Native Gold

by Glynnis Campbell

  Harley, the fourth brother, stepped between them. "What’s all this about now?"

  Dash pushed him aside. "She don’t need you comin’ to her rescue, little brother."

  "Now wait a damn minute. Who the hell are you to..."

  Dash’s eyes grew wide, and he snagged the front of his brother’s shirt in his fist. "What was that? What did you say? And in front of a lady?"

  "Well, now, ma’am, I apologize," Harley said, tipping his hat, "and to show you just how contrite I am, I’d like to offer you my arm for the next dance."

  "The hell you will!" Dash hollered.

  "I’ll be! Dash cussed!" Jeremy cried with glee. "Dash cussed!"

  Jeremy hit the ground, followed shortly by Harley, both of them shoved there by their oldest brother.

  "Dreadful sorry about that, ma’am," Dash tried to apologize, wiping his hands on his trousers. "The boys’ve got a wild nature, and—“

  "Oh, yeah," Harley complained, scrambling to his feet again. "I got a wild nature, but you’re the one’s been pinin’ away over the lady like a moonstruck cow."

  Dash blushed ferociously. "I never—“

  "Ah, criminy, you have, too," Jeremy piped in, getting up. "All of us have." He slugged Harley on the shoulder. "I even heard you composin’ a ditty to the lady."

  "What!" Harley bellowed. "Why, you good-for-nothin’..." He seized his accuser by the back of the collar, spun him around, and planted a swift boot to the seat of Jeremy’s pants.

  After that, Mattie lost track of who insulted whom and what fist contacted whose face. But the mayhem grew as fast as a wildfire, igniting every miner, Campbell or not, close enough to catch a stray fist. While she cowered behind the food table in mounting horror, the dancing deteriorated into a brawl.

  The musicians seemed well-prepared for the eventuality. Their music fizzled to a halt, and they carefully stashed their instruments just inside one of the lean-tos. Then, to Mattie’s dismay, they eagerly returned to join the fracas themselves.

  Jasper Colton was the first casualty. He had imbibed generously from the cask of brandy, so the punch Ben threw to his chin pushed him over the edge of oblivion. Red Boone, drinking two cups to Jasper’s one, soon followed when one of the Mexicans slammed into him, ramming him headfirst into a pine tree. Billy and Bobby Cooper fought their own private battle until Granny beaned them both over the head with one of Amos’s giant iron skillets, while Zeke, too drunk to stand, cheered her on. Even Tom took a hefty swig of brandy, rolled up his sleeves, and rubbed his hands together, ready to go to work on anyone who looked at him cross-eyed. Frenchy, hardly a fighter, but unwilling to be left out, delighted in crowning unsuspecting victims with what remained of supper, and at least half a dozen miners battled with beans slopping down over their faces.

  For Mattie, it was a nightmare of swearing, spitting, and smashing. Blood and sweat spattered the ground at every sickening thud of a fist, and grunts of pain filled the air. But worst of all, despite all the shocking violence, in a sense, the men actually seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  It was Swede who eventually came to her rescue, and even he proved a dubious hero at best, swaying from the effects of overindulgence and cheerfully booting several brawlers back into the fray. But he was alert enough to see that Mattie was mortified, and sober enough to see her home.

  How long the melee ensued, Mattie didn’t know. She tucked herself into bed and covered her ears against the offensive din. It was still going on when she dropped off to sleep.

  Towani looked well when Sakote and Hintsuli arrived at dawn to Noa’s little rock-and-plank cabin nestled in the Valley of the Squaw Men. Sakote had never seen his sister so happy. Noa swung the little boy around in greeting, his grin a great crescent moon in his face. It was clear by the blush on Towani’s cheek and the brightness of her eyes that there was great affection between his sister and his good friend, that perhaps they’d at last shared a bed.

  The thought made him remember his own unrequited desire, and he chased the hope away before it could manifest in an unfitting manner.

  "My brothers!" Towani squealed, running to greet them. "Welcome to our hubo."

  Noa’s house was the same, but not the same. Sakote saw Towani’s touch everywhere—baskets and a grinding stone by the fireplace, a bunch of lupines in a cup on the table, her rabbit fur blanket tossed across the bed. Even Noa wore a pendant of shells Towani had made for him. And his sister was changed as well. She wore the long cloth skirts of a willa, and he recognized the blue shirt buttoned over her chest as Noa’s.

  The first thing Towani wanted to know, whispering to Sakote while Noa entertained Hintsuli with a deck of playing cards, was how the white woman fared.

  "I had a dream," she murmured, picking at the buttons of her shirt. "I dreamed that the white woman had no food for winter."

  He took her gently by the shoulders. “She has gold to buy food,” he assured her. He didn’t add that the miners provided food for Mati as if she were some old and respected shaman.

  "Still my heart is uneasy," she told him. "If something should happen to the woman..."

  "Nothing will happen to her."

  She bit her bottom lip and coiled a lock of his hair around her finger. "If I could only be sure..."

  Sakote sighed. His sister could always pester him into doing things he didn’t wish to do. He tugged on the point of her chin. "All right, pesky mosquito. I’ll make sure she has food for the winter."

  Her eyes lit up. "Thank you," she breathed, and then she did something she’d never done before. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. He frowned. It was a curious custom, this kissing, and he wasn’t sure he liked it coming from his sister.

  Noa served biscuits, and they gathered near the fire. Sakote and Hintsuli sat on the dirt floor while Noa and Towani occupied the two split-oak stools. Sakote told them all the village news, which was little, and about the Kaminehaitsen, the Feather Dance, to come.

  "My brother helped me to make a knife!" Hintsuli added, drawing the blade dramatically from its sheath.

  "Ah!" Noa exclaimed. "That’s a fine blade. Are you going to show that off to your friends?"

  Hintsuli nodded enthusiastically, then put the precious knife away. "But the best thing is the pictures I got from the white woman."

  Sakote’s glance of condemnation shot toward Hintsuli like an arrow, but too late. The boy tugged several crumpled and folded pages from the back of his breechcloth. Noa and Towani looked on curiously.

  "The white woman?" his sister asked.

  "The white woman that used to be a kokoni," Hintsuli answered, smoothing the papers on the floor.

  Towani paled.

  "Hintsuli!" Sakote scowled. "She was never a kokoni. She’s a white woman. That’s all."

  "Then how does she draw the magic pictures?"

  "Those are some fine drawings," Noa said, turning his head to study the sketches. "Where did you say you got them?"

  "Mati gave them to me," Hintsuli said.

  "Mati?" Towani asked.

  "Mati is the name of the white woman," Sakote explained, annoyed at Hintsuli and his loose tongue. "She makes pictures of the white men. That’s how she gets gold."

  "These are very good." Noa examined them closely.

  Hintsuli plucked one from the bottom of the stack. "This one is me," he proclaimed proudly.

  "So it is!" Noa said, holding it up at arm’s length. "It looks just like you. Are you going to take this to the Feather Dance?"

  Hintsuli nodded.

  Towani was leafing through the sketches when she stopped, and a curious look came over her face. "And who is this?" Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she reversed the page.

  Sakote clenched his jaw. Hanging from Towani’s delicate fingers was the portrait of him with his bow.

  He snatched it as fast as lightning, slamming it protectively against his chest, but not before Noa got a good look at it. Sakote was stunned. How had his little brother found the
sketch?

  "Well," Noa said, clearing his throat after an uncomfortably long silence. "I’d say that’s a picture a man can be proud of."

  Sakote didn’t feel proud. He felt foolish. He fired a glare at Hintsuli that would have scorched wood, and the boy’s eyes grew round as river rocks. As soon as he got Hintsuli alone, he vowed, he’d have a few choice words for him. His only consolation was relief that he’d let Mati keep the sketch of him naked.

  "I...pulled the white woman from a ledge where she’d fallen." His explanation sounded lame, and his cheeks burned with humiliation. "She made the picture to repay me."

  Noa and Towani exchanged a glance of amused conspiracy, which only added fuel to the fire of Sakote’s shame. But instead of entangling himself further into their trap with weak words, he fought them with silence.

  Hintsuli must have known Sakote was angry with him, for when Sakote rose to leave at midday, the boy made every excuse, even to the point of letting his eyes brim with tears, to stay with Noa and Towani. Finally, they relented, and Sakote was only too happy to make the journey home without his troublemaking little brother. Besides, watching his friend and his sister—the way she rested her hand with affection on Noa’s sleeve, the way he tenderly brushed the hair back from Towani’s eyes, the secret, loving gazes between them—made him long for the white woman who stirred his heart.

  When Mattie awoke after the dance, it was so quiet she morbidly wondered if the miners had all killed each other. She performed quick ablutions and put on her best dress. It was Sunday, after all, the day of contrition, and Mattie suspected several miners had a wealth of confessions to make.

  She was right. When she arrived at the makeshift church, most of the men looked as if they’d been dragged from their beds, unshaved, unwashed, bruised and miserable, still sporting last night’s brandy-, sweat-, and blood-stained shirts. Only Tom Cooligan, thumping on his Bible at the fore of the ragtag congregation, had a cheery face for her. He may have been the only one who’d avoided getting bald-faced drunk, but Mattie was sure it wasn’t from lack of trying. Nonetheless, Tom managed to deliver a ringing sermon that had the miners grimacing in pain and covering their ears. By the time he was finished with his scolding, Mattie thought she’d never seen such a remorseful bunch of wretches in her life.

  It took them most of the day to do penance, what with Amos baking Mattie a special peach tart and the Mexicans singing her a ballad of apology that must have had two dozen verses. The Campbell boys, their handsome faces now swollen masses of plum-colored bruises, delivered their regrets one by one. Zeke punctuated his apology with several spits of tobacco, and Granny muttered something under her breath that Mattie would have sworn included the phrase, "better git used to it." Frenchy presented her with a nosegay of wildflowers and the recitation of a romantic poem which he performed in both French and English. The Cooper brothers couldn’t remember much of what happened, but, egged on by their Ma, no doubt, they were more than willing to volunteer their strong backs and capable hands to do any odd jobs she needed done in penitence for whatever it was that had occurred last night.

  Most contrite, of course, was Swede. He came to her cabin in the afternoon. As Mattie opened the door, she tried to hide her disappointment. She’d just combed her hair and pinned a few of Frenchy’s flowers onto her bodice, preparing to meet Sakote at the waterfall. Now she’d have to delay the trip.

  Swede crushed the brim of his doffed hat between his hands.

  "May I come in, Miss Mattie?" he murmured.

  "Of course." She swept her skirts aside and indicated the stool at the table.

  The way he sank down upon it, she could tell he intended to take his time. She heaved a silent sigh and put on a brave face.

  "Seems like I failed you, ma’am," he began, and from there on, despite her reassurances, he seemed to sink further and further into despondence.

  By sunset she’d heard his whole life story. She learned that he had a wife and six little girls, each one not more than a year apart from the next, family he hadn’t seen in two years. He’d been a poor sharecropper, and it had been his dream to come to California for a half-year at the most, long enough to strike it rich and return a wealthy man. But fate hadn’t seen it that way. Instead, he was stuck at Paradise Bar, too proud to go home penniless, but too practical to hold much hope of riches.

  Mattie, he said, reminded him of sweeter times back home, times when he was a decent husband with a good wife, and he was appalled at his behavior the previous night. What kind of father could he be, anyway, if he fell prey to demon liquor and forgot all his manners?

  Mattie gave him all the bolstering she could, but by the time he finally pushed up from the stool and got ready to leave, her flowers lay wilted upon her breast, and the bottled candle on the table burned low. She’d missed Sakote.

  Swede apologized, saying he didn’t know why he’d burdened her with all his troubles. But Mattie knew why. She was a woman, and he was far away from his wife. The poor man needed a sympathetic feminine ear. Inwardly scolding herself for thinking about Sakote while Swede poured his heart out to her, she gave him a big bear hug. He sniffled once, then cleared his throat, jammed his hat down over his brows, and bid her good evening.

  Sakote watched from the bushes outside Mati’s cabin as the two shadows came together on the white cloth covering the window. Mati and...some man. His heart sank like a rock in a deep pond. He couldn’t stop staring at the flickering silhouette. His body was suddenly weary, as if he’d run a very long way. Finally, he tore his eyes away and turned to walk home through the black night on feet made of stone.

  He’d waited for her at the waterfall. While the sun crossed the sky and skimmed the tops of the trees to the west, he’d waited for Mati. The sky turned to the color of poppies, then redbud, then coyote mint, and still he’d waited.

  Then he’d begun to worry. What if something had happened to her? What if she’d fallen off another cliff? Or lost her way? Or crossed the mountain lion’s path? His pulse racing, he’d charged recklessly along the path to her cabin, listening for sounds of distress over the fearful beating of his own heart.

  And even when he saw her cabin, saw the cheery flicker of candlelight and heard the murmur of voices coming from within, he worried that perhaps a bad willa, an evil white man like her dead husband, might hold her captive.

  But the shadows on the cloth had told him the truth. The man had taken Mati in his arms, and she’d returned the embrace. She hadn’t come to Sakote at the waterfall because she preferred the company of another.

  His chest ached deep inside, and though he tried to blame it on the long foolish run he’d made searching for the white woman, he knew the pain came from his heart, broken into shards like splintered obsidian.

  Chapter 16

  It was the following Friday when the miners decided something had to be done.

  Swede ran a hand over the back of his neck and murmured, "Are you sure she’s tucked in for the night?" He didn’t like meeting this way, in secret, in the shadows. It was like they were a bunch of Paradise Bar vigilantes getting ready to string someone up.

  "Her candles were all blowed out," Jeremy reported.

  Swede gave one final glance in the direction of Mattie’s cabin before he began. "Fellas, you know I don’t cotton much to this kind of sneakin’ around. Miss Mattie’s a decent woman. She wouldn’t think too kindly on us spreadin’ tales."

  "Well now," Tom Cooligan said, perching his hat toward the back of his head, "that’s all well and good, but it’s for the lady’s sake we’re meetin’."

  Swede might not approve of their methods, but he agreed they had to take action. For five days now, Mattie had moped around her cabin like a kicked hound. Jasper and Red never saw her come to work her claim. Nobody got their picture drawn. Her gentlemen callers, and there’d been at least a dozen, had all been served a portion of the same polite disinterest. Something was troubling Mattie, and since she was the camp’s resident darling,
he supposed maybe the men’s cloak-and-dagger goings-on could be forgiven.

  "Maybe the lass is feelin’ poorly," Tom volunteered.

  "I tell you," Frenchy insisted, wagging his finger under Tom’s nose, "her heart is broken."

  Tom crossed his arms over his chest. "And what makes ye so sure o’ that?"

  Frenchy shrugged. "I am French. I know these things."

  The rest of the miners nodded sagely.

  "All right then," Swede said, looking real hard at the faces of the men gathered around the fire. "Which one of you did it? Which one of you broke her heart?"

  They all looked about as comfortable as nuns in a whorehouse. Finally, Dash Campbell spoke up. "Mighta been me."

  His brother Ben promptly smacked him with a hat, which couldn’t have felt too good on that yellow bruise Dash still had from last Saturday’s brawl.

  "Aw, she never even looked twice at you," Ben said. "I was the one she had eyes for."

  "You’re both idjits," Bobby Cooper told him. "Me and my brother, why, we been up to her place three times now."

  "Yeah," Harley jeered, "like pesky ‘skeeters she can’t get rid of."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah!"

  The boys looked raring to start another round of the fight they never finished on Saturday. Swede sighed. He never thought having a lady in camp could cause so much grief. He stepped between them, clamping a hand on each boy’s shoulder before they could inflict damage.

  "Hold on now. Don’t get your feathers all fluffed up."

  Granny raised a hand.

  "What is it, Gran?" Swede asked.

  "It’s prob’ly Zeke who broke her heart," she mumbled, spitting on the ground.

  Zeke glanced around quickly, like he’d just woken up. "Me?" he squeaked.

  "Yeah, well..." Granny kicked the dust around with the toe of her boot. "What lady wouldn’t be sweet on him?"

  Swede could have knocked Zeke over with a feather after that.

  "No, no, no," Frenchy fussed, fluttering his hands in the air. "Perhaps it is not even one of us."