He looked up as I neared. “Who are you?” he groused. “What are you doing with our horse?”
“It’s Tom Marsh, Jed, and I’m bringing your horse back to you.” I answered. Jed hadn’t recognized me in the sombrero either.
“Jeremiah rode that horse this morning. What happened to him?”
“Somebody shot him, up by the gulch.”
“You shot him. He said you was planning on killing him ‘cause of that girl.”
“I found him in the creek and took him to Maggie. She’s fixing him up right now. Some guy in a red shirt shot him,” I snorted. Taking blame for something I didn’t do really rubbed me wrong.
“You’re lying,” Jed fired back.
That got my dander up. Jed didn’t believe a word I said. I needed to turn his head around quick if I was going to get back to Lacey and the cafe in time for the noon crowd. “Come on, Jed. Think about it some.” I snapped. “Would I take Jeremiah up to the place I live so that maybe Maggie can save his life, then bother to come back here with his horse if I shot him?” My anger came across clear and with it the certainty that what I said was the gospel truth.
Jed shrugged and hollered downstream. “Pa! Get up here. Jeremiah’s been shot.” He turned back to me. “Reckon you might have a point. We’ll see what Pa has to say.”
Right now I didn’t give a tinker’s dam what Doak Wiggins had to say and I wasn’t of a mind to hang around and discuss things. “I got work to do,” I growled. “I ain’t got time for chit-chat,” so I dropped the reins to the plow horse. “Your brother will be at Maggie’s cabin, if he’s still alive. I don’t know who he got mixed up with, but it don’t look like they was the best folks in town. I’ll be at the cafe if you or your Pa wants me.” I turned and rode hard back along the creek to town.
##
After dropping off Rojo at the stable I walked toward the cafe and kept stewing over something Jeremiah had said back in the gully. I hadn’t had much time for jawing over things then, but now I wished I’d asked exactly what he’d meant after I told him that Red Shirt had done the shooting and he’d mumbled ‘K.O.—no—friend,’ all busted up and whispery. Likely Red Shirt went by the name of K.O. and knowing his name seemed pretty darn important, but after that things got muddled. Did Jeremiah mean he didn’t believe K.O. shot him because K.O. was his friend, or did he mean that K.O. wasn’t his friend?
In the long run K.O. did the shooting so he wasn’t a friend, but how Jeremiah knew him might turn out pretty meaningful to what had happened so far. Maybe it could give me a look see into why Webster Lawson came to the gold country in the first place, though I still couldn’t be sure of any connection between K.O. and Jeremiah, the mining cooperative and that whole gang of riffraff and Lacey’s pa. Talk about things getting all mucked up. Still, my gut told me I followed the right trail. It was a lot like a hornet’s nest, if you stir it up you’re liable to get stung, and I got stung bad yesterday.
Maybe, if Maggie can pull Jeremiah through this, he’ll be willing to talk. She couldn’t say anything about his chances earlier, at least not until she’d had a better look, and there ain’t no way to be sure, but Maggie had a gift. Folks showed up at the cabin with busted arms and legs that needed setting, or deep cuts that needed stitching, and Maggie always helped them. Men everywhere around here knew about her. The miners along Hangtown Creek thought the world of her. Still, a gunshot ain’t much like a busted bone, but she saved Eban’s life when Scarface shot him in the chest and I felt dang sure she could save Jeremiah too.
Figuring Lacey would be in the cafe’s kitchen I walked around to the back door and knocked. I didn’t have to wait long before I heard her footsteps. The door opened and she stood there with a big smile on her face, wearing the blue and white apron dusted with flour. When I stepped inside she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. I couldn’t help myself. I hugged her tight and thought about carrying her to the cot in the corner.
She pulled away with a sparkle in her eyes and said, “Take it easy, big fellow. I’ve got lunch in the oven.” Before I caught my breath she headed back to the table where six pie pans with the crust already in sat beside a bowl of dried apples soaking.
“Apple pie, that’s one of my favorites,” I said. “What’s in the oven?”
“Four chickens and four loaves of bread, and I’ve got peas and carrots and a bunch of potatoes boiling on the top.”
I grinned, “Smells great, I’m hungry already.”
She poured a cup of sugar into the apple slices and stirred everything around with a big spoon. “This is for the customers, you and me got work to do,” she pointed out.
“Yes ma’am,” I said and I gave her a small bow. “I’ll sweep up the dining room, if you don’t mind.”
She giggled and kissed me again, quick and on the cheek. “I’m glad you got back all in one piece.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said with a smile. I sure did like it when she seemed to care about me like this. I liked it so much that I didn’t want to leave any more, even to go into the next room, so I started to shuffle my feet around while I thought of something to say. “Ah, well, uh—”
“Get on with you,” she snapped. ”Folks will want their lunch anytime now.” She waved the spoon in my face to shoo me away but grinned from ear to ear as she did.
In the dining room I wiped the tables with a rag then swept the floor with a good, stiff broom. While I straightened out the chairs under a table next to one of the windows, I saw Doak and Jed Wiggins pass by on their way to the cabin. Doak rode a nice looking sorrel mare that reminded me a lot of Sadie, the horse I’d ridden when I came to the gold country, but Jed was plodding along on the old plow horse. At the rate the nag could go, Doak and Jed must have left right after I did. Maybe they’d be back here after they had a chance to see Jeremiah.
I unlatched the front door and walked over to the wall between the dining room and the kitchen and swung open the shutters over the plank counter. When Maggie worked by herself the men would walk up to the opening and say hello, then she would fill up a plate and set it on the ledge. Maggie knew most everybody who came in anyway so it worked real good for her. I’d closed it, but with Lacey cooking today I knew the miners would give me no end of grief if they couldn’t see her.
Lacey had pulled the bread out of the oven, and it smelled great. The apple pies were nowhere in sight so they must be baking now. A large bowl of mashed potatoes sat on the table and Lacey stood by the stove, stirring a skillet full of giblet gravy. She was whipping up a lunch the miners weren’t apt to forget anytime soon. But somehow, deep down, I knew I was the one Lacey wanted to impress with her good cooking. She hummed a bright tune while she worked, a lot like Maggie always did, and seemed completely happy and right at home in the cafe’s kitchen.
She noticed me through the opening and smiled. “Can you get some water from the well, Tom? I need to start coffee.”
“Right away,” I grinned back at her and took a quick look around the dining room. Satisfied I’d done a good job I went into the kitchen. Near the washstand I picked up the two oak buckets and slid out the back door. While walking to the well I could see the mane and tail of the sorrel, almost white against her brown coat, as she stood beside Maggie’s porch. Doak Wiggins was up there looking in on Jeremiah.
After I filled the two buckets I lugged them toward the kitchen and thought how I’d give a pair of my new pants to see what was going on up at the cabin. Would Jeremiah be okay? Would he tell his Pa anything about what he’d done to get those fancy boots? I felt like a meddling old school marm, but couldn’t help myself. I had a lot riding on Jeremiah. If Maggie could save him he might be willing to explain some things that I’d pondered on real hard, and without getting much for all my brooding.
Back in the kitchen I gave one bucket to Lacey, poured the other into a wash pan and set it on the stove to warm, then set about scraping out the pots and pans Lacey had used to cook with. When the wash water heated up enough
I hauled it to the washstand and started to scour out everything that I’d scraped. I always wanted to get a head start on the hardest work, and scrubbing the cooking gear topped the list.
I’d finished drying the last of the heavy, black iron pots when the bell over the door rang, and through the open shutters I saw Morton shuffling toward the counter. Oh Lord, I thought, he must’ve heard from somebody that Maggie would be here today, and that somebody was likely Eban. After all the grumbling he did Friday because she wasn’t here he’d probably bellyache a hundred times worse if he thought he’d been lied to.
I rushed over to cope with any storm that might blow in but Morton made it to the opening first. I pulled on my Sunday smile. “Good to see you, Mr. Morton,” I said.
He slowly rolled his tired, bloodshot eyes around the kitchen. “Where’s Maggie? She’s supposed to be here,” he carped in his usual gruff way.
I tried hard to keep my smile up and speak nice and easy. “Maggie had a fellow show up hurt this morning so she’s back at the cabin helping him out.” Morton’s sour expression didn’t change. I took that as a good sign.
“I saw Doak Wiggins’ mare tied out in front. Doak hurt?” he snarled.
“No, it’s his son, Jeremiah.” Morton was one of the biggest gossipmongers in town. I figured he might’ve come in to find out who Maggie patched up.
Morton gave a small nod, not a shake like most do when they hear somebody’s been hurt. “That boy’s rotten to the core. Probably deserved what he got. I feel bad for old Doak though. He’s a good man. Don’t figure, him having such a no good offspring. What happened to that fool boy anyhow?”
“Somebody shot him.”
“I ain’t surprised, like to have shot him myself down at the Round Tent Saturday. He kept badgering me about joining that dang mining cooperative, like he thought I might. I got a good claim going. Why on earth would I share it with a bunch of city folk fresh off the boat?”
Morton naturally had a nasty way but I was glad he was yelling about Jeremiah and not Maggie. And what he said sounded pretty darn interesting.
He flipped a gruff backhand into the air and kept at it. “Crooks! They ain’t nothing but crooks, that whole mining cooperative. Three men got killed in Coloma. Two Mexican fellers was shot in their sleep. An old man was beat to death. They all had good-paying claims going. Now that dang mining cooperative’s working them claims. Every day somebody’s talking about miners from Chile, Mexico, even them Chinamen, getting run off a good placer deposit. It ain’t right I tell you. It just ain’t right.”
“So what does Jeremiah care if you or anybody else joins the mining cooperative?” I said, trying to sound like a guy making small talk, not wanting Morton to know I had such a big interest. He’d blab it all over town.
“How do I know what Jeremiah Wiggins gets if he wrestles some fool into joining them hornswogglers?” he grumbled. “He’s got enough money to drink highfaluting French champagne and wear them fancy hand-tooled boots. He don’t get that from Doak Wiggins, you can bet on it.” Morton’s voice grew loud and full of heat.
A steaming hot plate slid onto the counter and I realized Lacey stood right beside me. “Here’s your lunch, sir,” she said in her sweet, honey-flavored voice.
Morton looked down, sniffed at the mouthwatering blend of smells that sat practically under his whiffer and quickly picked up the plate. “Why this looks right tasty,” he said as obligingly as I’d ever heard him talk. He gaped at Lacey with what was as near to a smile as the old codger could conjure up on such a wrinkled, sour face. “Thank you, miss. Thank you much,” he mumbled before he gobbled up a healthy dollop of potatoes and gravy, nodded his approval, hurried to the nearest table and began muscling food into his mouth like a starving wolf would a deer.
I stared at him in wonder until Lacey bumped me with her hip and jarred me back to the here and now. She grinned like a miner who’d found a five-pound nugget. Then she winked, spun around, and sashayed off. What a gal I thought as my eyes followed the swaying blue flowers on her backside all the way to the stove.
But the bell on the door jingled and five men walked in. Things got awful busy in the cafe real quick and I didn’t have much time to mull over Jeremiah except for a small break here and there and each time, in my mind, I would see K.O. pull the trigger at Jeremiah’s back. But more men would walk in and I’d hustle from table to table again, toting in plates full of food and hauling empty ones back to the kitchen to wash.
Finally the bell dinged as the last of the noon crowd left. I wiped the sweat from my face and started to straighten the tables. Taking advantage of the breather my mind wandered back to Jeremiah Wiggins and whether or not Maggie could pull him through. With Doak’s mare still at the cabin maybe Jeremiah lived.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lacey framed in the counter opening. “Two plates for table three,” she called like she’d done all day. I walked over, picked up the food and carried it to a table by a window, set the plates down and went back to tiding up, my mind all tangled up by the shooting.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I heard her ask from behind me.
I spun. She sat at the table where I’d put the food. “Oh! That’s for us. I guess wasn’t thinking,” I said and sat down across from her. “I’m starved. This looks great.”
She beamed at the compliment. “I was afraid I’d lost you. All morning you’ve been in a daze. Is it about that boy who got shot?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s all real strange, not what I expected to happen. I’m not sure about a lot of things now.” I shrugged.
“This has to do with my Papa too, doesn’t it?” she moaned. “That’s why somebody shot at you. You’re trying to find Papa and somebody wants to kill you for it. Oh Lord! If something happens to you I’ll just die.” Her face twisted up like it did before she cried.
I didn’t want that. I’d had enough trouble for one day. “No! Nothing’s your fault,” I snapped at her and regretted it as soon as I did. Her eyes clouded up and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” I said a lot softer. “I don’t mean to yell. I just don’t want you to worry. Yeah, I’ve been looking for your Pa and I think that’s what all this trouble is about. But I’ll grant you I’m confused. Maybe you can help me some.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin and when she pulled it away she wore a small smile. “I’ll do anything to find Papa. I hope you know that.”
“Well, for now just let me ask you a few things. Do you remember when you first showed up here?” She nodded so I went on, “There was that guy you almost ran into at the door. You took a swing at him with your purse.”
“Yeah!” she blurted. “He’s a dirty lecher. He put his hand on my . . .” She looked real sheepish and giggled. “You know where he put it,” she added.
I grinned along with her. “Yeah, maybe I do. His name is Reid Harrison. Have you ever met him before? Did your Papa know him?”
She puckered her lips, thinking hard. “I don’t believe so, but it’s like the guy you asked me about this morning, Papa knows a lot of people. I wish I could help.”
I shrugged and started in on the food but it wasn’t long before I told her the whole story, from talking to Reid Harrison on Sunday to watching Jeremiah get shot this morning. I threw in every detail I could think of, what each guy looked like, what kind of horse K.O. rode, the fancy Mexican boots, but so far nothing rang a bell with her. She’d listened hard, soaking up every word I said, her forehead knotted, her face serious, like she was trying hard to figure something out.
I really didn’t want to interrupt her pondering but I still had to keep my manners in mind. “I’m getting some pie. Can I bring you a slice?”
She looked up and nodded and went right back to puzzling over things. I felt better as I walked into the kitchen because she didn’t seem to be put out too much. I cut two wedges, popped each onto a plate and headed back to Lacey.
When I got to the dining room she blurted out to me, �
��There was something, a long time ago, during the war—”
“Yeah, tell me,” I interrupted. I slid her pie across the table and hopped into my chair.
Her eyes found mine, a determined look on her face. “I don’t know if this is anything but I remember it because of a Mexican guy named Santa Ana, his name always reminded me of Santa Claus and it happened right around Christmas time. My Papa told me about some American soldiers who came all the way from the east and were heading to San Diego, but the Mexicans chased them up a hill and all they had to eat was mule meat. Then some other Americans from San Diego showed up and ran the Mexicans away.”
I cut her off. “Joshua and Eban were there. First they fought at a place called San Pasqual. The next day the Mexicans jumped them and chased them up the hill. They called it Mule Hill.”
She gulped. “Yeah, that’s the place. A man named Kit Carson snuck off and brought help. Everybody talked about Kit Carson in San Francisco. He was a big hero.”
I nodded. “That’s what happened, but what has this all got to do those varmints at the mining cooperative and Santa Ana? He’s the Mexican President you know.”
“Well, I’m not too sure. Papa said there was a guy called K.O. Manuel, I think, who went around the cantinas fist fighting for money, and he knew this guy Santa Ana. He got together with two men in San Diego that worked with Papa somehow who told him that the Americans were coming. Then K.O. told Santa Ana who sent some of his soldiers to stop our soldiers. When our soldiers got away Santa Ana said he would kill this K.O. guy and his two cronies if he caught them. Papa was real mad too. He called them all traitors and said they should face a firing squad. If these are the same guys, they’re in trouble with everybody.”
Into the face of the devil: A love story from the California gold rush Page 8