When time came for supper, I heard the men in the barn leave for the house. A few minutes later I heard Mrs. Nason call my name a couple of times. But eventually she gave up, and I knew everyone was at the table eating. I crept into the barn, saddled my horse as quickly as I could in the dark, then led her out and around back.
I didn’t know Sonora very well, but I thought I could make a big circle around to the other side without going through any of the main streets where I might be seen. It took me twenty or so minutes to get where I was headed. I rode out past the edge of town, but stopped where most of the buildings were still visible. I got off my horse, tied her securely to a tree. I had my bag tied down behind the saddle too so I would be able to make a quick getaway when the time came.
The only thing I took back toward town with me was a handful of blank writing pages from my satchel.
Now I retraced my steps back to Nason’s boardinghouse. I found a place across the street, behind some bushes, where I could see both the front door and up the street toward the hotel and the main street of town. I was sure Derrick would come that way when he came looking for me. I just hoped I wasn’t too late!
I waited for a long time. I started to shiver from the cold, and I could tell the dew was beginning to creep up out of the ground. But eventually my patience was rewarded. Sure enough, in the distance down the street from the main part of town came Derrick Gregory walking toward Nason’s boardinghouse.
The thought that he was coming to lure me away was incomprehensible! But I didn’t have time to reflect on that now. I had to get to the Lucky Sluice and safely away before he found out I wasn’t there and had time to get back to his room.
I jumped up and ran in the direction I had planned, through a couple of gardens, over a fence or two, through an alley, across a back street, into somebody’s yard, through another alley, until I arrived at the main street just next to the dry goods store across from the saloon. Looking right and left I darted across, behind the saloon, and had arrived at the back stairway just about the same time, I hoped, as Derrick was knocking on the door and asking Mrs. Nason to see me.
Now came the risky part! If he got suspicious from my not being there and ran back, or if I had trouble getting in, he could catch me right in the act of breaking into his room—then I’d be a goner for sure! I only had five minutes at the most to get in, grab what I wanted, and get out!
I took the saloon’s back steps two at a time as quietly as I could on the toes of my boots. I tried the door. It was open! I crept inside. The hallway had a narrow strip of carpet down the middle, which kept my footsteps quiet. I walked slowly forward.
There it was! Room 14, the second room on the right.
I tried the latch. It was locked!
The next minute I heard voices coming up the stairway from the saloon below at the other end of the hall.
I turned and bolted back for the back door, and had just closed it behind me when I saw a man and a woman come into view. I watched through the window from the landing where I stood. Luckily they didn’t come much farther, but stopped and went into a room at the far end of the hall.
Now what should I do? The door to Derrick’s room was locked, and he was probably already on his way back here from the boardinghouse!
I glanced around where I stood on the landing of the back stairs.
A thin ledge ran around the building at the height of the second floor, a board about six inches wide. I stuffed my batch of papers inside my pocket, then I climbed over the railing and began slowly easing myself away from the landing. If I could just keep my balance and find enough for my fingers to grasp on to!
Slipping along sideways across the ledge, my fingers barely keeping me upright by holding on to window moldings, gutters, and other projections from the building, I came even with the window of the first room. Luckily it was empty!
I continued on, my heart pounding so hard that I was afraid its beating would knock me off backward. I didn’t know which would be worse—to die from a gunshot through the head, or to die of a broken neck from falling twenty feet onto hard-packed dirt!
I came to the second window. This should be Derrick’s room!
As I had hoped, the window was open a crack. I got my fingers under it and jerked upward. With a great scraping sound, it gave way and opened about nine inches. I got both my hands underneath and yanked again, but only managed to open it another two or three inches.
It would have to be enough.
I leaned down, stretched one leg through, then my left arm, then squeezed the rest of my body through.
In a few seconds I was standing alongside Derrick’s bed, with visions of him already walking into the Lucky Sluice below and hurrying up the stairs three at a time to catch me red-handed!
There was enough light from the moon showing through the window for me to see his writing table. I walked toward it. There was his satchel, full of papers, as well as a stack of the papers he had just been working on. A half completed sheet lay on top of them, his dried-out pen lying across it.
Quickly I opened his satchel and grabbed out all his papers. There must have been twenty or thirty pages—interviews, quotes, names, dates, lots of notes of his own. I picked up the fresh pages off the table, apparently his completed article about Fremont and the copy he was making for Senator Goldwin. I put them all in a stack together, folded them once, and stuffed them into my coat pocket.
Then I took the blank pages I had brought with me and replaced about the same number into his satchel, and on the tabletop. I hoped that at a quick glance, seeing papers still there and still in his case, he wouldn’t stop immediately to think they weren’t his papers.
I hurried back to the window and started to squeeze my way back through to the outside.
Suddenly a thought struck me. One look at the table and he would instantly know his writing had been tampered with!
I reached into my pocket and grabbed the papers. I removed the half-completed top sheet. Quickly I read it over in the light of the moon. Still I heard no voices. I read it again so that it would stick in my memory.
Then I went back to the table, replaced the half-written sheet of Derrick’s on the stack of blank pages I had put there, and smoothed out the fold. I laid the pen down exactly as it was before, then stuffed the rest of the pages back in my pocket, and left through the window.
It closed easier than it had opened. I crept back across the ledge, over onto the landing, and back down the stairs onto the street.
Just as I started down I heard the heated voices of Derrick and the other two men entering the hallway from the saloon. They sounded like they were in a hurry. “We’ll ride out of here early tomorrow and dump the kid and the girl in a ravine up in the mountains someplace,” one of the men was saying. “Then you can put a bullet into both of them. You got it, Gregory?”
I didn’t want to stick around to hear any more. I leaped down the stairs three at a time, and dashed off into the night.
Chapter 49
Escape
Taking back streets and finding my way as best I could by the light from the night sky, I hurried toward where I thought the livery stable was.
The smells and the sounds of the horses and mules inside told me I had reached the right place. I approached from out in the back of the livery. There wasn’t a door into it from where I was, but I could hear two men talking on the other side of the wall. They weren’t voices I recognized, probably only stable hands cleaning up and tending to the animals.
I glanced around. Where could they have stashed Robin? Inside one of the stalls? Not likely, or those two workers might have spotted him.
What had they said? I tried to remember their words. Out back of the livery—that’s what they’d said.
He must be here someplace. There were several shacks nearby. I ran to the first and opened the door.
It was pitch black and cold inside—must have been the ice house. “Robin . . . Robin, you in here?” I said just a littl
e above a whisper. There was no reply.
I shut the door and ran to the next little outbuilding. From the smells of leather and dirt and the shovel and pitchfork I nearly stumbled over, I figured this to be where they kept tools for repairing harnesses and wagons. “Robin . . . Robin!” I whispered. Again, I heard nothing.
I looked around yet once more. The last possible spot was a shed for storing bales of hay and straw, made of three walls and a roof, with the one open end facing southwest, probably to protect it from the wind and rain.
I ran to the shed and inside. All I could make out in the dim light were piles of baled hay.
“Robin . . . Robin?” I called out, a little too loud, I’m afraid. But I was getting desperate. I knew those men were going to be after me any minute!
“Robin O’Flaridy, you low-down rat . . . where are you?”
I stopped and looked all around, wondering where else I could search.
Then I heard a muffled groan!
“Robin, is that you?” I cried.
The sound came again, from the back of the shed. I ran toward it, struggling to throw aside bales, and climbing over them to get to the back of the shed.
There he was, tied up in the corner—wrists and ankles bound tight, a rag stuffed in his mouth, lying on his stomach, his face buried in loose straw, and a couple of heavy bales leaning sideways on top of him. He’d probably been trying to free himself, and they’d toppled over on him, knocking him into the ridiculous position where I found him. Luckily there was no one guarding him.
As fast as I could I went to work at the ropes around his legs. But they were too tight!
I fumbled in the darkness for the knife I’d tucked at my waist, found it, and quickly slit the cords.
“Get on your feet!” I said. “Let’s get out of here!”
I pulled at him to get him up. He moaned and motioned at his hands and mouth.
“After what you did to me,” I said, “you want me to set your mouth free to start yapping again? You betrayed me once tonight already, Robin O’Flaridy, and I’m not likely to forget it anytime soon. And if I’m going to save your life, I don’t want to have to listen to your explanations or excuses! I’ll just leave your hands tied behind you and your mouth gagged until we’re safe. Now come on, before those ruffians get here!”
I yanked at his arm and half-dragged him back over the bales the way I’d come. If I had seen the dried blood on his face and the welts above his eye and the bruises on his shoulders, I probably would have been a little kinder. As it was, I was both angry at him and terrified that we’d be caught any second. And by the time we got out of the shed and back out into the moonlight and I did see his condition, we were in too big a hurry. My compassion for loose-tongued and cowardly Robin O’Flaridy would just have to wait until later!
“This way!” I said, still holding on to his arm, pulling him to follow.
I ran toward the woods behind the livery, toward where I’d tied my mare earlier.
Robin was stiff and sore from being tied up, and he could barely keep to his feet. I knew I’d have to untie his hands or he’d keep stumbling along and falling every other step. I stopped and got out my knife again. But just as I was slitting through the last of the cords, I saw a figure come running out from the front of the livery to the back. He made straight for the hay shed, then stopped the instant he saw us standing about thirty yards from it toward the woods. There was no chance to hide. We were exposed in the pale glow of the moonlight.
It was Derrick Gregory!
Robin and I froze. Derrick walked slowly toward us. I hadn’t noticed him wearing a gun before, but he had one now, and he pulled it from his holster.
I could feel Robin trembling and he began pulling away. I went with him and we inched backward.
“You’re a clever one, Cornelia Hollister,” he said, still advancing. “You had me completely fooled.”
“I’m sorry, Derrick,” I said, “but I had to know if you were going to write the truth about Mr. Fremont.”
He gave a laugh, though this time it rang with bitterness. “I told you before, a reporter can’t worry about that. You’ve got to do your job, that’s all. And right now my job’s to get those papers back from you.”
“What papers?” I stammered nervously.
“Come on, Cornelia,” he said with a sneer. “You know as well as I do you took them from my room. Now, hand them over!” He waved his pistol at us, but still we kept inching back.
“How did you know?” I asked.
He chuckled again. This time there was a little of the old humor in his tone.
“Every writer has his own little secrets, his own way of doing things. You must know what I mean, Cornelia. One of mine is that I never fold my pages. I can’t stand papers with folds in them! You tried to smooth it out, but it didn’t work. Very clever of you to leave the top sheet. If you hadn’t folded it first, I’d never have noticed it till hours later. But then I saw all those blank papers substituted for my own, and I knew it had to be you. You’re a smart girl, but I’ve got to have those papers back!”
“Where are the other two men?” I said.
“I sent them on a wild goose chase to the boardinghouse to look for you. I figured you’d be here, trying to save that coward who turned you in to save his own skin.”
“And if I don’t give you the papers?”
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Cornelia. But I’ve got to have those papers! The other men’ll be here any second. Now just give me the papers and get going. I’ll tell them you got away. But if they get here first, they’ll kill you both! Now come on, Cornelia, don’t make me do something I don’t want to have to do!”
He quickened his pace toward us. Robin and I began moving backward toward the woods. Derrick was still twenty or twenty-five yards from us.
“Robin,” I whispered. “Make for the woods. My horse is straight up that little rise about fifty yards away. Untie her. I’ll be right behind you! And you wait for me, you scoundrel!”
He hesitated.
“Get going!” I yelled, shoving him up the hill. He needed no more encouragement. He’d broken the last strand of rope on his wrists and took off for the woods as fast his spindly legs would carry him.
“Stop, Flaridy!” cried Derrick. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
Robin kept going and in a couple of seconds was out of sight.
“Derrick,” I implored, still walking backward after Robin, “you don’t want to shoot anybody. I don’t think you’re willing to kill either of us for the sake of your rich senator.”
“You’ll never get away from them,” he said.
“I’ll just have to get back to San Francisco before you or your friends.”
Behind him I heard the sounds of running footsteps and shouts.
I turned and sprinted into the woods!
My heart nearly stopped when I heard the explosive fire of Derrick’s gun behind me. But he couldn’t have missed! I was sure he intentionally shot wide and over my head! I heard shouts again and I knew whose voices they were. Derrick’s pistol echoed in the blackness with two more deafening shots.
“They got away!” I heard Derrick yell. “After them . . . this way!”
More shots sounded, but they were not close. I reached the horse only seconds after Robin. He was fumbling with the rope.
“I’ll get it!” I cried.
I loosened the rope from the tree, then jumped into the saddle and helped him up behind me. “Hang on!” I called. “If you fall off, I’m not stopping for you!”
I dug in my heels and off we galloped.
Hearing us, more gunfire rang out. It was the sound of rifles this time! Bullets smashed into trees and clipped off branches around us. But we kept on. Finally the gunshots stopped.
“Get to the horses!” I heard the man with the beard cry out. “We’ll chase ’em down . . . they can’t get far!”
I lashed poor Raspberry on as fast as she could go, circling the town and
working our way down onto the main road west toward Chinese Camp and Modesto. Reaching the road, we pushed on as fast as we could go. But I knew the other three riders were only a minute or two behind us.
We rode hard for a couple of miles. When we came to the junction of the southern road, I eased up on the reins, then found a place to pull off the road and hide behind several boulders and large pine trees.
A couple of minutes later, the thundering hoofs of our pursuers’ three horses approached and passed us, continuing on the westward route. Once the sound had died away, I led my horse back out into the clearing, and onto the road leading south.
The stop had given Robin his first opportunity to pull the rag from his mouth.
“Hey, this isn’t the road to San Francisco,” he said as I urged the mare to a gallop again.
“Is that all you have to say after I just saved your skin?” I shot back at him over my shoulder.
“Of course, I’m grateful, but I only wondered where we’re going.”
“Well, for the moment at least, we’re not going toward San Francisco. That is the direction they think we’re going, and I don’t want to make it too easy for them to find us. I happen to value my life, Robin, even if you don’t!”
“They would never have hurt you, Corrie. I knew that. I would never have said a word if there’d been any real danger to you!”
“Ha!” I said. “I don’t believe that for a second!”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to San Francisco. But first I’ve got a little unfinished business with regard to Mr. Gregory’s article.”
“Where?”
“At the Fremont estate.”
The moon was practically full and I could see well enough to ride with tolerable speed. I couldn’t see my map too well, but I had studied it back at Sonora. There were enough markers along the way so that I knew we were on the right road to Mariposa.
We rode pretty hard for half an hour, then eased back. The horse wouldn’t be able to keep it up all night at this pace, and all I wanted to do was get far enough from Sonora so that I’d know we were safe.
On the Trail of the Truth Page 28