In light of the grisly but intriguing story, the rock in Elizabeth's hand took on a personality all its own. She looked from the ore to the animated face of Dooley Blue. "So what happened to the Faradays and all that silver?"
"Their burro was loaded with bags of the ore when they started down the mountain. They’d come only as far as the spot I found them when robbers jumped them both, killing Mr. Ian right off and torturing Mr. Clyde for the whereabouts of his claim. He never told where it was, and the thieves took the burro and left the poor miner for dead. I found him some hours later, and it was while he was breathing his last that I learned the terrible tale."
Ross poked Elizabeth in the ribs, though he wouldn't have had to. She was listening to every word. "Wait till you hear this, Lizzie," he said, pointing to the rock. "Tell her how you got this sample, Dooley."
The old man sat a little taller and basked in his celebrity. "I done what I could to make Mr. Clyde's last hours on this earth as comforting as they could be. That's why in his remaining few minutes he told me about the one bag of ore he'd thrown over the ledge when he seen the robbers bearing down on them. And Mr. Clyde Faraday says to me, 'Dooley, you’re a good man, and I want you to have the claim.'"
"He told you where the mine was?" Elizabeth asked.
"He did, right then and there, and gave me the deed. He’d named it the 'Fair Day' Mine, and I remember the landmarks he described like it was yesterday."
"Did you go to it?"
"Girlie, I tried. Nearly starving myself, I went a quarter 'round that mountain to the south side just like Mr. Clyde told me to and started looking. I might have found it if the blizzard hadn't come. You heard about the storm of '90, I guess."
Elizabeth shook her head.
"Was the fiercest snow I ever seen. Turned the sky black as coal and the ground as white as a virgin's nightdress. No human eye could look upon it without blinding himself. I decided it wouldn't do no good for me to find that mine if I was to die in ten foot drifts. So I come back down the mountain, near dead myself, but determined to go back."
"And did you?" Elizabeth asked.
"I ain't yet." Dooley rubbed his index finger over his upper lip and cackled with excitement. "I got back to town and had that ore assayed. The silver come in at ten thousand dollars to the ton. It's a powerful fine vein, let me tell you. Folks all over town heard about it and showed up in the restaurant where I was eating and the hotel where I slept. Dooley Blue never had so many friends."
"But he never told a soul where the mine was," Ross interrupted. "Did you, Dooley?"
"Nope. I figured why tell anybody when I could have it all to myself? There was only one little problem, though. I'd run out of money. That's why I decided since it was winter anyways and no way of going back up the Devil's Fork, I might as well come to New York and fetch my cousin. I figured he'd have a few dollars tucked away that he wouldn't mind investing to make a million. That's just what I done. Came all the way to New York, only to find my cousin had passed. I been living in his little room ever since. And I never got back to the Devil's Fork."
"That's awful," Elizabeth said. "To have lost your cousin, I mean."
"To have lost the silver!" Ross said.
"It ain't lost!" Dooley shouted. "Silver don't go away. It don't rot, just like a dying man don't lie. It's still in them walls of rock like it's been for hundreds of years. It's just waiting for me to come back, that's all. And I'm tired of sitting here looking for the time to be right to go."
"So what are you going to do?" Elizabeth asked.
Ross jumped up and stood between her and Dooley. "What do you think, sis? It's destiny. I'm going to help Dooley find that mine. And you too, if you're game."
"Ross, you can't be serious!"
"I'm dead serious, Lizzie. This is the chance I've been waiting for all my life. Dooley and I have worked out all the details. I'm going to be his money man, and we're splitting the profits from the mine fifty-fifty."
Ross grabbed Elizabeth's arms and stared into her eyes. "Think about it, Lizzie. Colorado...where every day men with only half the brains I've got wake up as paupers and go to bed as millionaires. It's the land of opportunity. Wide open spaces where a man can stake a claim to unfathomable riches. Look at me, Lizzie. What do you see?"
She did as he asked though she had no idea what she was supposed to say. He looked like the same old Ross to her, a little more crazed maybe, but still Ross. "I don't know," she said finally.
"An entrepreneur, Lizzie. That's what I am. But I'm living in a city where every square mile has hundreds of people just like me. That's why I haven't been able to make it here. This is my chance. I've got to go with Dooley. And if you're smart, you'll go with me."
Elizabeth peered over Ross's shoulder at Dooley Blue. His eyes sparkled. He watched the scene as if his next breath depended on their decision.
In a coarse whisper, she said, "Ross, this is a good story, but it just doesn't make sense. Why would this man tell you about his ore? Has he ever seen you before in his life?"
"Not before today, but that doesn't matter. He trusts me."
"How did you meet him?"
"He’d come down the alley when I'd stepped out of the building for a smoke and a break from the stench inside. He asked me for a small handout, and I gave him one. We started talking. He didn't set out to tell me the story about the silver. Little by little I dragged it out of him. And he didn't ask me to go along with him or to finance his trip. I see this as my chance, sis, not just Dooley's, though I'm happy to help the guy out. When he strikes it rich, I get rich, you see."
"But, Ross, again, why you? There must be hundreds of people in New York who'd jump at the chance to get in on a silver mine!"
"Yeah, and it'd be just my luck for Dooley to find one of them and leave me in the dust. No sir, sis, this is my chance. For once I was in the right place at the right time instead of being two minutes too late."
Ross leaned so close, Elizabeth could feel his breath on her earlobe. "Besides, the old guy admitted he's told a few people about the strike, but they didn't really believe him. Told him he was off his oats a bit."
"Gee, I can't imagine why."
"Come on, Lizzie, don't be that way. Just think about how you always wanted to be a reporter. What better story could there be for you to make a name for yourself? Why, you could pave a path for women reporters everywhere with a story this big. You'll be on a quest for a fortune in a land of gamblers and saloons and dance halls, where mansions pop up on hillsides like spring daisies. We’re headed where danger lurks on every corner and wine is served in silver goblets in every parlor. Even on the very slight chance that we don't hit it big, it's still a hell of an adventure.” His eyes danced with expectation. “Do you really want to miss it?"
Oh, he was doing a good job of getting her blood pumping at a dangerously irrational rate. But then Ross had nothing if not charm and a silver tongue. Elizabeth might have given in then if a sobering realization hadn't suddenly dawned on her. She eyed him skeptically. This was Ross. He never offered anything without having an ulterior motive.
She swallowed, narrowed her eyes. "You want my money from Mama's trust fund to finance your trip, don't you, Ross?"
A pained expression crossed his face. He slapped his hand over his heart. "Lizzie! How could you think such a thing?"
"Because you haven't a penny of your own to put into this."
He shrugged innocently and grinned at her with his boyishly engaging smile. "Now that you mention it, a teeny, tiny portion of your trust fund would help out."
She wrenched herself free of his hold. "I might have known!"
"For Pete's sake, Lizzie. You'll make it back ten times...no, a hundred times over!" Ross curled his hand into a fist and lightly pounded his chest. "I feel it in here, Liz. There's a fortune to be had. I'm going for it one way or the other, but I'd sure like it if you'd come with me."
"Ross, this is the craziest thing..."
"You're wron
g, sister. This makes more sense than anything I've ever done in my life." His eyes blazed with a persuasive fire that wouldn't let her turn away. "Just answer me this, Lizzie. Do you believe him?" He cocked his head toward Dooley who was still waiting anxiously. "Do you believe Dooley's story?"
That was the part she couldn't explain. She actually did believe the old man. She didn't know why, but for some cockeyed reason, she at least believed that Dooley Blue believed in the mine. More bizarre things than this had happened throughout history, and there were plenty of rich men to prove it.
"I think there is some truth to what Dooley is saying," she conceded.
“Then what’s holding you back? Is it because you don’t want to get your hands dirty? Are you too much a debutant?”
Now he was just goading her. “You know that’s not true. When we were kids, I climbed more trees and made more mud pies than you ever did.”
“Then you must be afraid.”
She opened her mouth to refute that foolish statement, but he silenced her with a grin. “I’ll be there to protect you, Lizzie. Nothing to fear, you see?”
“It’s you protecting me that I fear the most. But here’s the truth. I think you're using this foolhardy scheme to get out of your responsibilities. You're in a lot of trouble now, Ross, in case you've forgotten." Elizabeth certainly remembered. In just two more days, Max Cassidy's story would hit the newsstands.
"Of course I haven't forgotten," he said. "That's all the more reason to go.” He pulled her away from Dooley and spoke in a low voice. "We'll only be gone a few weeks, and when we get back, I'll have all the money I'll need for my defense. Father won't have to pay for anything. And in the meantime, my little problem at Dixie Lee's will have faded into oblivion. You know what they say, out of sight out of mind. That ought to make Father happy."
That was true. It wouldn't hurt for Ross to be out of town for a while. Trouble seemed to follow him everywhere he went in Manhattan. And it would be good for their father not to have to be reminded of his only son’s problems all the time.
"All right," she said, "I have to agree with you on these points, but what about the money? I'm not giving you any of mine."
"Then help me get it somewhere else."
"Where?"
"From Father."
"Papa would never..."
"He might. Especially if you were on my side. In fact, I think this is just the kind of story Father would like to chew on. He was a reporter once, a damn good one, and this is the worm on a hook to a real newsman. And I can see the possibilities in your eyes, too, Lizzie. You'd love to be the one to write about Dooley Blue's Fair Day Mine."
Oh, yes, she certainly would. She thought about the tea she was covering at Mrs. Beswick's house the next afternoon, and all at once, the lure of Colorado and the silver mine was almost too much to resist. "It would be exciting..." she admitted. "And I could do it, too. I could write that story."
Ross's voice rose a notch with excitement. "You bet you could. And if you were going with me, Father would be much more inclined to give us the money. Heck, it's worth a try. Say you'll approach him with me. After all, he can't be much more upset with me than he already is."
Elizabeth looked at Dooley, who appeared to be hanging on their words, and down at the glittering ore that still rested in her palm. Both the man and the rock seemed to hold the key to something truly wonderful. What if Ross was right? What if this was a once in a lifetime chance? What if she passed it up and never knew the pure exhilaration of finding out? What if she missed the quest?
Suddenly she knew for certain that she didn't want to miss it. Even if the mine proved to be no more than solid walls of what the other side of the rock looked like...just mottled, ugly granite, she wanted to see for herself. The quest was everything. "Okay, Ross," she said. "We'll talk to him."
Chapter Five
At dinner that evening, Winston listened to his son’s dream of becoming one of the richest men in Manhattan. He learned of his daughter's passion to become the most renowned woman reporter ever to blaze a trail in the lawless west.
"So that's it, Papa," Elizabeth said when she'd finished telling him how much she wanted to write about the Fair Day Mine. "Wouldn't it be a wonderful story for the Courier News to publish?"
"And couldn't our newspaper finance the trip out there and the reopening of the mine?" Ross added. "It would be like money in the bank for you and the board. Lizzie could write about her adventure in installments, which would keep people buying the paper to see what happens next. And I'll be so rich I'll never be a problem to you again. What do you say, Father?"
Elizabeth shuddered when Winston scraped the shallow sterling silver dish which had held his blackberry tart and licked the remains off his fork. She held her breath when he slowly set his utensil beside his plate, steepled his hands on the table and looked at Ross over his fingertips. Then, using the fewest words he'd ever spoken to reproach his offspring, Winston denounced their plan and left no room for argument.
His voice was low and chillingly calm. "First of all, Ross, it is not our newspaper. It is mine, and I will decide how my money is spent. Secondly, you will leave this dining room at once, and if you have even a modicum of intelligence, which I doubt, you will make certain that I do not look upon your face any more this evening. I refuse to entertain mention of this ridiculous idea again."
Ross's face turned ghastly pale. He stood, pulled his shirt cuffs, and pushed his chair under the table. Without speaking he left the room.
Winston then turned to his daughter. "Elizabeth Nora Sheridan, if you ever hope to write for the Courier News again, you will attend Mrs. Beswick's tea tomorrow afternoon and never again talk to me of foolish aspirations which, as long as I draw breath, you will not be permitted to pursue."
"Yes, Papa."
"You, too, may go, Elizabeth."
She did so, gratefully. When she reached the front hallway, Ross was waiting for her. "That didn't go very well, did it?" he said with characteristic understatement.
"Our father thinks we’re complete idiots! We've got to give up on this idea, Ross. It's over."
"But I can't give up, Lizzie, and when you really think about it, can you?"
"When backed up against a wall the size of Father, I can. Promise me you will, too. Please, Ross.”
"Don't worry about me, Lizzie," he said with a maddeningly cavalier attitude. "It's as good as forgotten."
But she knew her brother, and she very much doubted it was.
Two days later, Elizabeth came downstairs with the article she'd written on Mrs. Beswick's tea for the Duchess of Essex. She supposed it was as good a story as could be expected under the circumstances. The duchess turned out to be a snooty, uncooperative royal pain in the neck. The tea was stuffy, with the exception of a sudden shower which dampened the duchess' moiré taffeta gown and her hostess's spirits. And added a welcomed bit of tartness to Elizabeth’s account of the event.That evening, to please her father and earn the headline on the lady’s page, Elizabeth managed to add a footnote to her article which put Catherine Sutcliff in a much exaggerated good light. It was quite an accomplishment considering that for much of the time she'd written the piece she'd been fretting about the release of Max's story on the Delancey Street raid.
"I'm going to the newspaper office, Bridey," Elizabeth called as she crossed the hallway to the front door. She was just reaching for her straw boater when she heard a knock on the door. She opened it and stared into the face of the very man who had plagued her thoughts for days.
"Max Cassidy! What are you doing here? Have you come to wreck more havoc?"
He stood on her front steps with his arm propped against the door frame as casually as if he'd actually been invited. "I've come to talk to you, Betsy.”
"We have nothing to say to each other," she snapped back, and attempted to close the door.
"Yes, we do." Max's foot prevented her from slamming the door in his face. "May I come in?"
"
No, you may not." Elizabeth turned away from him, but he only opened the door wider and remained on the threshold. She grabbed her hat from the hall tree, placed it on her head and busied herself with tucking loose ends of hair under the ribbon. But she carefully watched Max in the hallstand mirror.
"Stand there like a fool all evening if you like, Max Cassidy," she said with pretended self assurance. "But there is no chance that I would invite a viper into my par..."
She never finished her sentence because a strong hand grasped her wrist and pulled her onto the steps. Max shut the door behind them and gave her a determined look that said he wasn’t about to leave until she’d heard him out. "You are going to listen to me," he said.
"Take your hand off me right now, Max, or I'll scream, and we'll see how much you have to say from the back of a paddy wagon."
Silver Dreams Page 6