Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) by Tabor Evans

trying to die young. You can see he never made it, but it’s not for lack of trying.”
    Longarm turned toward Señorita Vallejo, touched the brim of his Stetson, and asked, “Mind if I smoke, ma’am?” She kept her face averted, gazing out the window, and made no answer. The deputy shrugged and, taking her silence for consent, produced a cheroot from an inside coat pocket and planted it between his front teeth. He turned back to MacLeod and said, “Let’s talk about rocks. Just how many shipments have we lost track of, so far?”
    MacLeod’s smile faded as he said, “Thirteen. I don’t know what I’m going to do if you can’t find out who’s been doing it, Deputy. We’ve been digging damned decent stuff out of that mountain, but my men have to be paid and my wife and I are down to bread and beans. If they keep robbing us, we’re just going to have to cash in our chips. Our original grubstake’s about used up.”
    Longarm struck a match on the coach’s window frame, and touched the flame to his cigar. “Haven’t you made
any
money on the mine?”
    â€œNot a red cent! I figure, allowing for a rough assay, we’ve shipped at least a quarter of a million in extractable ore since we reopened the mine. Not a speck of it’s ever reached the mint.”
    Longarm blew out a large cloud of smoke that dissipated rapidly in the breeze from the window. He was tired of going over the same ground, so he didn’t ask about the shipments. Instead he asked, “Do you know a mining engineer named Baxter?”
    â€œRalph Baxter? Sure. He’s staying at the hotel in Manzanita. As a matter of fact, he’s made me an offer for the Lost Chinaman.”
    The deputy’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You don’t say. Now that’s sort of interesting.”
    â€œNot really,” MacLeod said. “I have no intention of selling—not if I can help it. Baxter is fronting for an Eastern syndicate, and frankly he’s been talking penny-ante. He knows what we have up there. I took him through the mine myself. You know what he offered us? A measly million dollars!”
    Longarm whistled and asked, “You call that measly? For a man living on bread and beans, you think big, MacLeod!”
    â€œHell, I’d
be
big if they’d let me! The vein I opened promises to assay out a hundred times that amount. That reef of quartz shows no sign of having a bottom to it. Given the time and a little more backing, I can dig for gold all the way to China!”
    â€œMaybe, but in the meantime we have to see about getting it to the mint. Have any others made you an offer for your mine? I’ve got reasons for asking.”
    MacLeod nodded and said, “I follow your drift. Ralph Baxter might be a crook, but I sort of doubt it. I checked out the people he works for. I’m not supposed to know who they are, but a man who’s knocked around the mining business knows who to compare notes with. Baxter’s outfit is made up of Boston bankers with solid reputations. I’d say his offer was legitimate, but it’s way the hell too low to consider.”
    â€œHow about the Hearst interests, over in Sheep Ranch? Do they seem interested?”
    â€œThey sent a man over to congratulate us when we hit pay dirt. He didn’t make an offer. I showed him through the mine. He said the rock formation we’re into isn’t the same one Hearst is working. He said that was all he was really interested in. You see, some folks think the gold quartz runs all the way under the Sierra, clean over to the diggings in Nevada. But we agreed we’ll have to dig some even to get near one another underground. Sheep Ranch is a good ten miles from Manzanita and the Lost Chinaman.”
    â€œMaybe. I’ll ride over there and have a talk with them, though. From everything I’ve heard about George Hearst, your mine’s just the