The Last Gunfighter: Killing Ground

by William W. Johnstone

  Luther frowned. “You say they worked in a…house?”

  “That’s right.”

  Luther lowered his voice to a whisper. “You mean a house of ill repute?”

  “Yep. And you don’t have to whisper. Just about everybody in town knows about it.”

  “And yet they…they continued to patronize this establishment?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Morgan asked with what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.

  “But…but those women used to be—”

  “Lots of people used to be lots of things,” Morgan said, breaking in. “Out here folks don’t care all that much what somebody used to be. They care more about what a fella or a gal is now. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Luther said, somewhat abashed. Morgan’s voice had been quiet and friendly, without even a hint of scolding to it, and yet Luther felt that he had just been reprimanded.

  And he felt more than ever like a fraud, too. For a second, he wished he could just tell Frank Morgan who he really was and what had happened to Mr. Turnbuckle. It would be nice to put an end to this charade, even though he had enjoyed certain aspects of it.

  It was too late for that now. Things had gone too far. He had no choice except to keep pretending that he was Claudius Turnbuckle.

  Besides, he was beginning to think that he could actually win this case for Tip Woodford. If that happened, he could return to San Francisco and no one there would ever have to be the wiser, but at the same time Luther would go back with renewed confidence in his abilities and the knowledge that he could be a good lawyer, no matter what the results of the bar exam had said so far.

  Their breakfast arrived, the plates weighted down with food being carried to their table by the blond Ginnie Carlson. Morgan introduced Luther to her, and he managed a polite smile, even though he couldn’t quite banish thoughts of her previous profession from his mind. The redhead was Becky Humphries, Morgan informed him, and the pretty, dignified brunette was Lauren Stillman.

  The food was as good as Morgan claimed, which came as a bit of a surprise to Luther. In fact, it was as good as anything he had ever had in San Francisco, a city known for its fine restaurants. The two men ate with gusto and then lingered over cups of coffee, which was as strong as Ginnie had promised and quite bracing.

  “How’s the case coming along?” Morgan asked, and Luther wondered if that was the real reason the marshal had invited him to breakfast this morning.

  “Quite well, I think,” he replied. “Mr. Woodford and I have spent a lot of time going over the details, and I have an idea about how to prove that Brighton’s claim on the Lucky Lizard is a phony.”

  “How’s that?”

  Luther hesitated. He trusted Frank Morgan—after all, the man was one of the law firm’s most important clients—but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to share his strategy until he knew more about whether it was going to develop the way he hoped.

  He was saved from having to decide one way or the other by a sudden commotion from the street outside. The swift rataplan of hoofbeats made him and Morgan both glance toward the café’s front window, and they saw a buggy race past the place.

  “That was Conrad’s buggy,” Morgan said as he came quickly to his feet. “Something must be wrong for him to be running those horses like that. I’d better see what’s going on.”

  He started for the door, lifting a hand in farewell to the three young women who ran the café, and he called out to the brunette, “I’ll be back to settle up with you later, Lauren.”

  “No hurry, Frank,” she told him. “I reckon you’re good for it.”

  Morgan threw a grin in her direction, and then he was gone.

  He hadn’t even looked back to see if Luther was following him.

  For some reason, that bothered Luther. He got to his feet hurriedly and left the café, too. If more trouble was about to descend on Buckskin, then maybe he could help.

  After all, he was a famous lawyer…wasn’t he?

  Chapter 14

  By the time Frank got outside, Conrad had brought the buggy to a stop in front of the marshal’s office. Catamount Jack, who had been in the office while Frank was having breakfast with Claudius Turnbuckle, came out to see what the ruckus was about. He was talking to Conrad as Frank strode up, and Frank saw now that Garrett Claiborne was perched on the buggy seat, too, holding a Winchester. Frank knew from talking to Conrad the night before that his son had intended to visit the Crown Royal Mine this morning. Obviously, something had happened out there that was bad enough to bring Conrad and Claiborne racing into town.

  “Looking for me, Conrad?” Frank asked.

  Conrad and Claiborne both climbed down from the buggy. “There was an attack on the mine,” Conrad said.

  “An attack?” Frank repeated with a frown.

  Claiborne nodded. “Several men opened fire on the buildings and the tunnel entrance from the cover of the trees. We put up a fight, of course, and after a few minutes the gunmen fled.”

  “Did you see who they were?”

  “I never got a look at them, just saw their powder smoke,” Claiborne replied with a shake of his head. “I asked the rest of the men, and they never saw them either.”

  Frank looked at his son. “How about you?”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. I don’t have any idea who they were or why they attacked the mine.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Claiborne said. “Only one man was wounded, and that was by a ricochet. Several miners were out in the open when the shooting started, and if the bushwhackers wanted to kill them, they could have without much trouble.”

  Before Frank could ask any more questions, Diana Woodford came hurrying along the street, almost running. “Garrett, are you all right?” she asked as she came up to them. “Someone told me that you and Mr. Browning were in that buggy that raced by, and I thought there might be trouble.”

  Claiborne smiled and told her, “I’m fine, Diana. Puzzled by what happened but unhurt.”

  She put her arms around him and hugged him. “Thank goodness. My first thought was that there had been a cave-in or something like that out at the mine.”

  “No, it wasn’t a natural disaster at all,” Claiborne told her, his expression becoming serious again. “Somebody took some potshots at us instead.”

  Diana stepped back to stare at him. “Somebody tried to kill you?”

  “That’s what we were just talking about,” Frank said. “It sounds to me more like they were trying to throw a scare into you, Garrett.”

  Claiborne nodded. “Maybe. But if that was their goal, they failed. We put up enough of a fight to send them packing in a hurry.”

  “I’ll ride out there and take a look around,” Frank said. “Might be able to find something to tell me who they were or what they were really after.”

  He hadn’t forgotten about that mysterious attempt on his own life a few days earlier. He had no real reason to think that this attack on the Crown Royal Mine had any connection to the earlier incident…but two unexplained acts of violence in less than a week made Frank curious.

  “I’ll go with you,” Catamount Jack said.

  Frank shook his head. “No, I need you to hold down the fort here, Jack.”

  “Seems like that dang fort needs lots o’ holdin’ down these days,” the old-timer grumbled. “Blamed thing must be light as a feather.”

  Frank chuckled but didn’t change his orders. Buckskin was relatively peaceful right now, but peace was a fragile thing on the frontier. And despite the inexorable advance of civilization these days, this part of Nevada still qualified as frontier.

  “Why don’t I go with you, Marshal?” Claudius Turnbuckle suggested.

  Frank glanced at the lawyer in surprise. He had known Turnbuckle for only a few days, but the man didn’t strike him as the sort of hombre who’d want to go gallivanting across the countryside looking for bushwhackers.

  “I don’t know if that’s s
uch a good idea…” he began.

  “I’d like to see some more of the area around here,” Turnbuckle said. “This seems like a perfect opportunity to do so.”

  “This won’t be a sightseeing jaunt,” Frank pointed out. “It could be dangerous.”

  “I don’t mind,” Turnbuckle said. “I promise to be careful, though, since I still have to represent Mr. Woodford in court and crush Brighton’s fraudulent claim.” He gave Diana an encouraging smile.

  “Well, if you’re bound and determined…You’ll have to have a horse, though. I reckon Amos Hillman would be glad to rent you a mount and saddle.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Can you handle a gun?”

  That question appeared to take Turnbuckle a little by surprise, as if he hadn’t quite thought this all the way through. If Frank was able to pick up the trail of the bushwhackers, he might run them to ground, and if that happened it was likely there would be shooting.

  But then steely resolve glittered in Turnbuckle’s eyes, and Frank remembered that the lawyer had a pretty combative reputation, at least in the courtroom. Maybe that carried over into other areas as well.

  “I’m an adequate shot with a rifle,” Turnbuckle said.

  “Let’s hope that’s good enough.” If Frank couldn’t scare Turnbuckle off with the possibility of getting mixed up in a corpse-and-cartridge session, then he wasn’t going to waste any more time arguing with the man. “We’ll go see about getting you a horse.”

  “I’ll pick up a mount at the livery stable, too,” Garrett Claiborne said. “That way Mr. Browning won’t have to take his buggy back out there.”

  Diana hugged the mining engineer again. “Be careful, Garrett,” she told him.

  Frank might have been wrong about it, but he thought he saw something flash in Claudius Turnbuckle’s eyes when Diana embraced Claiborne. That would explain why Turnbuckle was suddenly so anxious to help him track down those bushwhackers. The hombre wanted to impress Diana!

  This might be trouble in the making, Frank thought. Now he not only had to try to track down those bushwhackers, but he also had to ride herd on a young man who wanted to make an impression on a gal who was interested in somebody else.

  That just might prove to be the most dangerous part of the job.

  He was getting in the habit of making impulsive, downright foolish, and potentially lethal decisions, Luther Galloway thought as he contemplated the horse standing in front of him. It looked big enough to kill him, not to mention that a fall from its back would probably prove to be fatal, too.

  Then don’t fall off, he told himself. That was simple enough.

  “Here you go,” Catamount Jack said as he shoved a rifle into some sort of leather scabbard attached to the saddle. “Got fifteen rounds in her, so you ought to have plenty o’ ammunition.”

  Luther swallowed. “Thank you, Deputy.”

  “No offense, Mr. Turnbuckle, but I wish I was goin’ with the marshal instead o’ you. It’s been too blasted long since I got to swap lead with any ring-tailed hellions.”

  Was the man making fun of him, or trying to scare him? From the twinkle in Jack’s eyes, Luther thought that both were possible, even likely. But it didn’t change anything, so screwing up his courage, he grasped the reins and the saddle horn, put his left foot in the stirrup, and swung up onto the horse’s back.

  Amos Hillman, the livery stable’s proprietor, had saddled and led out the big brown horse, claiming that it was one of his best and not too rough for a relative novice to ride. Luther knew that Westerners sometimes liked to play tricks on people they considered “tenderfeet,” and he certainly fell into that category. Frank Morgan had nodded in approval of Hillman’s choice, though, and Luther didn’t think Morgan would allow such trickery under the circumstances.

  Luther had barely settled himself in the saddle, and tried not to gasp at how high off the ground he was, when Morgan rode out of the stable on a big gelding whose hide had a peculiar golden sheen. Garrett Claiborne followed on another mount rented from Amos Hillman.

  When Luther looked at Claiborne, he felt a mixture of anger and jealousy. It was obvious that Diana Woodford cared a great deal for Claiborne. Luther had been unaware of the relationship between them until today—and he didn’t like it. When he saw them embracing, the thought occurred to him that Diana might like it if he helped Morgan track down whoever was responsible for the attack on the mine, and the words popped out of his mouth before he knew what he was doing.

  Once the offer was made, though, it certainly couldn’t be taken back. Luckily, he’d been able to persuade Morgan to take him along. Or perhaps un-luckily, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

  Either way, they were ready to ride.

  “You sit a saddle like you’ve done it before,” Morgan commented as the three men swung into Buckskin’s main street and headed out of the settlement.

  “I ride in one of the parks in San Francisco,” Luther said. That was true, as far as it went. He had ridden only a few times, most recently about six months earlier. He knew enough about it, though, to stay in the saddle without a great deal of awkward bouncing.

  He had about the same level of experience with firearms. He had been on a few hunting trips as a young man, and he had gone target shooting a couple of times. He knew which end of the gun the bullet came out of, as the old saying went, and he was confident that in the event of trouble he wouldn’t be a total liability.

  He hoped that would be the case anyway.

  He hoped even more that the situation wouldn’t come up. If Morgan failed to find the bushwhackers’ trail, it wouldn’t be any reflection on him, Luther told himself. All Diana would remember was that he had volunteered without any hesitation to go along on what might turn out to be a dangerous mission.

  They left the town behind and headed toward the Crown Royal Mine. Luther had never been out there and had only a vague idea of where it was located. He had seen it on a map that was pinned to the wall of Tip Woodford’s office, but since he had never been in the area before, the landmarks shown on the map didn’t mean much to him.

  “You think Jessica Munro might be trying to stir up some trouble between the Crown Royal and the Alhambra again?” Claiborne asked as the men rode along, following a fairly well-defined trail.

  Morgan frowned in thought for a moment before answering. Then he shook his head and said, “I doubt it. She wouldn’t have anything to gain from it, and anyway, she’s not the type. If her husband wanted something, he might’ve sent a crew of gunnies to get it, but Hamish Munro’s dead. I think Mrs. Munro’s probably content just to sit back and let the Alhambra earn however much it will before the silver peters out.”

  “As it likely will sooner or later,” Claiborne observed.

  Morgan shrugged. “Good or bad, most things come to an end.”

  That was true, Luther thought. Sooner or later, the role he was playing would have to end. But not until after he had shown everyone that he was a decent lawyer, he hoped.

  It took about an hour of riding to reach the Crown Royal, and by that time Luther’s muscles were beginning to ache from being in the saddle. He didn’t say anything about the discomfort, though, remaining stoic instead.

  “There’s the stand of trees where the bushwhackers were hidden,” Garrett Claiborne said, pointing out a thick growth of pines about a hundred yards from the mine office. The stamp mill was clearly visible off to one side, and so was the entrance to the mine tunnel, a short distance up the hill.

  Morgan nodded. “Yeah, they were close enough to have ventilated some of the hombres working here if they wanted to.” He turned the gold-colored horse toward the trees. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  Luther and Claiborne followed him. Luther hoped that the mining engineer wasn’t planning on staying with them the whole time. That wouldn’t help him impress Diana Woodford. Surely, Claiborne had duties here at the Crown Royal that required his presence.

  When the three men r
eached the trees, Morgan dismounted and led his horse into the pines. Claiborne followed suit, so Luther had no choice except to do likewise. Morgan pointed out several sets of hoofprints, and even hunkered down to study the marks more closely.

  “Sometimes a horseshoe will have something distinctive about it that makes the prints it leaves easy to identify,” he told Luther. “That’s not really the case here.” He looked around and suddenly called sharply, “Dog!”

  A wolf leaped out of the brush, startling Luther and sending fear coursing along his veins. He reached for his rifle, thinking that the massive beast might attack Morgan and try to rip out his throat.

  Instead, the big, shaggy, gray animal bounded up to Morgan’s side with his tongue lolling out of his mouth in what appeared to be a grin. “What in the world!” Luther said.

  “That’s Dog,” Claiborne explained with a grin. “He was with us all the time. Didn’t you see him?”

  Luther had to shake his head. “No, I didn’t. I thought it was a wild animal, a wolf.”

  “Part wolf maybe,” Morgan said as he scratched behind the beast’s ears. “I’ve never asked him, and he hasn’t volunteered the information.” He leaned closer to the big cur. “Dog, search.”

  Dog lowered his muzzle to the ground and started sniffing around the prints left by the horses. After a few moments he stiffened, and a growl came from him as his hackles rose. That just make him look even more fearsome as far as Luther was concerned.

  “I thought he might pick up a familiar scent,” Morgan said. “Those hoofprints may not be all that distinctive, but Dog never forgets something once he’s smelled it.”

  “He knows these horses?”

  “Or the man who was riding one of them,” Morgan replied, his expression growing hard and grim. “The same fella took a couple of shots at me almost a week ago, when Conrad and Rebel and I were heading for Buckskin.”