these days that he had been supervising the rebuilding of the mine’s stamp mill.

  “They’re on their way,” Frank reported. “I can hear them coming down the tunnel.”

  “I sure hope we can settle this mess,” Tip said. “It’ll get everything out in the open, anyway.”

  Frank nodded. “Jack, stay here and keep Rogan and the others here for the time being. There’s no place in town big enough to hold everybody on both sides, so the meeting will have to take place in the street. I’ll go tell Munro what’s about to happen.”

  “What if he refuses to negotiate?” Claiborne asked.

  Tip said, “Then I’ll settle things with the fellas who work for me, and Munro’s problems will be his own lookout.” He glanced at Frank. “You know Munro’s liable to tell that militia colonel to arrest Rogan and the rest of the bunch from the Alhambra.”

  “He can’t do that, because they’re already going to be in my custody. And as the duly appointed marshal of Buckskin, here in town I have the authority to make that stick.”

  “You and a couple o’ deputies against a whole troop of militia?”

  “I’ve been going around the town this afternoon talking to folks,” Frank explained. “Amos Hillman said he’d back my play, and so did Professor Burton. Leo Benjamin and Johnny Collyer and Claude Langley want in on it too. Ed Kelley said he would come to the meeting and would spread the word, and so did the others. The citizens of Buckskin are ready to say that enough is enough and put a stop to all this squabbling.”

  “I hope you’re right, Frank,” Tip said with a sigh. “But I sure wish Hamish Munro had never come to town.”

  Frank jerked his head in a curt nod as he started out of the office. “You and me both, Tip,” he said. “You and me both.”

  He crossed the street at an angle, heading for the old hotel. Munro had guards posted on the porch as usual, and they moved to block Frank’s path as he started toward the door.

  “You’re not welcome here, Marshal,” one of the men said. “Mr. Munro’s orders.”

  “I’m here on official business,” Frank said, “so step aside.”

  The men hesitated, but Frank’s steely-eyed stare reminded them that while he might be the marshal of Buckskin now, he was also still the notorious gunfighter known as The Drifter. Finally, the guard who had spoken before said, “Well, I reckon if it’s official business…”

  The two of them moved away from the doors.

  Frank went inside, into the lobby, and the sound of voices drew him to an arched entrance that led into the dining room. He found Hamish and Jessica Munro there, along with Gunther Hammersmith, Nathan Evers, and Colonel Starkwell. The men were gathered around a table talking while Jessica sat alo
ne at another table.

  Munro, Hammersmith, and Starkwell all glared at Frank. Evers was as blandly inscrutable as ever. Munro demanded, “What are you doing here, Morgan? I gave orders that I didn’t want to be bothered by you.”

  “You’d better be bothered, Munro,” Frank snapped. “Those men of yours who are on strike have come to town to negotiate a settlement.”

  Starkwell surged to his feet. “What! Those fugitives are here?”

  “They’re not fugitives. They haven’t been charged with any crime. But I’ve placed them in protective custody, just as a precaution.”

  “You can’t do that.” Starkwell snatched up his hat from the table where he had been sitting with the others and jammed it on his head. “I’m going to get my troops and place those men under arrest—”

  “I don’t think so.” Frank played his trump card. He had made the long, hard ride to Virginia City and back during the afternoon, pushing Stormy as hard as he dared, and the big Appaloosa hadn’t let him down. Frank took a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Starkwell, who hesitated before taking it as if Frank were trying to give him a rattlesnake.

  Starkwell’s eyes went to the words printed on the Western Union form, and his face reddened with fury as he read them.

  “As you can see, the governor has rescinded his previous orders to you,” Frank said. “You’re to assist me in maintaining order in Buckskin, at my request. I haven’t asked for your help, Colonel.”

  “How…how…” Starkwell sputtered, too angry to go on.

  Munro pushed himself to his feet and demanded, “What sort of trick is this, Morgan?” He jabbed a finger at the telegram in Starkwell’s hand. “How do we know that wire isn’t a fake? How do we know it’s really from the governor?”

  “I guess you’ll have to go to Virginia City and wire him yourself,” Frank said.

  Starkwell crumpled the telegram. “It’s real, all right,” he said as his mouth twisted in a snarl. “I know how the governor sounds when he gives orders like this. How did you do it, Morgan? How the hell did you manage to go over my head like that?”

  “I’ve got a friend or two in high places too,” Frank drawled.

  Like Conrad Browning, who counted senators and congressmen and various federal officials among his friends, as well as the presidents of numerous banks and railroads. A series of wires to Conrad and to Frank’s own lawyers in Denver and San Francisco had produced the desired results. Political pressure had been brought to bear on the governor of Nevada, and wisely, the man had bowed to it.

  “From the sound of this, my men and I are under your command,” Starkwell fumed.

  “This is outrageous,” Munro said. “Outrageous!”

  Frank shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. What it comes down to is that the striking miners from the Lucky Lizard and the Alhambra have come to Buckskin. Tip Woodford has agreed to meet with them, Munro. Whether you do or not is up to you. But I have a feeling that the strike at the Lucky Lizard is going to be settled tonight. Unless you want the Alhambra to fall behind, it might be a good idea for you to reach a settlement too.”

  “Go to hell!” Munro screamed. “No one tells me what to do!”

  “Your choice,” Frank said. He turned away, and as he did so he took the acid-damaged piece of wood from his pocket, tossing it up and down on his palm so that Munro could see it and recognize it. He walked out, leaving Munro sputtering and seething behind him.

  Starkwell hurried after him. “My men are camped just outside of town,” he said. “I’m going to bring them in. I don’t trust those miners. If there’s any trouble, I intend to suppress it with all due force, no matter what you say, Morgan.”

  “Fetch your men if you want, Colonel, but there won’t be any riot. I’ll see to that.”

  Diana and Claiborne stood on the boardwalk in front of the Lucky Lizard office. Frank made a motion toward them, and Diana turned to say something through the open door of the office. They moved aside, and a moment later Catamount Jack strode out, followed by Dave Rogan. The striking miners filed out of the building and began to form ranks in the street.

  Catamount Jack hurried to one end of the street and set fire to a pile of branches and brush that had been stacked there earlier. Along with another bonfire at the far end of the street, the blaze would provide light for the meeting. After a moment, Frank realized that Clint Farnum wasn’t lighting the other bonfire as he was supposed to, though.

  “Where’s Clint?” Frank called to Jack.

  “Don’t know. Has the little varmint up and disappeared again?”

  That appeared to be the case. Jack trotted down to the far end of the street and lit that pile too. As the glow from the fires brightened, men carrying rifles and shotguns stepped out onto the boardwalk in various places, and Frank felt a surge of pride as he realized that his unofficial deputies were prepared to do their part if necessary. He nodded his thanks to Amos Hillman, Leo Benjamin, Ed Kelley, Professor Burton, and the others. They were all willing to fight for their town if they had to, and that meant Buckskin had become more than just a collection of buildings and people.

  It was truly a community now.

  With Colonel Starkwell at their head, the militia men marched in from the other end of the settlement and faced the striking miners, with about twenty yards separating the two groups. They carried their rifles slanted across their chests. The miners were all armed too. Tension was thick in the air. All it would take was one reckless act to set off a hell storm of gunfire.

  Frank didn’t intend to let that happen. He walked into the center of the street, between the two groups. Tip Woodford strode out from the other boardwalk. The mayor’s face was pale and drawn from the strain, but he didn’t hesitate to place himself between the guns of the two hostile forces.

  “All right,” Frank began as he and Tip faced the miners. “We’re here to lay all our cards on the table and settle this thing—”

  “Wait just a damned minute!”

  The voice came from the front of the hotel. Hamish Munro marched out into the street, followed by Hammersmith. As the mining magnate came up to Frank and Tip, he continued. “I still think the militia should arrest all these men for their illegal strike, but I can see now you’re determined to have mob rule instead of law and order, Morgan. I want the strike against the Alhambra settled as much as you do, though, so—” Munro drew a deep breath and turned toward the miners. “Effective right now, every man who goes back to work for me will have his wages raised fifty cents an hour, and no one will work more than eight hours a day!”

  Shocked exclamations came from the assembled miners. Tip Woodford yelped, “Fifty cents an hour! For God’s sake, I can’t match that! Nobody can! Nobody’s gonna want to work for me now.”

  A smug smile appeared on Munro’s face. “That’s your problem, Woodford.” He turned back to the miners. “Well, men? What do you say?”

  Frank held up a hand to stop them before they could shout their agreement. Into the surprised silence, he said, “We both know why you’re doing this, Munro. And you’re not going to get away with it.” He had spotted the men he was looking for in the crowd of miners, and now he moved toward them. The miners drew aside to make a path for him until Frank was confronting the Fowler brothers, Red Mike and Gib.

  “You two are under arrest for murder,” Frank said.

  Chapter 31

  The sound of galloping hoofbeats were loud in the gathering shadows. The men who waited on horseback leaned forward in their saddles. They could tell that only one man was approaching, and since there were about three dozen of them, they weren’t worried.

  “Hold it right there!” Pool called as the rider loomed up out of the darkness.

  “Jory!” Clint Farnum exclaimed. “Thank God I found you. We’ve got to call it off. The state militia’s in town, along with a bunch of well-armed miners who’re on strike. Even a lot of the townspeople have got guns and are ready for trouble tonight.”

  “Call
it off?” Pool repeated, as if he were amazed by the idea. “I don’t call off a raid once the time’s come. We’re goin’ in there, and we’re gonna loot that town from one end to the other and then burn it to the ground, just like we done in a dozen other towns.”

  “I tell you, you can’t!” Clint cried in a ragged voice. “The militia—”

  Pool’s hand shot out to grab Clint’s arm in a cruelly painful grip. “To hell with the militia, and everybody else in Buckskin! They won’t know what’s hittin’ ’em, because they’ll be too busy fightin’ each other.” With his other hand, Pool drew his Colt and jammed the barrel under Clint’s jaw. “This is even better than I hoped,” the boss outlaw went on. “From what you’re tellin’ me, that town’s like a giant keg o’ gunpowder tonight. All it needs is one spark to set it off. Are you gonna go give us that spark, Farnum…or do I pull this trigger and blow your head off?”

  Clint had no choice. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’ll do it, Jory. Just…give me a couple of minutes to get back down there. You’ll know it…when the ball starts.”

  Pool let go of Clint’s arm, but kept the gun barrel pressed against his neck for a second. “You double-cross me and you’ll live to regret it,” he said in a low voice. “You just won’t live long. Long enough to wish you were dead, though.”

  He lowered the gun.

  Clint took a deep breath and rubbed the spot where the hard metal had bruised the flesh of his neck. Then he wheeled his horse around and rode off, vanishing in the darkness as he headed for town.

  Down below in Buckskin, big fires had been kindled at both ends of the main street. By the light of those blazes, the outlaws could see the men who had gathered there. Even at a distance of several hundred yards, the tension could be felt.

  As Jory Pool had said, Buckskin was ready to explode.

  And when it did, these vicious outlaws would be ready to sweep in and turn the situation to their advantage.

  * * * *

  “Murder!” Red Mike Fowler yelped. “Gib and me didn’t murder nobody!”