Rapture's Gold

by Rosanne Bittner

  The two men struggled on the boardwalk, then fell together into the street, and in an instant it seemed half the men in town were ringed around Buck and Buffalo, who rolled in the mud for a moment, then got to their feet. They circled then, fists clenched, eyes smoldering.

  Buck charged into Buffalo then, ramming a shoulder into the man’s gut and shoving him backward, while Buffalo pounded at Buck’s kidneys. Suddenly Buck rose, slamming the back of his head into Buffalo’s chin. The bigger man reeled backward, and Buck straightened, grabbing Buffalo’s shirt and hanging on while he landed blows on the man’s face several times. Finally he let Buffalo slump to the ground and stood over him, panting.

  Men cheered. Many of them were surprised at the way he had handled the much bigger Buffalo. Buck was a big man, a good fighter, and hard muscled, but compared to Buffalo, even Buck Hanner looked small. Nonetheless, Buffalo lay prostrate in the mud, blood running profusely from his nose. Buck turned. His blue eyes, icy with anger, ran over the onlookers.

  “Some of you made bets on Harmony Jones!” he roared. “Well, she’s up there, working her claim! So those of you who bet on her can collect!” He stopped to get his breath. “But I’ll tell all of you right now! Anybody who gets the idea of going up there and bothering that girl, or bringing her harm, he’ll answer to me!” he roared. “And I won’t just stop with a bloody nose! The next man who accuses Harmony Jones of being anything but a respectable little girl will be dead! That’s all she is—a little girl, with more guts than most of you will ever have!”

  He bent down and picked up his fallen hat; then he pushed his way through the crowd back to the restaurant, stalking inside and up to Wanda. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll pay the damages,” he told her.

  “There’s no real damage, other than a little spilled food, Buck,” she answered, frowning with concern. “You go clean up and come back here, and breakfast will be on the house. You deserve it. That man shouldn’t have insulted that little girl.”

  As Buck ran a hand through his tousled hair, he felt pain in the knuckles of his right hand. He looked at them. They were already swollen.

  “I think I’d better see a doctor too. Hitting Buffalo is like hitting a cement block.”

  Wanda clucked, touching the hand lightly. “Oh, dear. I hope it isn’t broken, Buck.”

  “I don’t care if it is. It would be worth it. Listen, I’m going to clean up and see the doc. Then I’ll be back. I really am sorry about the mess. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “No problem. I don’t blame you at all.” She studied the handsome blue eyes, longing for her own youth. “You love her, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

  She was sure his eyes actually teared. He nodded. “I do,” he answered. He turned and left, and she looked after him, shaking her head.

  “I hope it all works out for you, Buck Hanner,” she said softly.

  As Harmony worked the sluice, she hummed. She liked this life—liked the privacy, the independence, the freedom. Here there was no one to answer to. Here she was just Harmony Jones, her own woman. She had been here two months now, and had stored up a lot of gold nuggets already. The weather had been good, the clear, bright days broken only occasionally by five-or ten-minute thunder showers. The nights were quiet, and she was usually so tired from working all day that she slept soundly.

  Everything would be perfect, if not for the fact that she missed Buck Hanner terribly. She hated to admit it, hated to acknowledge that his kiss had left a lingering sweetness on her lips, a lingering longing in her soul, a lingering warmth that was very pleasant in her.

  She still had no idea why she had let him kiss her again, after being so angry about the first kiss. Perhaps it was because the first kiss had stirred in her a furious curiosity that overwhelmed her anger. Buck…She wished she could figure him out, wished she didn’t feel sorry for what had happened to him and Mary Beth, wished he weren’t so handsome and sure—wished she’d never met him at all. Yes. That would have been best, never to have met him at all. It infuriated her that he made her think of things she had never before considered, made her more aware of her own body. She wondered how it would feel to have a man like Buck touch her breasts, press her naked body against his own.

  Never had she entertained such thoughts. They had always revolted her. For the first time she considered some of the things Jimmie had told her in a new light. Perhaps it wasn’t the things a man did to a woman, but the man himself that made the difference. To think of Jimmie touching her made her nauseous. To think of Buck touching her set her on fire. Yet a stubborn voice inside her told her she should never—ever—submit to any man. That would be letting him get the better of her. She wanted no master. She was in charge of her own life. Besides, she still had that gnawing doubt, that continued inability to trust. Maybe Buck Hanner wanted more than Harmony Jones. Maybe he was just playing games with her, proving he could break her down. Maybe he wanted part of her claim—or all of it. Maybe his hatred of Wade Tillis was just staged. He might be working for the man, be some kind of spy who was waiting for her to fail so he could inform Tillis and Tillis could move in.

  Yet when she closed her eyes and pictured his face, she saw him talking about Fast Horse and Mary Beth, saw the love his face revealed. She knew he must be telling the truth. And, after all, true hatred had blazed in his eyes when he’d spoken of Wade Tillis. His story seemed very believable, and he had killed one of Tillis’ men before they’d left, unless that gunfight was staged.

  No. She envisioned the sky-blue eyes; the handsome, tanned face; the quick, brilliant smile. He had done so much for her, been so patient with her; and above all, he’d been so respectful of her. He could have had her anytime, by sheer strength. Yet he had never used that strength against her, except that last day when he’d kissed her so savagely. Even then she’d known he wouldn’t have done more if she hadn’t wanted him to.

  She sighed deeply and picked out some gold particles from the drag. In her usual routine, she spent the evenings picking out the gangue from the gold, so that she had one sack with only gold in it, and another with pieces of garnet and some silver. Now she was getting tired, and decided to call it quits for the night.

  In the evening shadows she caught a movement, and she reached for her rifle, but Amber appeared then, the coyote with whom she had made friends.

  “Hi!” she said quietly. “You hungry?”

  The animal watched her timidly, carefully stepping a little closer, then standing rigidly.

  “Don’t go away,” she told him. She picked up her rifle again and walked slowly to the shack, climbing the steps and going inside, where three freshly killed rabbits lay. She cut one in half and carried one part of the carcass outside. Going down the steps she waved it teasingly, while Amber just stared apprehensively.

  “I know I shouldn’t do this. I need my food, you know,” she told the animal, watching its yellow eyes look longingly at the fresh meat. “But you’re such a pretty fellow, and I like talking to you. Someday you’re going to come up and eat right out of my hand, Amber. Why not try it now?”

  The coyote did not budge, and after a few minutes she sighed and threw the meat toward him. It landed just inches away, and in a flash it was in his jaws and he was off, disappearing into the woods.

  “You could at least stay and talk awhile!” she called out to him. “You aren’t a very grateful coyote!”

  She smiled and sat there with her chin in her hand. She was proud of herself—shooting rabbits, making friends with a coyote, working a sluice. She was surviving very nicely, sitting here on her very own property on her very own mountain. At least it seemed like her mountain. After all, she was the only human inhabitant. In addition to the coyote, a squirrel came around so often that it was now by the cabin most of the time. She didn’t have the heart to shoot it. There was other game, and she needed the friendship of the animals. Besides, she could also fish. At the mouth of the creek that ran past her cabin, about a half-mile away, her own smal
l creek fed into a larger stream, which in turn ran down the mountain and joined the South Platte River, far to the west. At the junction of the two creeks, trout were so abundant she could catch them by hand and have fish whenever she wanted it.

  She was proud of the fact that she had discovered that abundant source of fish on her own. But when she went fishing she kept her eyes open and her rifle nearby, for she remembered Buck’s warning that bears love fish and can often be found where they swim close to the surface in clear water. So far, however, there had been no sign of any bears, either at the fish pond, or near the shack.

  She turned toward the rumbling sound behind her, noticing heavy black clouds moving her way. It seemed to rain at least once a day in these mountains, quick, sudden storms that hit fiercely, then were gone. She felt a slight chill in the air, and her heart filled with a mixture of fear and awe, for the rumbling sound that came with the clouds echoed fiercely through the mountains, seeming to shake the very earth. She never failed to be amazed at how swiftly these storms could sneak up on her. Moments ago she had seen no clouds, yet now thunder boomed, as though a great monster had rushed in to pounce on her.

  She ran to the sluice, picking up her jars of minerals, and hurried with them to the shack, where she set them on the homemade table. The entire cabin shook as thunder clapped again, and she jumped. Storms didn’t usually frighten her, but this one seemed to envelop the shack in its powerful embrace. The thunder made her feel alone, reminding her that she was just one small person against a vast mountain and mighty Mother Nature. At such moments she was aware that choosing to live alone meant she had no one to turn to, and she missed Buck Hanner.

  If Buck were here, she knew she wouldn’t be afraid. He’d be laughing right now at the storm, joking about it, teasing her. She got out her cards. Perhaps if she played solitaire, the storm wouldn’t bother her as much. When she began to lay the cards on the floor, a rat ran from under the stove, crossed the room, and scuttered out the door. She reminded herself to check the traps again, but she wasn’t upset. Buck had been right. Even the rats seemed like friends now. They didn’t really bother anything. All they wanted was a crumb or two that she might drop. As long as she kept all food up high, there was no problem. Still, they were the only animals she didn’t welcome. She would keep the traps set.

  The storm raged and whipped around the cabin, rain coming down in torrents. But as usual it lasted only minutes. Suddenly everything was calm again, and the sky brightened with the sun. Wondering why she had been afraid, Harmony opened the door and stepped out to smell the clean, damp air. When the pine forest was wet, it was pungent with sweet smells. She went back inside to get a bucket. With the water stirred by the rain and the stream slightly swollen from it, perhaps there would be more fish than usual at the mouth of the creek. She was hungry for trout, and she didn’t feel like doing anymore panning that day. After all, the place was hers. She could work it as much or as little as she chose. At the moment she preferred to go catch fish.

  She walked down the steps, for once forgetting her rifle. It was the first time she had done anything so foolish. She marched down the mountainside with the bucket, calling for Amber. But the coyote made no appearance.

  “He’ll be back,” she muttered to herself. “And he’ll eat out of my hand.”

  The sun grew hot on her shoulders. It was strange how fast the weather could change in these mountains. She wondered how it would be in the winter. Surely it was going to be even more lonely, for she wouldn’t be able to take these walks and go catch fish. She mused on what she could do in the winter to keep herself entertained. Perhaps she would build snowmen all around the shack, or make snowballs and throw them at Amber. Would the stream freeze? How would she pan for gold if it did? But no. Buck had said it could be very cold in the winter, but the days were warm enough to thaw the stream and most days brought sun, even in winter.

  She was over halfway to the mouth of the creek when she realized she’d forgotten her rifle. She stopped and considered going back. But it was a long climb, and it surely wouldn’t take her long to get the fish. She’d been this way so many times, and had never had trouble. One trip without the rifle would not be the end of the world.

  She began to hum. Yes, she was happy. What she would do about her feelings for Buck she wasn’t sure. She liked him more than she cared to admit. She couldn’t exactly say that she loved him, even though he’d told her he loved her. She wondered if he’d really meant that. Why should he love her? She was hardly more than a girl, and she’d been mean to him most of the time. She’d given him absolutely no reason whatsoever to love her. Were his words just a ruse to make her submit?

  She tightened her lips. She’d never submit! She’d never fall for Buck Hanner’s clever words and handsome smile…or his tender kiss. Yet the thought of his touch made her shudder with an odd, heated excitement. She would have to be very careful when he returned, for she must have feelings for no one, allow no one into her life. Besides, whether she liked the man or not, what all men did was the same. It would be humiliating and painful beyond description. No man would do that to her except by force or trickery, and she’d make sure Buck Hanner used neither one on her.

  She looked up and smiled at the birds that sang and flitted from tree to tree, made happy by the new-fallen rain. Then she studied the surrounding area and glanced back toward the cabin. She saw no sign of fire from the recent lightning. She was glad of that. She did not want to have to leave this mountain and her claim. She liked it there, even though it was lonely.

  She turned and half skipped the rest of the way to the mouth of the creek. The swollen waters rushed over smooth, round boulders in a loud torrent, roaring so loudly she could hear nothing else, not the birds or the wind or the animals that might be nearby. She didn’t check the area, for she was enthralled by the churning white water. It was all so beautiful. She laughed out loud and jumped onto a large boulder, clinging to the bucket. All around her trout jumped and splashed, so many the water seemed black with them, more than she had ever seen there. She decided to fill the bucket to the brim if she could. After all, she could always smoke what she couldn’t eat. Then she’d have fish for several days—even weeks. She’d never dreamed she could be so practical, so self-sufficient.

  She jumped into the icy cold water, not caring that it soaked her high, leather boots. She could tell it was cold, even through the boots, but it was exhilarating. She set the bucket on a wide, flat rock, then began dipping into the cold water with her hands, sometimes catching a slippery meal, sometimes missing a fish.

  She fished for forty-five minutes, laughing and screaming at the way some of the fish wriggled in her hands. She’d quickly toss each one into the bucket, paying no attention to her surroundings, behaving like the child she truly was but had never been allowed to be. All around her the water pounded and rushed. Once she dived for a fish and fell into the water face first. She laughed and shivered, telling herself she’d better get back to the cabin and change before she took cold. The worst thing she could think of was being sick up here alone, maybe dying of pneumonia with no one to know until Buck came for her.

  The thought suddenly sobered her, and she caught three more fish, throwing them into the bucket and deciding to head back. She straightened. When she picked up the bucket, she was surprised at how heavy it was. Good! She must have at least twenty trout. She could almost taste them without even cooking them. She moved toward the bank, then stopped, feeling an eerie presence, a sixth sense telling her she was not alone.

  She turned to scan the other side of the larger creek. A grizzly sat there on its haunches, lazily chomping on a big fish, the remains of its snack hanging limp and torn in its great paw. For a moment Harmony simply froze. How long had the animal been there? Had it noticed her? Surely it had. She had been screaming and laughing and splashing in the stream for close to an hour.

  The rifle! She had no rifle! And she’d have to run uphill to get to the cabin. Should she jus
t slowly walk away? Or should she run? Should she stand still? Perhaps if she didn’t move at all, the bear would simply waddle off, leaving her alone. She stood transfixed, holding the bucket so tightly the knuckles on the hand that gripped it were white. The grizzly finished swallowing the rest of the fish; then it looked at her. It stared directly at her for what seemed hours to Harmony, and finally it began to sniff, wiggling its nose and making snorting sounds. It splashed at the water, then slowly rose to its hind feet. Standing, it looked a hundred feet tall to Harmony.

  She didn’t wait to see what it was going to do. She turned and started running, so much fear in her heart it pounded wildly, actually hurting her chest. For some strange reason she clung to the heavy bucket. In her panic she didn’t even think to set it down. She was reacting in the strange way of panicked people. They became irrational, and brought more trouble on themselves.

  She ran! Fast! Faster! Was the bear behind her? Should she have stayed put? But how could she, when it had reared up on its hind legs and sniffed her? She scrambled up the path, slipping several times, skinning her hands. Each time she fell, a fish or two slipped out of the bucket. Still she clung to it, not even realizing she was doing so, not stopping to think that she was leaving a tempting trail for the grizzly. If she had thought of that, she’d have left the bucket and all of the fish. The grizzly would most likely have stopped and sat down to enjoy a hardy meal, letting the foolish girl run on.

  But her flight only intrigued and infuriated the grizzly. He followed the small creature who was carrying his meal away. He lumbered after her, his excitement building as the human creature ran on ahead of him, spilling fish out here and there. It was like a game. Now he wanted to catch her. Occasionally he stopped to pick up a fish and savor it, quickly swallowing the delightful morsel. Then he’d run on again, to see if she would drop more, intent on catching the little creature that was fleeing him. Perhaps that creature would make a tasty meal. Perhaps it would taste better than the fish. Perhaps this creature was an enemy. Hadn’t she been at his creek, catching his fish? Wasn’t she running away now with those fish, trying to keep them for herself? Of course! He must catch the human creature and give her a swat—teach her a lesson! Perhaps he should even sink his teeth into her throat and kill her, as he would kill any enemy!