by Lyn Horner
“I’m leaving now,” she said. “Clear out of my way.” She gestured with her Colt, and the man who’d started the trouble moved aside, hands raised. Lil edged past him, keeping a close eye on him and his friends. Reaching the entrance, she paused.
“Thanks for the information, mister,” she said, addressing the barkeep. Then she backed through the swinging doors. Once outside, she lowered her gun and took to her heels, not stopping until she was safely inside the lobby of her hotel. By then she’d decided on her next move.
In a while, after giving those owlhoots at the saloon time to mosey along, she would head over to the train depot and see when the next train into the mountains was scheduled to leave. She meant to be on it.
* * *
“Georgetown, Silver Queen of the Rockies,” the stage driver shouted as he reined in his team outside the Wells Fargo office, sending up a cloud of dust.
Coughing to clear the stuff from her throat, Lil glanced out the window in time to see a line of pack-jacks pass by. Loaded down with supplies, the sturdy burros were evidently headed for the mines in the mountains above the town.
Lil waited while the woman next to her was helped out of the coach by her husband. Then the gent across from her jumped down and offered her his hand.
“Thanks,” she muttered, warily accepting his assistance. She didn’t much like him. A dandified faro dealer by the name of Roy Hotchkiss, he’d eyed her too closely during the trip up Clear Creek. As soon as her feet touched ground, she withdrew her hand from his and moved aside to allow the last two men off the coach.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Hotchkiss said with a grin that showed his yellow teeth. He stepped over next to her. “I’d be happy to help you locate a hotel.”
“No thanks. Don’t let me hold you up.”
His grin disappeared. He nodded stiffly and cocked a wiry brown eyebrow. “As you wish. Perhaps I’ll see you around town.”
“I doubt it,” Lil drawled, giving him a cool stare.
A muscle ticked angrily along his jaw. Giving up his attempts to charm her, he grabbed his carpetbag and stalked off. Glad to be rid of him, Lil sighed tiredly and shook some of the dust from her travel-stained blue gown.
“Lady, you wanta take this, or should I let her drop?” the stage driver asked from atop the coach.
Lil gave a start, then reached up to catch her war bag when he tossed it down. “You happen to know a decent hotel hereabouts, mister?” she inquired. “One that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.”
He gummed the tobacco pouched in his cheek and squinted off down the street. “Lemme see, there’s the Barton House and that other new place. It’s owned by a Frenchy name of Louis Dupuy. Calls it the Hotel de Paree. It’s too hoity-toity for what yuh want, though, I expect.” Knitting his brows, he tugged off his greasy leather hat and scratched his head.
“So, I oughta try the Barton House?” Lil prodded.
“Well now, I didn’t say that.” He scratched a moment longer, then replaced his hat and gave her a toothless grin. “I know just the place. Yessum, Miz Ennis will take real good care of yuh.”
Following his directions, Lil proceeded to the Ennis House, noting the well constructed shops and Victorian houses along the way. After the drab mining camps she’d seen, Georgetown was a pleasant surprise. It called to mind a daguerreotype of a pretty New England town she’d once viewed – except that town had been surrounded by gentle hills, not granite mountainsides.
She glanced up at the gray-brown peaks and experienced a wave of discouragement. So far, her venture into the high country had yielded only that one small trace of Tye in Golden.
As per David’s advice, she’d traveled on to Black Hawk and Central City, along the way getting a small taste of what Tye had endured while trapped underground after the cave-in. Scarred by mine entrances and tailing piles, Gregory Gulch was so tight in places that the narrow gauge rails nearly ran into the tumbling waters of North Clear Creek. Lil had felt like the stony walls were about to crush her.
Reeking with the stink of smelters and the pounding of stamp mills, Black Hawk had offered no news of Tye. Neither had Central City, nor any of the small camps along the stage route south to the main fork of Clear Creek. Her luck hadn’t improved in Fall River, Idaho Springs or any of the other stops on the bumpy climb to Georgetown.
If Tye didn’t turn up around here . . . . No, she wouldn’t think about that, she told herself, walking into the Ennis House. The stout hotel gave off an air of welcome. So did its owner. The motherly woman, who could be anywhere from thirty to fifty, introduced herself as Miss Kate Ennis.
“But you can call me Aunt Kate, dear. All the boys do,” she added, escorting Lil upstairs to a clean, sunny room. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Well, I could sure use a bath and if there’s someplace I could wash my clothes . . . ?” Lil flicked a hand at her dress, certain the bandbox-neat woman had noted its soiled condition.
Miss Ennis nodded and smiled brightly. “There’s a bathing room down the hall, and I’ll have your things put to soak right away downstairs. Do you have something to wear until they dry?” she inquired, doubtfully eyeing Lil’s beat-up canvas bag.
“I . . . I’ve got my trail clothes, but I reckon you wouldn’t like me walking around in britches.”
The hotel keeper broke into laughter, making her starched gray gown flutter over her bosom. “Good heavens! I’ve seen women dressed in everything from gunny sacks to satin in these parts, honey. A pair of pants won’t bother me.”
Astonished to hear it, Lil laughed along with her. Still, after getting scrubbed up, she finished washing her dress and made sure to have it dried and pressed in time for the evening meal. She didn’t want to shock Miss Ennis’s patrons.
Glad to feel clean once again, she accepted her hostess’s invitation and sat down to eat with her and three male guests in the dining room. Others were scattered around the room at separate tables. Two of the men at Lil’s table were miners. One, a tall man with ruddy skin and chestnut hair, called himself Samuels. The other was a blocky, dark-haired gent who went by the name of Colter. The third man, a pockmarked youth named Zoltan, worked at a smelter outside of town. Aunt Kate scolded and joshed with all three as if they were her sons.
Over dinner, Lil took some joshing herself because of her Texas drawl. She retorted with her favorite joke about a dude who came to Texas, eager to see a real cattle ranch.
“So the boss shows him around the spread,” she said, “and the greenie can’t get over how many steers the cowman owns. And he asks, ‘But where do you get enough hands to milk ’em all?’”
Evidently knowing something about cattle, Kate Ennis and the tall miner, Samuels, immediately broke out laughing. Colter took a moment to catch on, but then he guffawed loudly. Young Zoltan, whose odd accent Lil couldn’t place, gazed blankly at her as she forked up a bite of roast pork and smiled at him.
Colter took pity on him. “Steers, son. You know, bulls that ain’t bulls no more.” Picking up his table knife, he grinned and made a suggestive slicing motion.
“Oh!” Zoltan turned scarlet. Then he, too, burst out laughing as he finally got the joke.
Once they’d all subsided, Colter inquired, “You up here sightseeing, Miss Crawford?”
“No, I’m looking for a friend of mine.” Lil glanced around the table. “He’s a miner. His name’s Tye Devlin. Any of you know him?”
Samuels shot her a surprised look. “Shoot, I know Devlin,” he muttered around a mouthful of food.
“You do?” Lil’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She leaned across the table, relief making her giddy. “Have you seen him lately?”
He swallowed and nodded. “Sure did, just the other day.”
She dropped her fork, and it struck her plate. “Where?” she cried, oblivious to the startled gazes trained upon her.
The big miner gulped and wiped his mouth. “I ran into him over at Clark’s Livery Stable. He was renting a h
orse, getting ready to head up to Silver Plume. I sure was surprised to see him, too. I didn’t think he’d ever return to these parts after that cave-in he was caught in last year up at the Silver Angel.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Colter said. “He was partners with a Cousin Jack. Uh, I mean a Cornishman, ma’am,” he explained for Lil’s benefit. “And that was real strange because the Irish don’t mix with the Cornish most times. Anyhow, your friend’s partner got himself killed in that cave-in.”
“Right, and Devlin damn near died, too, before they dug him out,” Samuels added. “As I recall, he came out of it with a busted wing and never went back down into the mine. He just packed up and left after his pard’s funeral.”
Lil had heard all she needed to hear. She shoved back her chair and started to rise. “I have to get up there to that town. To Silver Plume. Fast.”
“Not tonight, you’re not,” Kate Ennis said sternly. “You’d break your neck or tumble into the creek and drown. There’s a coach up to the Plume in the morning. You’ll have to wait ’til then.”
The men agreed; then Aunt Kate added a convincing argument.
“Besides, you look all in, dear. Wouldn’t you rather get a night’s sleep before you meet your young man?”
Lil slumped back in her chair, sighing glumly. The woman was right, much as she hated to admit it. Her body demanded rest, and she didn’t want to face Tye when she was falling-down tired. She’d need all her wits about her if she was going to talk sense into him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Lookin’ for company, sweetness?” a voice rasped in Lil’s ear, competing with a roomful of raucous sounds. It wasn’t yet noon, but the saloons of Silver Plume were packed with off-duty miners.
“Not again,” Lil muttered in disgust. How many times had she heard the same tiresome words? Couldn’t men think of anything else to say?
Anxious to question the busy barkeep, she had ignored the men’s drunken catcalls when she walked in, but she couldn’t ignore the face leering at her now. The face belonged to a short man with a dented brown bowler and yellow teeth. He’d walked up beside her at the bar and was grinning like a drunken clown. Before she could do more than scowl at him, he patted her fanny.
“Don’t touch me!” she exploded. She gave him a hard shove, and he stumbled backward, cursing, while her hand dove into her reticule. Pulling out her trusty Colt, she leveled it at him.
The saloon went silent while the offensive miner blinked and stared at Lil as if she’d just sprouted horns. Like most others in the place, he wore a dirty flannel shirt and canvas pants held up by leather suspenders. Under his beat-up bowler sprouted tight, carrot-orange curls. Anger contorted his freckled, whiskey-flushed face.
“Here now, don’t be pointin’ that thing at me, woman!” he bellowed in a brogue thicker than Tye’s. “And me only wishin’ to buy yez a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink or anything else from you, or from any man in this joint.”
“Then what the de’il are ye doin’ in here, ye shameless trollop?” he growled, glaring at her indignantly, fists on his hips.
Lil ground her teeth, wanting to tell him it was none of his damn business, but that wouldn’t get her the help she needed. Silver Plume had nine saloons – she’d counted them – lined up in a row along Main Street. Knowing they’d be the quickest source of information, she’d headed straight for the first one after stepping off the stage. So far she’d learned Tye had hit town three days ago, but she didn’t know if he was still here, and if so, where to find him.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” she snapped loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “His name is –”
“Tye Devlin,” a calm male voice finished for her.
Startled, Lil turned her head to stare at the speaker. He stood just inside the bat-wing doors, studying her. Dressed in store-bought clothes – a striped shirt, gray trousers, and a vest and tie – he was of medium height, with a strong build, fair hair, and a pleasant face.
“Devlin!” the carrot-topped miner parroted. “Well, why didn’t ye say so, colleen? If I’d known ye were the black Irish’s, er, friend, I’d not have laid a hand on ye, I swear.” His voice held more than a hint of fear.
“If you’d given me a chance, I would have said so,” Lil gritted, lowering her gun.
Carrot-top cleared his throat. “Oh, aye, and sorry I am for that, mum,” he said, touching his hat to her. With that he retreated to a table in the corner, where three other men sat.
Speculative remarks buzzed around Lil, but she paid no attention. Slipping her pistol back into her reticule, she kept hold of it for caution’s sake as the newcomer approached.
“No need to worry, nobody will bother you now,” he said, humor in his voice and pale blue eyes. Only an inch or two taller than Lil, he seemed bigger close up thanks to the impressive bulge of muscles beneath his Sunday-go-to-meeting shirt.
“How come you’re so sure of that?” she asked.
He laughed. “Because none of them want to rile Tye. He has a reputation with his fists, and you did say you’re a friend of his.”
It was a question, not a statement, but Lil turned it back upon him. “What about you? Are you his friend?”
“Sure am. That’s why I’m here. I heard you were looking for him.” He held out his hand. “Wiley Gable, ma’am. And you’re Lil Crawford, unless I miss my guess.”
Startled, Lil released her gun and withdrew her hand from her bag. “You know my name? I didn’t tell anyone,” she said, absently shaking hands with him.
“Tye mentioned you. He told us he’d met you down in Texas, and you sound like you’re from that part of the country.”
The knowledge that she was in Tye’s thoughts filled Lil with a warm glow. “What do you mean us?”
“My wife Etta and me. We run a dry goods store up the street. Why don’t you come on over. I’ll introduce you to Etta. Then I’ll see what I can do about finding Tye for you.” He glanced around the room, which had come to life again, and lowered his voice. “Besides, this isn’t any place for a lady.”
Lil wanted to jump for joy at his offer of help; she also wanted to laugh. If the man knew how many other saloons she’d visited in her search for Tye, he probably wouldn’t let her near his wife. He sure wouldn’t call her a lady. Not that she cared what he thought of her, so long as he found her fugitive Irishman.
“Lead the way,” she said, accepting the arm he offered.
He escorted her outside and, stepping over ruts and animal dung, they wove a path along Main Street between freight wagons and pack trains, stray dogs and human traffic. As they did, Lil couldn’t help thinking Silver Plume was like a poor relation to Georgetown. Only two miles up creek, but a thousand feet higher than its well-off neighbor, this place looked more like a typical mining camp. If she were to guess, she’d say Georgetown belonged to the mine owners and managers, and Silver Plume to the miners.
Laid out in a narrow gap between the mountains, the narrow business district stretched along the north side of Clear Creek. Unpainted, false-fronted buildings lined the street. Footpaths led up the steep mountainside that the town hugged. Lil glanced up there now and saw small houses – many no more than shacks – perched among the boulders, mine entrances and rubble.
Evidently catching her grimace of distaste, her companion remarked, “It’s not the prettiest place, I guess.”
Lil flushed uncomfortably. “Sorry. It’s . . . just different from back home.”
He nodded. “I know what you mean, but when you live here long enough, you get used to it.” He sent her a sidelong glance as they stepped onto the boardwalk outside Gable’s Dry Goods. He started to say something more, but just then a small boy came tearing out of the store.
“Papa, where’d you go?” he shrilled, latching onto Wiley’s leg.
“Easy there, boy, I was just down the street,” his father replied, smoothing the child’s cap of light brown hair. Glancing at Lil, he said pr
oudly, “Miss Crawford, this is my son, Josh. Josh, what do you say to the lady?”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” the youngster piped up with a shy smile, not letting go of his father. The two looked very much alike, except for the difference in their hair color. They shared the same light blue eyes and square, even features.
Lil nodded and smiled back. “Howdy, Josh, I’m right pleased to meet you, too.”
He cocked his head and scrunched up his face. “You talk funny.”
“Josh! That’s no way to speak to a lady,” his father scolded. “Sorry, Miss Crawford, he’s only five and he’s still learning his manners.”
Laughing, Lil winked at the crestfallen child and exaggerated her drawl. “That’s all right, young’un, I reckon I do talk a might funny for these parts. That’s cuz I’m from Texas.”
Josh’s eyes grew big. “Texas!” Detaching himself from his anchor, he caught hold of her hand, bashfulness forgotten. “Do you know any cowboys? My papa’s friend Tye went to Texas, and he knows lots of ’em.”
“He does, huh? Well, I guess I might know a few.”
Amid the boy’s excited questions and her amused answers, Lil was ushered into the store by her two escorts. Once inside, Wiley hushed his son and introduced Lil to his wife.
A small, pretty woman with amber eyes and light brown hair like her son’s, Etta Gable looked surprised for a moment. Then a wide smile lit her face, and she walked out from behind the counter, revealing her ripe form. The woman was very pregnant.
“How nice to meet you, Miss Crawford,” she said. “May I call you Lil? After hearing Tye speak of you, I feel like I already know you.”
“Ah, s-sure,” Lil stammered, wondering just how much Tye had told his friends.
“Wonderful. And you must call me Etta. My, won’t Tye be surprised to see you.”
A gangly adolescent boy had been observing the introductions while he swept the floor. Lil hadn’t paid him much attention, but she looked at him now as Wiley motioned him forward.