Comstock Lode (1981)

by L'amour, Louis

  "I am going out of here," she told him, "don't try to stop me."

  "You make a move toward that door," he replied, "and I'll break both your legs before I do anything else. And then I'll break your fingers."

  He would do it, of course. She had no doubt of it. The banging at the door had ceased. Had he gone away, whoever it was? But who could it be, at this hour? Her purse lay on the floor. If she could only get that gun!

  An hour ago she would have been horrified at the thought of killing anyone, now she realized she wanted to kill him. She even hoped she could. This man was one of those who had attacked her mother.

  Suddenly she moved toward the door, but he was quicker. For such a big man he moved like a panther. He slapped her again, his hand open. His palms were large and thick, and he slapped her with utter contempt on his face.

  "Think you're somethin' special, do you? Well, I'll show you-"

  "I wouldn't." The voice was low, from outside the dressing room.

  Waggoner turned like a cat, palming his gun as he turned, and Trevallion shot him twice.

  He fell back, catching himself on the edge of the dressing-table with his left hand, his right still holding the pistol. Both bullets had hit him just three inches below his belt buckle.

  Trevallion held his pistol casually, almost carelessly, it seemed. "Grita," he said, "you'd better step outside."

  She moved behind him, took up her purse, and backed out of the door.

  At the door she stopped, turning to face them. Waggoner was staring at Trevallion. "You seen it," he said hoarsely. "You saw all that, back there in Missouri?"

  "We were back at the edge of the brush, Grita and me. I was holding her so she wouldn't cry out."

  Waggoner's breathing was a rasping, ugly sound. His eyes never left Trevallion's. "If I'd of seen you I'd of stomped the life out of the both of you."

  "No doubt. You were never anything but a brute. I'd not disgrace an animal by calling you that." Changing the subject he said, "Was it Hesketh who was paying you?"

  "Hesketh?" Waggoner was obviously surprised. "Hesketh from the Solomon? Well, I'll be damned. Then it was him. He left the whiskey in that ol' wagon apurpose. Got 'em all drunk. Except me, nobody needed to get me drunk. I'd of been down there whether the rest come or no. That woman and the girl yonder, they passed me by like I was dirt. I figured to show 'em."

  His gun swung up, but Trevallion had been waiting for it. The swinging barrel of his own pistol caught Waggoner's wrist halfway, and the gun went spinning into a corner. Stepping over, always facing Waggoner, Trevallion scooped up the pistol with his left hand. He stepped back into the doorway.

  "You haven't got much time, Waggoner. I'd spend it trying to make peace with the Lord. If by some chance you should live, you'll hang."

  He stepped out and pulled the door shut.

  At the edge of the stage he paused to reload his pistol and thrust it behind his belt. Waggoner's gun he put behind his belt at the small of his back. He slid out ofhis coat. "Your dress is torn. You'd better wear this into the hotel." He put his hand on her arm. "Are you all right? Not feeling faint?"

  "Shaky," she admitted, "but I'll be all right." She turned to face him. "If I'd had anything to fight with, I might have whipped him. I had no idea I could do that well!"

  He laughed. "Let's go," he said gently, "you need some rest. You did all right."

  The reaction was setting in, and she was trembling. He put his arm around her. "It's only a little way," he said.

  She clung to his arm. "Val, I was so frightened! He's so, so evil!"

  "Not any more."

  "You-he will die?"

  "Yes."

  Ledbetter was coming up the walk. "You all right? I heard shooting."

  "It was Waggoner. He's back yonder in the theater. He's in bad shape, and by now the shock is wearing off, and he's beginning to feel it."

  "We had some shooting, too. In the hotel, I mean. Albert Hesketh is dead."

  "Dead?"

  "Jacob Teale was in his room, waitin' for him. When Hesketh came in, he killed him."

  "Just like that?"

  "Well, not exactly. Teale was in bad shape. How he even got over to the hotel from the hospital is hard to figure, but he done it.

  "Hesketh must have been full of his own thoughts because he came in, hung his coat over a chair-back, and went to the sideboard for a drink. He must have been upset by something, because he wasn't a drinking man. He must have looked up from his glass and glimpsed Teale asettin' there with his rifle."

  Hesketh had been quick. The instant his eyes fell on Teale, he knew what Teale was there for. He turned around. "Jacob Teale! Just the man I need! How would you like to make ten thousand dollars?"

  "When I was a youngster," Teale said, "a snake got into our rabbit hutch where I had baby rabbits. You're like that snake."

  "Ten thousand dollars!" Hesketh said. "I might even raise the ante a little because you're the kind of man I can use."

  Jacob Teale lifted his rifle. At that distance there was no need to aim. Hesketh saw it, choked with horror and fear; he saw the long rifle pointed at him, right at his belly. "No." he pleaded. "Not me! You don't understand! You can't-"

  Teale shot him.

  The blow of the heavy lead bullet slammed him back into the sideboard. Some glasses fell and a bottle uncorked by Hesketh rolled to the floor, spilling some of its contents.

  "No! Please! You don't... don't..." He started forward and fell against the table, sliding off it to the floor. He started to crawl toward Teale. "This is wrong!" he whispered hoarsely. "It'swrong! Notme!"

  He started to get up, his waistcoat saturated with blood. He pushed himself up from the floor, and Teale shot him again.

  He was sitting there like that when the door burst open, and people rushed into the room. Hesketh was dead, lying at Teale's feet.

  LX

  Only John Santley stood at the graveside when Albert Hesketh was laid to rest.

  "I never liked him," he told Ledbetter, "but he was my employer."

  "What about his piece of the Solomon?"

  "He left no will. I don't believe he ever expected to die. Once I mentioned a will to him, and he just gave me a blank, unbelieving kind of stare.

  "He had parents, I believe, but he did not write to them. With a search they might be found, and of course, they must be. There will be dividends."

  Trevallion was waiting at the foot of the stairs as Margrita descended. He held out his hand to her. "You are like a princess," he said, "you have the grand manner."

  She smiled. "Of course. Don't forget, Mr. Trevallion, that I am an actress. An actress or an actor is taught to play roles, and do it in a very convincing manner. But because a man plays a king superbly well does not mean that he would make a good king. The chances are he would make a very bad one.

  "We all have learned to smile on cue, to be sincere when it is necessary, and to be most convincing at whatever we do. We are a lot of children playing games for grown-ups."

  He drew back her chair for her, then sat down opposite. "I really don't believe that of you," he said.

  'To tell you the truth, I'm not much of an actress either, although I believe acting comes more naturally to women than to men. Most little girls begin acting as soon as they are aware of anything at all."

  "Well, you've a new role. You own a mine, and a very rich one. It needs to be managed."

  "I know nothing of mining. I never so much as saw a mine until we went to the Solomon, and that's something I'd rather forget."

  "You're doing very well with your theatrical company, and you can do just as well with the mine. The secret is to hire the right people, and learn enough to know what they're talking about.

  "Will Crockett paid me to do a quick study of his mine, and I drew up a tentative plan for its development which I never got a chance to discuss with him. You can have that plan, and if you wish I'll help you find a good man to operate it, somebody who knows men as well as
ore."

  "Val? If you can find the time, would you do it for me? I've problems enough with my company. Maguire has finished building his opera house, and it's simply beautiful. I'd love to work there, and I must discuss it with him."

  She glanced toward the door. "Here comes Bill Stewart."

  Trevallion gestured to a chair. "Join us, Bill. What's happening? You've met Margrita?"

  "Yes, I have." He grinned. "But I met her too late."

  He was a tall, strongly made young man. With a quick glance around, he said, "Trev, I need your help."

  He ordered a drink, and when the waiter had gone, he said, "I've never forgotten how you came to court when Sam Brown came to make trouble."

  "You certainly needed no help."

  "The point is that you were there, and I might have. I might have.

  "That's past. The point is that I need your help now. We're making a move toward statehood, and we have to get out the vote. I want it to be a smashing victory to impress Washington. There's a lot of people back there who say we don't have enough people for a state. They say we're just a mountain at the edge of a desert with a handful of people. So we've got to make this election as impressive as we can."

  "You'll have no trouble. Everybody I know wants statehood. Then we can have some decently regulated courts and some representation in Washington."

  "Not everybody, Trev. There's quite a strong group, some of them representing powerful mining interests, that do not want statehood at all. They've teamed with some of those who are afraid of our vote on the Emancipation issue.

  "Frankly, Trev, I am working with the President on this. He needs the vote Nevada can give him. He needs our support."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "You can be a very real help. We've two fiercely partisan groups here, and we all know how they will vote. There are also a lot of newcomers and fence-sitters. The fence-sitters haven't made up their minds, and the newcomers don't understand the issues.

  "Whether you realize it or not, Trev, you've the reputation for being a solid character. You're one of the best mining men around, and you are liked and respected. They respect your opinion."

  He chuckled. "Now, Bill, the fact that I know something about mining doesn't make me a judge of anything but ore and the lay of the land. However, if you just want me to say what I think, I'll do it."

  "That's what I want. Just say it often and in as many places as possible."

  He paused. "There's one other thing. One of these days very soon I'll be riding to the telegraph station. It is going to take me quite awhile to get the message off, it's a long one, and there may be some who would like to stop me. So I'd like you to come along, packing a gun."

  He stood up. "Thanks, Trev. I'll not bother you any more tonight." He bowed to Margrita and left.

  "Will there be trouble, Val? I was hoping that was all over."

  "I think he's just being careful, that's all, and I'm glad to help. Sometimes a show of force can prevent trouble."

  There was a low murmur of conversation from about the room, the tinkle of silver and the rustle of garments of the people passing. Yet it was quiet, and it was pleasant.

  "I like this," he said, after a minute, "and I don't want it to end, not ever."

  "It needn't, Val."

  "What about the company?"

  "We've two shows scheduled, and we've done them both, many times.The Betrothal andThe Colleen Bawn. After that we will close down."

  "What about your people?"

  "Manfredis staying here. He and Mary are getting married. It has been coming for a long time."

  "He's a good man. Why don't you hire him to take Santley's place?"

  "He could. He's been handling most of the details for me ever since he joined the company. He's a good bookkeeper, and I know he's honest."

  "The others?"

  "They'll have no trouble. Dane likes it here and he may stay."

  Behind them somewhere there was music, coming softly from one of the other rooms. They spoke quietly of matter-of-fact things, the little details of their lives falling into place to leave way for what was to come.

  'There are things I must do," he said, "there's a timber claim I have in the Sierras. There's a need for heavy timber now since all the mines are using square-sets. I must open it and put a man in charge."

  He stood up. "Grita, come on! Let's go over to the bakery. I want you to meet Metissa, and maybe Jim will be there.

  "There's something I want to tell him, but I want you to be there."

  "You've already told me, Val. You've told me all I need to know."

  "This is something else."

  The crowds were thinning out, the big ore wagons had delivered their loads, the night was growing more still. Up the street a drunk leaned against a post and tried to sing an Irish ballad.

  Trevallion turned to her suddenly. "I can tell Jim when we get there. What I wanted to say is, I struck it today. I'm into bonanza."

  "Bonanza?"

  "A while back I started to run a short drift to the outside, just to get a better circulation of air, and to have another way out if it was needed. Well, I cut into a vein of almost solid silver. Not the richest on the Comstock, but rich. "Tomorrow they will be saying I'm the canniest mining man on the lode, but believe me, it was pure luck. I put in a round and spit the fuses and left it, and when I went in this morning there was silver everywhere. The vein is so wide I can't see top or bottom of it, and it dips right down toward the richest part of the Comstock. I'm a rich man."

  They stopped at the bakery. "I've got to tell them." He peered within. Jim was there, at Melissa's table. Christian Tapley was there also. He opened the door for Margrita.

  "Trevallion?"

  He knew by the sound what the voice meant. He saw passersby stop suddenly, and stare. Margrita's lips parted and she started to speak.

  "Go inside, honey," he said gently, "it seems there's always something left undone."

  It was the Ax.

  He was standing there, feet apart, flamboyant as always, poised and ready.

  "Why, hello, Ax," Trevallion said gently. "Are you getting lonely, Ax?"

  "Lonely?" He was surprised by the unexpected question.

  "Why, yes, Ax. They're all on Boot Hill. Are you wanting to join them, Ax?"

  This was not happening as Ax had planned. All the speeches he had ready that were to be repeated afterward no longer fitted. It was his turn to reply and he was on the defensive.

  "They're all gone, Ax, all that cozy little bunch of river-rats and scoundrels who were your friends. A pretty shoddy bunch, Ax, just like you.

  "Nothing daring, nothing heroic, just a bunch of murdering scum. Just like you, Ax."

  Ax was furious. The coolness on which he prided himself didn't seem to be there.

  "Come on, Ax. They call you the Clean-Cutter. Now that's a pretty name. What did you ever do that was clean, Ax? When you killed two women back there on the Missouri? Or when four of you murdered my father and came hunting me, when I was a boy?

  "I'm not a boy any longer, Ax. They tell me you're very good with that gun. That you're fast with it."

  The Ax was trembling. He was so crazy with anger that he was literally trembling with fury. His hand was poised, ready.

  He wanted to kill. Never in his life had he wanted to kill anyone so much.

  "You know what I've got here, Ax? It's your gun. The gun you lost when you were running away.Running, Ax. All you bold, daring thieves, you were running and you dropped your gun.

  "See? It has your name on it. I'll show you."

  He drew and fired, beating the Ax by a hair.

  The Ax took a slow backward step, his gun going off into the dust of the street.

  Trevallion took a step closer, ready for a second shot. "Being fast, Ax, is not always enough, is it? I'm sorry, Ax. I didn't come looking for you. I could have tracked you down, Ax, but you came to me."

  The gun slipped from the Ax's fingers. He started
to speak, turned away, and fell.

  There was a faint acrid smell of powder smoke, the lights of buildings shining out on the dark street, and on the darker, sprawled body of the Clean-Cutter, Mr. A.X. Elder.

  Somewhere a woman laughed and a piano started a jangling tune. There was the distant pound of stamp-mills and compressors.

  Trevallion turned and walked into the bakery. Grita caught his arm. "Val? Are you all right?"

  "I'm all right," he said as he reached to hold her. "I'm all right now."