Killing Ground. William W. Johnstone

took a seat at a big table in the rear along with Conrad, Rebel, and Catamount Jack. Conrad looked like he didn’t care for the idea of his wife being inside a saloon, but give the boy credit for some brains, Frank thought. Conrad had figured out by now that it wasn’t going to do any good to argue with her.

      Johnny Collyer, the head bartender and the fella who ran the Silver Baron for Tip Woodford, brought over a pitcher of beer and some mugs himself, rather than sending the drinks with one of the waiter gals. He shook hands with Frank and said, “It’s mighty good to have you back, Marshal. Buckskin just hasn’t been the same without you.”

      “Thanks, Johnny. Is Tip around?”

      Collyer shook his head. “Out at the mine, I reckon. Miss Diana, too.”

      Diana Woodford, Tip’s daughter, kept the books and ran the mine office. Like Rebel, whom she actually resembled slightly in her blond beauty, she was a bit of a tomboy, and she’d had quite a crush on Frank Morgan when he first came to Buckskin. Frank was old enough to be her father, though, and he had successfully deflected her interest to Garrett Claiborne, who was younger and a more appropriate beau for her.

      Johnny Collyer poured beers for everybody, even Rebel, and then went back behind the bar. Frank sipped from his mug, enjoying the way the cool beer cut the trail dust. He wasn’t much of a drinker, preferring a good cup of coffee or even a phosphate to hard liquor, but sometimes a beer went down just fine.

      He said, “All right, Jack. Tell us about Dex Brighton.”

      Jack took a healthy swallow of beer, his corded throat working as he swallowed, then lowered the mug and wiped the back of his other hand across his whiskery mouth.

      “Fella rode into town about a month ago, not long after you left for Arizona Territory, Frank,” the old-timer began. “Nobody paid much attention to him at first. You know how it is, folks come and go all the time.”

      Frank nodded. Ever since the silver boom had gotten rolling again, new folks showed up in Buckskin nearly every day.

      “Brighton wasn’t a miner or a cowhand or anything like that,” Jack went on. “You could tell that by lookin’ at him. I took him for a gambler maybe, and sorta kept an eye on him for a day or two, just to make sure he wasn’t a tinhorn who was gonna try to set up a crooked game or anything like that. I reckon he was just gettin’ the lay o’ the land, though, before he sprung his surprise. He went into Tip Woodford’s office one day and told ol’ Tip that he was the real owner of the Lucky Lizard.”

      “That’s not possible,” Conrad said. “Mr. Woodford has owned the Lucky Lizard claim for years, ever since the first silver boom in Buckskin.”

      “Yeah, well, that ain’t the way Brighton tells the story. Y’see, Tip Woodford bought that claim from a fella years ago, before there ever was a Lucky Lizard Mine, before anybody had found any silver in these parts at all. Brighton says that his pa was partners with the hombre Tip bought the claim from, and that they had a deal so that they could only sell out to each other, not to anybody else. So accordin’ to Brighton, it weren’t legal when Tip bought the claim, and since both o’ the original partners is dead, that means the Lucky Lizard belongs to him.”

      Frank frowned in thought. The story was a bit convoluted, but no more so than plenty of other circumstances surrounding various mines and mining claims in the West. Disputes over the ownership of such rights were commonplace.

      “What did Tip do?” he asked.

      “Well, I reckon he wanted to throw Brighton out on his ear, but Diana was there so he didn’t. He just told Brighton he figured he was mistaken about that and even offered to show him all the paperwork provin’ that Tip owned the mine. Brighton said that that didn’t mean anything, but he appreciated ever’thing Tip did to get the mine operatin’, so he said he was willin’ to let Tip keep a one-quarter share for himself. He said he figured that was a mighty generous offer.”

      “I’m guessing Tip didn’t see it that way.”

      Jack snorted. “Not hardly. He got a little hot under the collar finally, and told Brighton to go peddle his papers elsewhere. Brighton said he’d be sorry for that and said when he took over, Tip wasn’t gonna get nothin’.” The old-timer’s bony shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “That’s how things stand, as far as I know. Brighton’s still hangin’ around town tellin’ folks that he’s the real owner o’ the Lucky Lizard, and there’s not much Tip can do about that. Word is that Brighton’s got some fancy lawyer comin’ in to take Tip to court and try to take the mine away from him that way. But Brighton’s been seen talkin’ to some hard-lookin’ hombres, too, and Tip’s a mite nervous. He thinks Brighton might try to take over the Lucky Lizard with hired guns, if it comes to that.”

      “It won’t,” Frank promised with a grim look on his face. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

      “Well, maybe you can start now,” Jack said. He nodded toward the batwings at the saloon’s entrance, which had just been pushed aside to let a man stroll in. Somehow, Frank wasn’t surprised to see the hard-faced, white-haired gent from the hotel porch walking toward them as Jack added, “Here comes Brighton now.”

      Chapter 3

      Dex Brighton came straight toward the table where Frank sat with Conrad, Rebel, and Catamount Jack. Frank rose to his feet as the man approached, wanting to meet Brighton on an equal basis. Brighton stopped a few feet away and gave Frank a curt nod.

      “You’re not wearing a badge, but I assume you’re the town marshal. Frank Morgan, right?”

      “That’s right,” Frank said.

      Brighton extended a hand.

      “I’m Dexter Brighton. It’s good to meet you, Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

      His affable manner didn’t extend to his eyes, which remained cold and hard. Frank hesitated before shaking his hand, but only for a second. If Brighton was trying to cause trouble for Tip Woodford, then Frank had to regard him as an enemy, because Tip was his friend.

      At the same time, it was possible that Brighton had legal grounds for his claim on the Lucky Lizard, in which case Frank was sworn to uphold the law. He gripped Brighton’s hand, which was hard, dry, and strong. The man was well dressed and had the look of money about him, but he had done plenty of hard work in his life, too.

      “I’ve heard a few things about you, too, Brighton,” Frank said.

      Brighton chuckled, but again, the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you have.” He nodded to Catamount Jack. “Hello, Deputy.”

      Jack just grunted.

      “Don’t believe everything you hear, Marshal,” Brighton went on.

      “I generally don’t. I like to see things with my own eyes before I make up my mind about anything—or anybody.”

      Brighton nodded. “That’s wise. I think you’ll find that I’m just a man who wants what’s rightfully his.”

      “We’ll see,” Frank said.

      Conrad cleared his throat.

      Frank half-turned and waved his left hand toward the table. “My son, Conrad Browning, and his wife.”

      Conrad stood up and shook hands with Brighton as well. “Mr. Brighton,” he said.

      “Conrad Browning of the Browning Mining Syndicate,” Brighton said with a smile. “Owner of the Crown Royal Mine. You see, I looked into the situation here in Buckskin before I ever came out here. I hope we’ll be friendly competitors once I take over the Lucky Lizard. Enough silver to go around for everyone, eh?”

      “Your business affairs are your own, Mr. Brighton,” Conrad replied, his voice cool. “They have nothing to do with the Crown Royal or the Browning Mining Syndicate.”

      “And we’ll have to see about that claim of