Hell Town. William W. Johnstone

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      “There are outlaws anywhere you go, if there are people there,” Frank said. “It’s human nature for some folks to be downright ornery and crooked.”

      “I suppose.” Claiborne let go of the reins with one hand and pointed. “There! Is that the mine?”

      “I believe it is,” Frank said.

      They arrived at the Crown Royal a few minutes later. Frank was surprised to see that several buildings were still standing, including a large one where the narrow-gauge railroad tracks that emerged from the hole in the side of the hill terminated. That was the stamp mill, where the ore brought out of the mine in carts was pulverized so the silver could be separated out from the worthless rock. The mine superintendent had probably had his office in there too. Nearby was a long, low building that must have served as the barracks for the miners. There was also a cookshack, a mess hall, and several storage sheds. Frank guessed that was what those buildings had been used for, anyway.

      Claiborne brought the buggy to a halt, looked around, and said, “Well, this is quite impressive. Everything appears to be in better shape than I thought it would be. I’ll have to take a closer look to be sure, of course.”

      Frank swung down from the saddle and looped Goldy’s reins around the trunk of a sapling. “Let’s go take that look,” he suggested.

      Claiborne 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?”

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