“Have a seat, Ethan,” Holliday answered, going back behind his desk. “I’m glad you finally made it here. I’ve been wondering if and when you’d show up. Would you like a cigar?” He opened a silver box on his desk. “The finest—from Cuba. Every man enjoys a good smoke.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Ethan answered.
Holliday watched him take the cigar, along with a match from a little silver cup on his desk. He had no doubt Ethan Temple would make a damn good guard up at the mines, but he suspected he wouldn’t be able to lead him around by the nose like he could Wayne Trapp and a lot of the others. This big half-breed in buckskins was not a man impressed by wealth. He did a job because it was a job, no matter who it was for, and he had an air of independence and pride about him that told Holliday he probably could not be bought. No, he wouldn’t use this one for any underhanded dealings. That was for men like Trapp. He let Ethan take a couple of puffs, watching the pleasure on his face at the taste of the smoke. “What did I tell you?”
Ethan sat down, his long legs sprawling from the small wooden French chair. “You were right. It’s a good smoke.”
Holliday grinned. “Welcome to Cripple Creek, Ethan. I’ll let you rest a couple of days if you like. Then Wayne will take you up to the Golden Holliday, show you where you can sleep, and take you around the mine. Actually there is a Golden Holliday Number One and a Number Two. You’ll work at Number One. That’s the biggest and employs the most men. We keep men working there around the clock, taking out both gold and silver. Number One is where we’ve had the most grumbling over wages, that sort of thing. The men are trying to organize a union, so anytime you see them gathered in bunches, break it up. Same goes for whenever you see them fighting among themselves. I have a few Chinese working up there, and sometimes there’s trouble over that. They don’t like Chinese, but the Orientals are damn good workers and work for less pay, so I keep them on. Once in a while I’ll also need you to guard the purified gold shipments sent from the mills up at the mine down here to Cripple Creek. From here to Colorado Springs and on to the Denver mint, they’re guarded by professionals, former marshals, and some Pinkerton men. You’d make a good lawman or Pinkerton man yourself.”
Ethan shrugged, taking the cigar from his mouth and rolling it between his fingers. “Working for you will be fine for now.”
Holliday kept his grin, but Ethan knew it was false. The man was good at acting friendly, but he was probably a bastard at heart. All that money, and he didn’t even have a family. He’d already heard that a lot of people didn’t like Roy Holliday, and that he conducted business in a sometimes ruthless manner. His money and power made him almost untouchable, but Ethan figured how the man lived his life made no difference to him, as long as he didn’t ask him to do something underhanded. What he expected Ethan to do sounded simple enough.
“Well, I’m glad to give you the job, Ethan. You can leave with Wayne here in two days—he’s going up with a couple of other men. They can teach you the ropes. In the meantime, pick any room you want here at the hotel. You’ll sleep here until you leave. God knows the ride up is a bitch, camping out in the cold mountains and all.”
“That won’t bother me. I’ve slept under the stars at least half the nights in my life.” Ethan rose. “Thanks for the offer of the room.”
“Sure thing.” Holliday also rose. “If you’re in need of some good whiskey and clean whores, try mine—the Holliday House, just up the street. The women there will wear you out enough in one night that you won’t have need of another one for a long time. It won’t matter that you’re Indian. All you have to do is tell them you work for me.”
Ethan wondered if the sly, inadvertent insults would ever stop. “Thanks for the tip.” Yes, he could use a shot of whiskey, and he hadn’t been with a woman since that night with Ally. Maybe he would take the man up on his offer. It was just that ever since Ally, he figured no other woman could satisfy him like that, not even one who knew all the ways to please a man. With Ally it had been more than physical, or at least that was what he had thought at the time. It still hurt to realize she had just lain there and let him have his way with her because she needed to consummate her marriage and make it legal. “Where do I meet up with Wayne and the others?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Trapp spoke up. “Right here, six A.M. It’s a good day’s ride up to the mine.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ll be here.” He turned and left, thinking how he liked this country. It was wild and rugged and beautiful. He wouldn’t mind this work at all. It would keep him busy, and that was important. He didn’t want time to think about Wounded Knee…or Ally.
Trapp watched Ethan leave, then turned to Holliday. “You didn’t tell me he looked so Indian.”
Holliday eyed the man closely. “Treat him right, Wayne, no funny business. He’s a good man. I want him put in charge of the northern section of the mine.”
“But that’s where I usually—”
“I said the northern section! You’ll take over the southern half. Joe Carson is quitting. He’s worried they’ll find out he had a hand in that murder. He wants to get out of here and head for California.”
Wayne knew better than to argue. Ethan Temple would be holding as important a place in the rank as he did. Since Ethan was new, it didn’t seem fair. “Whatever you say,” he answered, always afraid to argue with Holliday. “It just grates me that murdering John Sebastian didn’t do us any good. That stupid woman who grubstaked his claim is still up there workin’ it herself. Word is she’s just a slip of a thing—young, too.”
Holliday stuck his cigar back in his mouth and walked back around his desk to sit down. “She’s still working that claim by herself?”
“Sure is.”
Holliday puffed thoughtfully on the cigar. He had deliberately arranged the murder of Sebastian to take place while he was out of town, which would help divert attention away from himself. To his delight, he had discovered after getting back that most people were of the opinion that Sebastian had been killed by someone carrying a grudge.
“It’s a good thing you’ve left the woman alone,” he told Trapp. “Harming her so soon would just stir up people’s curiosity again, maybe even anger. Up here, if an honest, innocent woman gets killed, the other prospectors and miners might get real angry and demand an investigation.” He met Trapp’s eyes. “What’s she like? A proper lady?”
Trapp grinned in a kind of sneer. “Appears that way. Not even married. Her name is Allyson Mills, and she’s only about nineteen. She carries a rifle and a pistol, and word is she’ll use them on any man who gets the wrong idea. She’s determined to mine her claim herself—don’t seem interested in sellin’ it.”
Holliday frowned. “I figured once Sebastian was out of the way, whoever this woman was, she would contact the land office and offer to sell. Fact is, I was going to look her up and make an offer after I got back. Maybe I still will. She must be getting pretty lonely and afraid and disgusted about now, ready to give up.”
Trapp shrugged. “You can go on up and give it a try, but so far she ain’t give up. We can scare the hell out of her if you want.”
“No. Just scaring her would leave her alive to tell the story, and people might figure out what we’re up to. We can’t kill her either. I’ll have to try some other route. She must not have found that hole farther up in the mountain above her cabin that Sebastian blew out of there. When I heard about the value of the gold samples he brought out, I knew I had to have that claim. That vein is worth a fortune. I just hope you and the others hid it good enough that the woman won’t find it. I’ll go up there, maybe tomorrow, and make her a good offer. She’ll probably be happy as hell to see another human face—and ready to leave that rat-infested little shanty.”
Trapp nodded. “I hope you get your hands on it. Anything you want me to do, just let me know.”
Holliday laid his cigar in an ashtray, frowning. “There is one other thing I can try if she won’t sell.”
&n
bsp; “What’s that?” Trapp’s mind was running wild with desire to scare the woman off. There was one sure way to do it. Once she was raped, she wouldn’t have any fight left in her.
“I’ll hire a geologist. Considering the location of her mine, there is a damn good possibility that the vein Sebastian found stems from my own mine behind it. If the apex of that vein comes from my mine, that claim is legally mine anyway. She wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. I’ll look into it. In the meantime, leave her alone.” He rose from his chair again. “And don’t mention her to Ethan Temple. The man risked his neck on that train to protect a couple of women, so he probably wouldn’t like the idea of our threatening some poor young thing up there trying to mine her own claim. Leave him out of it, and tell the others to do the same. For the time being, that claim and John Sebastian’s murder will not be talked about, nor will—” He paused. “What the hell is her name, anyway? I forgot.”
“Allyson Mills.”
“Yes. Allyson Mills. Keep the name to yourself, especially around Temple. And stay away from her claim. I’ll find some other way to run her out.”
Trapp nodded and left as Holiday walked to a window to gaze at what he called Holliday Mountain. If he had his way, he would eventually buy every claim up there. His father had been cheated out of a fortune by his partner, leaving him penniless. He had committed suicide, and ever since then, Holliday had determined to earn back a fortune of his own. He had never let anyone get in his way, had given no thought to family or anything else, only to someday being even wealthier than his father had once been. He had found that wealth at Virginia City and had run his father’s former partner out of business in San Francisco, reducing the man to ruin. That had been a pleasant task indeed. He’d had his victory, but by then it wasn’t enough. Now his only goal in life was to get richer.
The local assayer in Cripple Creek was paid well to let him know of any unusually valuable claims. John Sebastian’s had been one of them. Now it belonged to Miss Mills, and if it was as valuable as the assayer claimed it was, all the other claims up there could be just as rich. He wanted them all. Apparently practically all of Eagle Mountain was running with gold, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else lay claim to any of it, especially not some slip of a woman like Allyson Mills.
20
Allyson raised the pick, grunting as she landed it into the diggings John Sebastian had started before he died. Why he chopped away in this spot, she couldn’t be sure. There was nothing here but hard, worthless rock, but maybe the man knew what he was doing. One day a week she spent the whole day doing this, just on the chance that she would come upon something important. From the nearby creek she had panned and collected enough little specks and nuggets of gold in her water jars that she was sure she must have three or four hundred dollars worth, but that was a pittance compared to what a person could make from a vein of gold.
Stan had pointed out the extent of her site, thirty feet wide, running along the creek in front and up along where it trickled out of the mountain on which her little cabin was perched. According to the map, she owned a hundred feet into the mountain and another thirty feet across once she got inside, then back out to the creek bed again. She also owned a good two hundred yards straight up the mountain behind her cabin. The problem was cutting into all that rock. She had no idea how to use explosives, nor could she afford to hire someone who did. She could only hack away at the hard rock herself, and in two months she had only cut about four feet inward. Somewhere back in there was the source of the flowing water, and, in turn, very likely the source of the gold she had found in the creek bed.
She had tried chopping at the stone around the small hole in the mountain from which the water ran, but it was pure granite, and her pick hardly made a dent. The first time she had swung at it, the pick had landed so hard that she thought the vibration through the handle might have broken her hand. She’d had to let go and rub her hands for several minutes before she could try the pick again. Now she was hacking away at somewhat softer rock underneath the water’s source, figuring to tunnel her way to it, which must have been what John Sebastian was trying to do. It was back-breaking work, and after a day of it she could barely move the next morning.
At least it was warmer today, and most of the snow around the cabin had melted. Now it was mid-afternoon, and she didn’t even need a jacket. Swinging the pick had worked up a sweat, making it seem even warmer than it really was. Every once in a while she would stop and let a spring breeze that swept down from higher elevations cool her perspiring body until she had the energy to start over again.
She had decided that within a week or two, if Stan did not return with more supplies, she would have to make the trip into Cripple Creek to get what she needed. She would take what gold she had already found and have it weighed and get whatever it was worth, then put that money into a bank, after keeping out enough for more supplies. If she couldn’t get rich the quick way, she would do it the hard way, day by day, panning, using the sluice, swinging the pick. She had no particular need to hurry, other than wanting to live in town again and get away from this awful loneliness.
Something rustled in the underbrush nearby, and at first she thought someone was spying on her. She quickly threw down the pick and grabbed up her rifle, but by then two little bear cubs emerged from the bushes, heading for some berries growing beside the cabin. She relaxed a little, slowly moving back, surprised that they did not seem frightened by her presence. She smiled at the sight of their furry little bodies and their boldness as they ambled right past her to the bush. Cautiously she walked a little closer, enjoying the company of anything alive, wishing they could talk. One of them growled at her, but only playfully. A moment later she heard her mules beginning to squeal as though terribly frightened. She hurried around the front of the cabin and to the other side where they were tied, but before she could reach them, she was greeted by a huge grizzly. It rose up on its hind legs at the sight of her and growled, the claws on its front paws extended threateningly.
Allyson gasped and for a moment just stood there frozen. Then she remembered Stan’s warning—Anytime you see bear cubs, get away fast. You can be sure the mother is around close, and in the spring, there ain’t nothin’ more ornery than a mother bear out of hibernation, especially a grizzly.
She had no doubt this one was a grizzly, mainly from its size. Stan had said they were the biggest breed of bear there was. Its fierce roar turned her blood cold, and as it walked toward her as though to attack, she did not even think to fire her rifle. Instead, she dropped it and ran. She could feel the bear close on her heels, knowing she would never outrun the animal if she had to go far; luckily, she only had to run around to the front of the cabin and get inside. She could barely get her breath for the fear that surged through her, and she tripped as she stepped up onto the rickety porch, falling to her knees.
The bear roared right behind her, and she screamed when she felt it swipe at her leg. She was instantly on her feet again, running through the door and slamming it shut, bolting it. Just as quickly she hurriedly closed the wooden shutters over the one front window, then ran to the only other window and closed that one also. Her breath came in frightened gasps, as the bear was already growling and scratching at the door. She prayed the flimsy cabin could withstand the animal’s rage and wouldn’t fall down around her from the great weight of the animal pushing at the door.
“Ethan,” she whimpered, wondering why his name sprang so easily to her lips. He’d know what to do—he could probably bring the bear down with one shot. It was then she remembered she had dropped her rifle outside. All she had was her .38 pistol, and she doubted that a bullet from that would stop such a big grizzly, unless she was lucky enough to shoot it between the eyes. Considering its size, she could never even reach high enough to hit it there.
She cowered in a corner, closing her eyes and praying for the bear to go away. Finally the growling and scratching stopped, but she could still hear both the mother an
d cubs grunting and wrestling outside, just under a side window, where the berry bush grew. She could do nothing but wait—and hope that the bigger grizzly would not harm her mules, which continued to bray wildly. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest hurt, and for the moment she wondered why she was here at all. She probably had enough money to go back to Denver, or at least to Cripple Creek, and start a little business of her own again, but that didn’t seem like enough now. For all she knew a bonanza lay waiting for her inside this mountain, and she was going to find it.
After several long minutes it was quiet again. She cautiously made her way to the side window and very slowly opened one wooden shutter. She saw no bears. She breathed a little easier, deciding just to stay inside and wait a while to make sure they were gone. It was then she felt the sting at the back of her leg, and looked down to see the grizzly’s claws had torn through her denim pants and into her skin. She had heard that pure alcohol or whiskey sometimes helped a wound heal better and kept infection from setting in. She hurried to her first-aid supply and took out a bottle of alcohol. She doused a rag with it and pulled the pant leg up to her knee, then reached behind her leg to wash the cuts. She screamed from the terrible sting, dancing around the cabin to ward off the pain. When it finally subsided, she wrapped her leg with gauze, hoping there would be no infection. She knew that people sometimes died from such things, and she was certainly not ready for that!
Suddenly she could not control her tears. The thought of needing help, maybe even dying, made her realize how alone she was, how dangerous this place was for someone like her. This was the most despair she had felt since she had arrived. The grizzly had shown her how vulnerable she was. In just one more second, the animal would have had its claws into her back and would surely have flung her around like a rag doll, sinking its claws and teeth into her throat. She could have been killed in a horrible way, or at least terribly mutilated and scarred.
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