Around the side of the shack he held a door open. Only a couple of wide planks nailed together and hung from a skinned pine log door jamb by two wide straps of leather, but the homespun build fit right in with the rest of the shanty. In the center of the one room stood a rough plank table surrounded by four three-legged stools. A stone fireplace on the north wall had a stick and mud chimney stained dark from smoke. Along the other three walls beds made from a log frame filled in with fresh pine needles covered by worn blankets sat on a bare dirt floor. Jeremiah lay in the bed at the rear of the room, and his right hand held a full-cocked pistol pointed straight at my chest. I stopped short, my hands wide.
“Put that gun down.” Doak growled from a little behind my left shoulder.
But Jeremiah clung to the flintlock. “He’s here to kill me Pa. He wants my girl.”
“I told you to put the gun down.” Doak thundered. “Ain’t nobody getting shot in my house. I invited this boy in and he’ll be treated like a guest should. You hear me, son?” Brawny and rough looking, in spite of the tunefulness of his low voice, Doak had the manner of a man you didn’t want to rile.
Jeremiah’s hand shook and I knew he must still be weak, yet he hung on to the pistol like a toddler does a rag doll. “I can’t let him kill me, Pa. I can’t.”
“You put that gun down now, or whether the Good Lord will forgive me for it or not, I’ll kill you myself.” Doak bellowed at his son, his voice booming like a traveling preacher at a Sunday meeting, full of the fire and brimstone of the Lord.
“Damn, Pa—”
“Don’t bring your words of Satan into my house, boy,” Doak warned. “I’ll throw you back into that gully and leave you for the buzzards. I won’t have it I tell you. I won’t have it. May the Good Lord strike me dead if I do.”
Doak sure got out of sorts over a little bit of cussing, I thought. Eban said he walked the straight and narrow, but Doak’s Sunday-go-to-meeting hollering worked on the gun-toting sinner, Jeremiah, and he let the hammer down real easy and pitched the pistol onto the dirt floor in front of his Pa. I wondered if the Wiggins’ greeted all their guests with loaded firearms. Anyhow, I didn’t feel too welcome right off.
Doak sat down on the fireplace side of the table and pointed at an empty stool across from him. “Sit boy. My son won’t be shooting you today.”
I took the offered stool, but looked around the room real careful to make sure there wasn’t anybody else around pointing a gun at me. So far it’s only a little after sun rise and I’d already had two guns aimed my way and still had to go to Coloma where more guys might take a notion to do the same. This chasing after Webster Lawson got awful exciting but it did have powerful drawbacks.
Jeremiah clutched a beat up brown blanket tight around his chest. Fear oozed from his eyes and washed across his tense, bruised face. It occurred to me that once K.O. Manuel realized Jeremiah was still alive he would likely be back to finish the job—and Jeremiah had to know that too.
“Tell him, Pa. Tell him what I told you.” Jeremiah’s voice held a tremble like Lacey’s did before she burst out bawling, yet he still rang out with almost the same deep tone as Doak had, but with nowhere near the thunder of everlasting damnation.
“I told him,” Doak answered. “He don’t believe me and I don’t blame him. You got to mend your own sins son. For once in your life tell the truth.” Doak leaned out and scooped up the pistol Jeremiah had tossed over and stuck it in his waistband.
“He won’t believe me either, Pa. You know that.” Jeremiah pushed back closer to the wall and shivered like January.
I didn’t have time for all this. I had to meet Eban. “Try me, Jeremiah,” I said. “Your mind might boggle over what I’m willing to reckon on being the truth.”
Jeremiah gulped, “It weren’t me what shot you. Honest, it weren’t me.”
By now I already had a fair notion why Jeremiah cowered, but I wanted to hear it from his own lips. “All right, suppose you tell me what happened.”
But instead of talking Jeremiah’s gaze flitted around the room like he was watching a hummingbird dart from flower to flower. “Damn you boy!” Doak growled at him. “You got into this mess by your own doing. You didn’t listen to your Pa or use the good sense I taught you. Now you only got one chance to save your black, rotten soul from the fires below. Tell this man the truth. That’s what he come here for.”
More hellfire and damnation, I thought, Doak was sure good at it.
“All right, Pa, all right,” Jeremiah whined and looked down like he didn’t want to see how I’d take to what he knew he had to say. “K.O. shot you,” he admitted flat out. “He would have shot you earlier on the trail from Coloma but you must’ve changed your clothes and he wasn’t sure it was you. So he drug me out of the Round Tent ‘cause I knew you. Then he wanted me to shoot you, like a test, a loyalty test. He heard about our fight so he pushed me into it, threatened me, shamed me. I even had my rifle up, aimed right at you, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. I just couldn’t do it.”
Jeremiah’s eyes darted around the room again, but he pulled in a deep breath and kept talking. “K.O. slapped me around hard. He knocked me down then he shot you. You must’ve been awful lucky. K.O. don’t miss much.” Jeremiah shrank back even more, eyes wide, face pale and pulled at his blanket, clutching it even tighter to his chest.
“He didn’t kill you,” I noted.
Again Jeremiah’s eyes danced around the room. “Yeah, reckon I’m lucky too,” he said.
Somehow I took Jeremiah’s words to heart. It made an odd kind of sense to me. “Why did you run then? I saw you heading down the road behind the wagon.”
“K.O. ran up a dander something fierce that day.” Jeremiah went on, his voice still trembling. “I never seen nobody get riled like he does. He killed a man in a bar fight once, just beat him to death after the poor man was already out cold. He’s mean, I tell you, real mean. He started in on me again after he’d shot at you. I turned and ran like a rabbit the hounds jumped. After he saw you ride by the Round Tent he came after me again, and did this to my face.”
And it came to me how the quiver in Lacey’s voice couldn’t hold a candle to Jeremiah’s. The man in the red shirt had him totally spooked.
But I needed to get on with this. “Did K.O. kill those miners in Coloma?”
Jeremiah nodded then mumbled, “Yeah.”
“Were you with him?”
“I held his horse. I didn’t hurt nobody. I swear I didn’t.”
I thought now Jeremiah told me the gospel truth but one thing I still didn’t understand at all. “Dang, Jeremiah, you knew this guy was a killer and you still partnered around with him. That don’t make sense.”
“I was scared, real scared, even before that, but he bought me these boots, then fed me brandy and gave me money, more than I’d ever seen. When they opened the office by the Round Tent all I had to do was tell him when somebody carped about getting cheated or when some Mexicans or Chinamen hit a big strike. I know I’m a fool. I know it.”
That’s something I could agree with. “Do you know Webster Lawson, the army fellow looking for your buddy K.O?” I asked, sure I’d hit the heart of things now.
“No, but K.O. knows him. They had a gunfight not long after K.O. killed one of the miners. K.O. thought he hit the army guy but got real mad when he got away. I told K.O. the guy would probably die soon, but I only did it to keep him from going over the edge like he does. I don’t know what happened to him though, I swear I don’t.”
“Where was the gunfight?” Jeremiah was talking and I wanted to push him for anything that would help.
“We was past Coloma, near Weber Creek, maybe a mile south of the ford.”
“Is that where K.O. camps?” I asked, knowing he had to hide out somewhere.
“No, he moved after that. He was north of the ford last time I was there. The water’s too fast for mining and it’s closer to the trail.”
I stifled a snooty grin that itched t
o break across my face but might be misread by Jeremiah or his Pa. Now I knew exactly where K.O. camped. The time to go had come.
I got to my feet and turned to Doak. “Jeremiah’s telling the truth, sir, but I’m right certain that when K.O. finds out he’s alive he’ll be back here. You’d best be ready for him, or maybe find a place to lay low a while. I got to ask you not to let on what you heard about these scalawags. Word could get back to them and they’re liable to hightail it out of here and nobody will find them. Then Jeremiah ain’t never going to be safe.”
Doak stood. “We’ll keep our mouths shut about your plans, my word on it. But I’ll pray for that Godless spawn of Lucifer to show up here, ‘cause I know the power of the Lord will smite him down like the black hearted rattlesnake he is. Praise the Lord.”
Doak’s right hand grabbed the handle of the flintlock pistol as he spoke and I wondered if that was the power of the Lord that Doak expected to smite K.O. Somehow I suspected it was. Still, I held out my hand. “Thank you, sir,” I said.
Doak shook it. “Thank you, young man. I’ll pray for you. May the Good Lord guide and keep you on your dangerous task.”
“Well, yes sir, I sure can use all the help I can get,” I nodded towards Jeremiah and walked out the door and into the sunlight. This had gone way better than I’d hoped, better than I could have even dreamed.
I hopped on Rojo, splashed across the creek and dashed up the trail to the Coloma Road. Somewhere ahead of me Eban drove a freight wagon with the dun tied to the back. I should be able to catch him easy so I urged Rojo to run and the chestnut happily obliged. His hoof beats drummed in my ears, strong oaks swept past my eyes, a west wind whipped against my face, until, at the top of the hill half way to Coloma, I pulled up to give the horse a well-deserved breather.
After Rojo stopped I heard a rider coming fast from Coloma. The memory of K.O. passing me the last time I came by here flashed in my mind so I quickly slid into a patch of trees. When I got Rojo tucked behind some brush a man in a white straw hat wearing a red shirt and riding a pinto rose from the Coloma side of the hill. A shiver ran down my back. It was K.O. riding like the devil again. I hoped he wasn’t heading to the Wiggins’ place to finish what he started yesterday.
I stayed put long enough to let him get out of sight, then rode back onto the trail. Now I had a problem. Should I go after K.O. to help out Doak and Jeremiah or ride ahead to catch up with Eban? I knew Eban would be upset if I failed to show, but Doak Wiggins and his sons might be killed if K.O. showed up there. I didn’t know what to do. But I wanted to go after K.O. It was the right thing to do. At least I thought so. Still, I’d made a promise to Eban and a man’s word was his bond, that’s what Pa taught me. I pranced Rojo first north then south, my mind a jumble of uncertainty.
A shout came from the north, faint and muffled by the hill, but clearly a man and somehow familiar. It came again, louder. I nudged Rojo toward Coloma. At the edge of the clearing the cry came once more. “Hiyah! Get on mules. Get on now.” It was Eban coming this way. I tore down the trail to meet him.
Around the first turn the freight wagon, with the dun tied to the rear, raced uphill as fast as Eban could drive the team. I pulled back on Rojo’s reins so hard the chestnut reared up on his hind legs. I yanked off the sombrero and waved. Eban waved back and I edged to the side of the trail so the wagon wouldn’t have to stop. After it passed I turned Rojo to catch up.
When I came alongside Eban looked over. “That was the man we’re looking for, wasn’t it?” he asked in strained voice.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I said. “I’m betting he’s heading back to finish the job on Jeremiah. Somebody must’ve told K.O. that he wasn’t dead. We need to help.”
“Who would’ve told a miscreant like him something like that?” Eban asked as he struggled to turn the mules a bit so the wagon wouldn’t ride over a deep rut.
“I don’t know, Reid Harrison, I guess.”
“Okay, reckon you might be right.” Eban yanked the reins in the other direction.
I stood up tall in the stirrups. “I know where K.O.’s camp is.” I crowed, pleased that I’d pulled this information out of Jeremiah and wanting Eban to know about it.
“That’s good, but right now he ain’t heading to his camp,” Eban pointed out.
“Yeah, you’re right. Shouldn’t we hurry up and catch up to him, otherwise Jeremiah and Doak are liable to get killed,” I pled.
Eban pondered a bit. “Son, we ain’t going to do any good chasing this feller. What we need to do is find Webster Lawson like we started out doing,” he finally said.
“But Eban—”
“No buts. Now listen to me. First we ain’t lawmen, and second, if I know Doak Wiggins, he don’t need much help. I’d bet he’s got a plan and he’s ready. Am I right?”
“Yeah, Eban, you’re right.” I had to admit it. “He even said he wanted K.O. to show up at his shack.”
“Yeah, well, while the cat’s away the mice can play. How about you and me see what kind of goodies we can dig up in Coloma while old K.O. Manuel is busy somewhere else?” Eban grinned big and pulled the rig off the trail to turn it around in the clearing.
“Are you sure about this, Eban?” I asked, not sure of anything myself.
“Well, to tell the truth I ain’t sure, but a man’s got to take some chances in life. It don’t look like we can do Doak Wiggins much good, and that sidewinder on the pinto might not be heading to Doak’s place anyhow. I mean, we don’t know he’s after Jeremiah right now do we?” Eban said and I knew he had a point.
“I’ll sure feel bad if we’re wrong about it.” I said and my head drooped some. I’d taken a shine to Doak Wiggins and didn’t want him hurt.
“I’ll be as sorry as you are. Doak’s a fine man. Can’t say the same for Jeremiah, but Doak’s upstanding and honest. Ain’t enough men like him anymore.” Suddenly Eban took on a puzzled look. “How come that K.O. scalawag didn’t see you on the trail?” he asked. “You was here weren’t you?”
I gave a small groan. “I heard him coming and slipped off into the trees.” I nodded toward the clump of oaks where I’d hid, but it came to me how lucky I’d been, again. If K.O. had come over the hill just a little sooner I wouldn’t have heard him over the pounding of Rojo’s hooves. If he’d seen me first I might be dead now. I looked up and gave a silent thank you. Like I’d told Doak, I could use all the help I could get.
Meantime Eban stopped the wagon and peered back in the direction K.O. had ridden. He scratched his chin whiskers like he did when he mulled things over. Soon he turned to me. “Was that scoundrel riding fast when he passed here?” he asked.
“Yeah, he rode by like a whole tribe of Comanche was after him.”
“He passed me near that curve where you found me. Then he rode slow, like he didn’t have a care in the world, and eyeballed me hard like he was looking for somebody. I heard him rouse the pinto when he got out of my sight so I turned around as soon as I could, worried about you.” Eban said. He whipped the reins and the mules slowly lumbered off toward Coloma.
But I sat stock still on Rojo and stared down the trail toward Hangtown Creek. Another steaming June day heated up but I wrapped my arms around my chest and shivered with a chill that shook my whole body. “Eban!” I yelled, “You’re right! K.O. ain’t after Jeremiah—he’s after me.”
“Whoa.” The wagon stopped and Eban looked back, eyebrows raised. “What else did you find out from Jeremiah Wiggins, son?” he asked.
“Jeremiah didn’t shoot at me. K.O. Manuel did.”
Eban didn’t take long to ponder what I’d said. He cracked the reins hard. “Let’s go,” he hollered. “We got no time to waste.” He cracked the reins again. “Get up mules! Hiyah, get on now.” The rig sped up quick as it headed downhill.
##
The wagon rolled down Coloma’s main street. I trailed behind. When I passed the Golden Nugget Saloon, with the California Mining Cooperative office of Frank Barney next do
or, I ducked down to hide my face behind the broad brim of the sombrero. Even though K.O. Manuel had left town I didn’t want anyone to see me. If Frank Barney, or someone else who knew me from the time I spent here last summer, told K.O. that I was in town I might be shot, maybe killed, a thought that churned my gut raw.
Still, I stayed mindful that Jeremiah said he got his fancy boots for hanging around the Round Tent Saloon and telling on anybody who carped about the mining cooperative. It stood to reason there might be another fellow here in Coloma who wore a fancy pair of Mexican boots that didn’t match his homemade hand-me-down pants. I resolved to keep a heedful eye out for that somebody, but only when I felt safe from the prying eyes of those who might want to do me harm.
When I turned into the saw mill lot someone raced by me on foot, chasing the freight wagon. “Load your wagon for you, mister? Only a dollar,” he yelled. Boyd Riddle loped along in the head bobbing, arm waving way he had, set on getting to Eban before anyone else did. I pushed Rojo to a trot and followed.
Eban stopped in front of a pile of lumber. He climbed to the ground and looked straight at Boyd. “How are you, son,” he said when Boyd got within easy earshot.
“I’m right fine, sir. Nice to see you again,” Boyd gasped. He put his left hand on his waist and caught his breath, but his head still wobbled back and forth.
Eban moved to the back of the wagon and untied the dun. “It’s Boyd, ain’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Boyd, can you handle the whole load yourself? I got some things to do.” Eban sounded like a man in a hurry.
“Oh, I can handle it real easy,” Boyd agreed.
I pulled Rojo to a stop a few paces behind Boyd. “I give him two dollars for the whole load, Eban.” I wanted to help my friend.
Into the face of the devil: A love story from the California gold rush Page 10