Patience

by Lori Copeland

  “Objections? Of course I don’t have any objections.”

  Murder. Moses Malone and her cohorts may have shot two miners. Was she that desperate?

  The answer came more swiftly than her opposition. She’d do anything to secure the others’ future. If that meant hiring cutthroat murderers to mine the gold—as long as Jay oversaw the operation—then she was going to count blessings instead of doubts. “How soon do you think the women can start?”

  “I’ll have to see if I can pull this off first.” He stood up, looking as though he had something more to say.

  She met his direct gaze. “What?”

  “You should know … Moses and her crew are tough cookies.”

  Patience stood and gripped the edge of the table for support. “I suspected as much. Other than murder, how bad does it get?”

  “You name it. They’re no church choir.”

  Women convicts. How reckless was she? Pretty much that reckless.

  “Will I be endangering Wilson?” She wouldn’t jeopardize Wilson’s safety for any amount of gold.

  “The women are loners. They’ll keep to themselves.”

  “Do they know about the mine?”

  “About the ghost?”

  “Yes … him.” Gamey O’Keefe.

  “I don’t know anyone around these parts who doesn’t,” he conceded.

  Sighing, Patience lifted her hand to her temple. It was sink-or-swim time, eat or be eaten. She’d stake her life on the fact that there was no ghost, but would anyone else? “I’m desperate. Do whatever it takes to get them.”

  He nodded. “This brings me to the next question. What can you afford to pay?”

  “Nothing at the moment, but I’ll match any wage around once the mine is producing.” If there was no gold, she was sunk. Wilson said the old prospector buried his diggings in a coffee can. She had already dug up half the hillside, and she hadn’t found anything but the bones of a dead animal. She had a mental image of herself lying faceup, brains in a puddle beside her, when the disgruntled convicts rode off with empty saddlebags. Shuddering, she shook the thought away.

  “Not good enough,” he stated.

  “Well …” She started to pace the tight quarters, anxious now. “I don’t know. What can I offer?”

  “That depends on your funds.”

  “Nonexistent. I had a paltry amount saved over the past few weeks when I helped Mary and Harper in the millinery, but as you’re aware, I left town rather unexpectedly and didn’t have an opportunity to pack.” She wasn’t being facetious, merely truthful. “I’m counting on that mine to contain a lot of gold.”

  He shook his head. “Fools. Men and women are fools when it comes to gold. What happens if that hole is nothing but a dry vein?”

  “I’ll face that when it happens,” she said. “I’m willing to put my trust in God, Jay. Some folks believe in ghosts; I believe nothing coincidental happens to those who trust their life to God.”

  He pointed at her sternly.

  She changed the subject, aware she had already violated their agreement. “What about you? You can’t keep walking to the mine every morning. It’s at least a forty-five-minute walk each way, and we’ll work daybreak to sundown.”

  “There’s a miner’s shack half a mile from here. It isn’t fancy, but I can bunk in there.”

  Walking to the door, he opened it. “You know we’re going to have to hit the mother lode.”

  She nodded. “I’m praying—” she stopped—“I think we will.” Otherwise she was as good as on her way back to Denver City.

  He returned her gaze. He appeared competent and self-assured—a far cry from his former self. What had happened to Jay Longer? A miracle? He said he didn’t believe in miracles, but maybe God had jerked a knot in his backside. A big ole painful knot.

  “Jay?”

  “Yes?”

  “What made you change your mind?” He’d been so adamant about not taking the job—insistent that she return to Denver City. He was still sheriff—still negligent in his obligation to take her back, with or without her consent.

  “I need the money.”

  She knew it took a good deal of courage for him to admit that, though she’d rather that she was the reason he was staying. Smiling, she said quietly, “Then I guess you’ll want to get started right away.”

  Nodding, he turned to leave when she added, “I want you to know I don’t care why. I’m just glad you’re doing it.”

  He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. “Don’t be; I’m no bargain.”

  She hoped something deeper than a smile shone in her eyes now. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “But, Patience! It’s only a chicken! He won’t eat much!”

  “Wilson, take the rope off that chicken’s neck and turn him loose immediately!”

  “You said I could have a pet,” Wilson reminded sullenly.

  “One pet, Wilson, not an entire zoo.” Balancing the wash basket on her hip, Patience sidestepped a raccoon, a squirrel, two rabbits, a stray hound dog with its ribs showing, and a rooster. The child had tied ropes around the animals’ necks and staked them to the ground in front of the dugout.

  Wilson was suddenly adamant about acquiring yet another pet. “He lays eggs!”

  “He does not lay eggs.”

  Wilson bent over to examine his latest acquisition. Straightening, he called back expectantly. “He can wake us up!”

  “Turn that rooster loose.” Jamming a clothespin in her mouth, Patience marched to the line to hang the wash out to freeze-dry. All she needed was another mouth to feed—even if it was a chicken’s!

  She realized she was on edge this morning. Jay had been gone for over twenty-four hours. He said he’d be back by dark, and she stayed up long into last night, waiting to hear if he’d hired a crew. She wanted to believe he was a man of his word, prayed that he would come back, yet doubts colored her faith.

  Why should he be concerned about her and Wilson? He was a full-grown man, and he probably didn’t want to be bothered with an eight-year-old boy and a headstrong young woman.

  Her heart told her that, and yet she’d lain awake most of the night listening for his footsteps. Toward dawn she accepted that he wasn’t coming.

  The rooster set up a terrible squawk, and Wilson slipped the rope off his neck and set him free. Feathers fogged the air and the bird ran around in circles, flapping its wings and screeching. In a burst of energy, it charged Wilson, sending him shrieking toward the dugout.

  The remaining animals scrambled for cover, but their tiny legs jerked from under them as the ropes around their necks yanked them to a screeching halt.

  “You’re going to get spurred!” Patience called out. Wilson raced headlong around a bush hounded by a reddish white blur.

  At the height of the ruckus Jay arrived, followed by a group of women, all carrying picks, axes, and shovels.

  With an exclamation of relief, Patience dropped the wet shirt she was about to hang back into the basket and ran to meet him. She was so relieved to see him that it took concerted willpower to keep from flinging herself headlong into his arms. She deliberately slowed her steps. The odd assortment of humanity approached.

  “Hi,” Patience greeted him.

  Jay swept off his hat. “Morning.”

  Wilson rounded the bush again, the rooster bearing down on him hard.

  “The trip over to Piety Hill took longer than expected,” Jay apologized. “And it wasn’t easy to talk the warden into our plan.”

  She smiled gratefully and said, “I’m glad you’re back.” Her eyes switched to the women, and she swallowed. A church choir they certainly weren’t.

  “Patience Smith, Moses Malone,” Jay introduced.

  Patience recoiled. She faced the rawboned Indian woman who looked mean enough to fist fight a weasel. Dressed in men’s boots, faded overalls, and a heavy bearskin coat, Moses Malone’s squat, two-hundred-pound, five-foot-plus frame was intimidat
ing.

  Moses’ eyes coldly skimmed Patience. “Heard you’re looking for someone to work your mine.” Her voice was whiskey-deep, her hair cut with a butcher knife. The uninspired salt-and-pepper locks hung in dirty strings below the flaps of a dingy, yellow wool hat. Her features were ageless. She could have been thirty or sixty.

  “Yes,” Patience said, unhappy about the sudden squeak in her voice. “I understand you might be interested?”

  Moses’ eyes roamed over to the small shaft. “Might. For a price. A third of the profits.”

  Patience’s gaze shot to Jay. “A third?”

  “A quarter,” he corrected. “That was the agreed amount.”

  Patience’s mind was busy trying to add and subtract. Half to Jay, a quarter to Moses … that left a quarter for Patience and Wilson. Not exactly the fortune she’d envisioned, but enough, if the mine proved generous.

  Moses locked eyes with Jay in a silent duel. After a while she turned and said over her shoulder, “A quarter of the profits.”

  The women, having exchanged a series of harsh looks, nodded.

  A quarter of the profits. They’d gone for it. Patience released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  Moses turned back to address Patience. “You know about me and my crew?”

  “Yes … somewhat.”

  “Couple of prostitutes, bank robber, an ax murderer. And I’m just plain mean,” Moses said.

  Patience nodded. Definitely not your typical mining crew.

  “Got any problem with that?”

  “No—” Patience swallowed—“ma’am.”

  “Longer says we work for him.”

  Patience glanced at Jay. “He’s the boss.”

  Wilson rounded the bush a third time, flinging his arms and screeching.

  The convict threw him a practical glance. “The boy has a rooster after him.”

  “I know. One or the other will eventually give in.” Patience grinned. “How soon can you start?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Thank you—tomorrow it is.” Money would be coming in now; Patience thought her troubles were over. “I’ll have breakfast waiting.”

  “We fix our own breakfast.” Moses’ gaze drifted again to the mine.

  Holding her breath, Patience wondered if she knew about the ghost.

  “We use our own equipment.”

  That was good, since Patience didn’t have any. “All right.”

  Eyes still fixed on the Mule Head, Moses pledged, “If there’s gold in there, we’ll get it.”

  Patience didn’t doubt that. This woman was downright scary.

  When Wilson raced toward him, Jay reached over and plucked him up by the collar, and the rooster shot past.

  At daybreak the next morning Patience’s crew arrived. The women convicts looked like fifty miles of bad road.

  When Patience asked to be introduced to the other women, Moses told her they were there to do a job, not to socialize. Names didn’t matter. Folks called them shady ladies, and Patience could do the same if names were important to her.

  Armed with their picks, axes, shovels, and lanterns, the women went to work. Day one passed without incident. At dusk the women came out of the mine and snaked their way back down the mountain, trailing Jay, who had stood guard over the mine entrance all day.

  Neither Patience nor Wilson was allowed inside the mine; they could tote water and Jay would ferry it to the workers. When the women emerged, black-faced from the mine, Wilson was allowed to visit with them briefly but Jay kept him in sight.

  Patience watched the strange assemblage go, wondering how the day had gone, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask. If they encountered the likes of Gamey O’Keefe, he would have been the one to vacate the mine.

  After they left for the day, she ventured into the mine, curious as to what they were doing. She walked cautiously over the rough ground, lifting the lantern high to help her avoid rubble. Fresh pick marks showed where the women had worked. She shuddered, thinking of spending all day in this dark and damp place. Although she searched the walls diligently, no golden gleam caught her eye.

  Suddenly a low moan came from nowhere and everywhere, swelling in intensity. Patience backed up, moving as fast as she dared toward the exit. The sound ebbed around her, bouncing off the walls, and then died away.

  She stumbled out of the mine, trembling so hard she almost dropped the lantern. Sinking down on a nearby boulder, she thought about what she had heard. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but a few more experiences like that and she might start to.

  Day two dawned. The women returned. After a short meeting, Jay dispersed them into the mine. His gaze touched Patience’s briefly before he turned and walked away. As far as she knew, he entered the mine only to dole out water.

  She sensed he avoided contact with her, and she wondered if he disliked her faith or her optimism. Both seemed to disturb him. Was he playing games with her—letting the mine prove her wrong? Was he hoping for defeat—for a dry vein—so he could take her back to Denver City without a quarrel? She’d done everything she knew to make him feel comfortable around her. She’d cooked food and put it in his saddlebag so he would find it at the end of day.

  She’d racked her brain trying to come up with interesting things to talk about and, although she still wore the old prospector’s clothing, she tried to be clean and well groomed, but at times she wondered if the fine-looking sheriff even noticed.

  Day three came and went.

  Day four.

  Jay showed up each morning to issue the women their orders. By sundown he disappeared again, and Patience and Wilson spent another cold night huddled before the fire. Not one word was mentioned about gold. Not one single word.

  Sighing, she shook out a rug, praying that gold would soon be found.

  Jay Longer—and Denver City—were beginning to look good to her.

  During week two, placer deposits, small hollows in the streams near the dugout, began to show up. Gold dust, flakes, and nuggets were found scattered throughout the sand and gravel downstream of the Mule Head.

  “That’s encouraging, isn’t it?” Patience exclaimed when Jay told her the news that evening.

  “It’s going to take a lot more than flakes and dust to meet the payroll,” he warned.

  “Still, it’s encouraging.” She smiled expectantly. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Maybe, but the old-timers say the easiest way to find gold is to get a burro and turn it loose.”

  Taking three browned loaves of bread out of the oven, she set them on the table to cool. “A burro?” She laughed. That’s all she needed, another animal to feed.

  “Laugh if you want, but there’s been many a prospector who’s hit pay dirt because of his donkey.”

  “Now what could a donkey possibly have to do with finding gold?”

  Jay took off his hat. “Whiplash Johnson tells the story about how his donkey got away from him one afternoon. When he finally caught up with it, the animal was standing next to an outcrop of gold.”

  “Jay,” she chided, wondering if he really believed such exaggerated claims.

  “Go ahead, laugh. Spineless Jake Henshaw swears his mules ran away, and when he found them they had taken shelter from a storm behind an outcrop of black rock. While Jake waited for the storm to blow over, he got to looking around, and what do you think he found?”

  “Gold.”

  “Not right away. He chipped a few samples out of the rock and talked a friend of his into having them assayed. Know a lot of men who’ve found water, gold, and silver with a dowsing rod.”

  She gestured to the simmering pot of stew she’d just taken off the stove. “Stay to supper? There’s plenty.”

  “Thanks, not tonight.”

  “There’s fresh butter,” she tempted. It would be so nice to have adult company at the table tonight. Wilson sometimes thought and talked like an adult, but he was still an eight-year-old. Although Jay had already taken the
shady ladies downhill, he had come back to work awhile longer.

  “No, I need to be going.”

  Patience wasn’t going to let him see her disappointment. “Maybe next time.”

  He nodded. “Maybe next time.”

  You will stay next time, she added under her breath as the door closed behind him.

  “Apple pie?” she called from the doorway the following night.

  Jay glanced up. He’d taken to honing knives while he stood watch over the women convicts.

  “It’s just coming out of the oven!”

  “Don’t much care for apples,” he called back. “They give me the hiccups.”

  She frowned. Peaches next time.

  “Biscuits and rabbit?” She stood in the doorway the next evening, shading her eyes against a fading sun.

  Jay glanced up from his work. “Fried?”

  “Boiled—with dumplings.”

  “Like my meat fried. Much obliged, though.”

  Sighing, she closed the door.

  “Hot biscuits and honey!” she sang out the next night.

  Getting to his feet, Jay dusted the dirt off his pants. “Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

  “Take as long as you like!” She burst into song and closed the door with her backside. “Wilson, pick up your shoes! We’re having company for supper.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Thanks to a late January storm that night, the snow was so deep the women couldn’t make it up the incline, but they were back the following morning. Mining the Mule Head was exasperatingly slow. Only a few small nuggets came out of the shaft—hardly worth counting.

  “Boy, this is hard work, huh, Jay?” Wilson, standing behind a crouching Jay, rested his elbows on the sheriff’s shoulders while Jay checked the day’s work.

  “Pretty hard,” Jay agreed absently. He tightened his grip on the knife handle and shifted a blade.

  “Wilson.” Patience reached to pull him off Jay’s back. “You come back to the dugout with me and let Jay work.”

  Jay gave her a smile. “He’s all right. Go bake those apple pies.”