Billy Page sat in the Fair Lady, one of the dozens of saloons thrown together from logs and mud, looking at the losing hand he’d just tossed on the table. Fay Nettleton scraped the money together, apologizing. “Sorry. Never saw such a streak of bad luck, Billy. Makes me feel guilty to take your money.”
“Enjoy it, Fay. When my luck turns, you can bet I’ll take yours.” Page leaned back in his chair, his face unruffled. Across the room a bar skirted the edge of a dance floor, and heavy-footed miners whirled the brightly gowned women around for a dollar a dance. On a raised platform at the far end of the room the fiddles and guitars pitched into a quadrille as the announcer twanged out the routine.
Billy stretched and yawned. “Guess I’ll get something to eat.” As he made his way across the floor, the music halted, and the women led their partners toward the bar where they paid fifty cents for two drinks—straight whiskey for the men and ginger beer for the women. Nell Seymore seized Page’s arm, smiling up at him. “Let’s have a dance, Billy.” He only grinned, “Later, Nell,” and left.
The relative quiet of the street was a relief, and he leaned against the building to smoke a cigar, savoring its fragrance. It was the last one he had, and little cash in his pocket. His scanty earnings these days were depressing, and he strode down Holland Street, driven by a gust of impatience.
He had six dollars—all that was left of the killing he’d made in Helena. His hotel bill was overdue and he wondered if he should move on. But he had no way of making a fresh start. Why not stake a claim? Every week some lucky miner hit a pocket and became rich overnight. But Billy’s luck wasn’t running. He was an indolent man, averse to physical labor.
He stopped at the Rainbow for a late supper, which reduced his scanty funds still more. When he was half finished, Colonel Wilbur Simpson joined him. Simpson—tall, thin, with a shock of white hair and steady gray eyes—was a lawyer by profession. “Place is getting rotten, Billy,” he said, sipping his coffee.
“Ought to be good for a lawyer,” Page smiled.
“Only law here to speak of is what the miners make for themselves,” Simpson grunted. “Always that way in these mining camps. Civilization is a thousand miles away, and the only thing a man can look to is a gun in his pocket.” He shifted his position. “And it’s going to get worse,” he added. “Did you hear about Dan Dempsey?”
“No. What happened to Dan?”
“He was killed by a gunman yesterday in broad daylight. Del Regan and Phil Overton were behind him, on the road to Bannack, and saw the whole thing. Phil said the gunman jumped out from behind a gully, shot Dan without a warning, then took his poke, and galloped off.”
“I hadn’t heard of it. I’m sorry. Dan was a good man.”
“Stage has been robbed twice in the last month,” Simpson said bitterly. “Somehow the reprobates seem to know when it’s carrying gold.” He got up and dropped a coin on the table. “Good night, Billy.”
Billy finished his meal, then paid for it and walked back to the hotel. He went to bed, but lay awake for a long time, trying to figure out a way to get some cash. He knew nobody in the camp to borrow from, for although he was a cheerful man, he made no fast friends.
A thought nudged at him, and he shook it off, but as he lay there, he began to consider it. The stage would carry money, but a holdup was a risky business. It was the outgoing stage that carried the gold shipments from the camp. But that one, he thought slowly, always had at least one armed guard on the box, and often a rider with a drawn shotgun who would shoot first and ask questions later. It would take a gang to do a job like that.
Billy let his mind drift to other possibilities. The incoming stage from Bannack never carried a guard. The mail came on it, but no gold shipments to tempt a robber. There were passengers, however, and they would have money and jewelry. The more Page thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was his only option. The question of morality didn’t enter his mind, for he was not a man who concerned himself with right or wrong. He had stolen before and believed a man should look out for himself. If he permitted himself to be robbed, he ought to be more careful.
Page fell asleep with his mind made up, and rose at six. He picked up a brown suit he’d never worn in Virginia City, a rough garb used for camping or grubby work, and stuffed it into a sack, along with a soft cloth hat. The stable was nearby where he rented a horse, then went to the Rainbow and spent his last three dollars for breakfast and a tip for the waitress—this last in a gesture of defiance. Now he was completely broke and would have to carry out his plan. He rode out of town in the opposite direction from Bannack, circled around, and returned to the road leading to Bannack. About five miles out of town, he dismounted and changed into the brown suit.
The spot he’d chosen was where the road bent around a sweeping grove of fir trees on a steep slope. He could sit on his horse on the rise, giving him a clear view of the road. When the stage rounded that curve, he’d race down the slope and put a gun in the driver’s face so fast there’d be no room or time for him to resist. Drivers, he thought, were cautious about putting up a fight. After all, it wasn’t their money, and unless there was a heavy guard, they’d stop the stage instantly.
Forty-five minutes later he sighted his prey rolling toward the curve. He tied a handkerchief over his face, pulled the soft hat down till the brim covered his hair and shaded his eyes. His heart began to race as he galloped down the steep hill, pulled his gun and waited. The stage rumbled around the curve, and he spurred forward, shouting, “Hold it!” sending a shot close to the driver’s head. The man jerked the lines back, bringing the stage to an abrupt stop. Page moved alongside and yelled, “Outside—one move and I’ll shoot!”
Three men stepped out. Billy had hoped for more, but he leveled his gun, commanding, “Drop your guns and toss the money on the ground!”
Two of them, obviously miners, obeyed. The third passenger didn’t move. The well-dressed man, average height, with fresh, light skin, eyed him watchfully, the small wrinkles in the corners converging. He’s a dandy! Billy thought as he aimed the gun at him and drew the hammer back. “Hurry it up—and I’ll take that watch, too.”
The man said nothing, but slowly reached into his pocket, took out a fat expensive-looking wallet, and tossed it on the ground. Keeping his eyes fixed on Billy, he unfastened his watch and laid it next to the other items, then stood up.
“All right, get back inside. Driver, throw down the mail sack.”
He waited until the sack hit the ground; then as the door shut, he cried out, “Get going!” and fired a shot into the air that startled the horses. The driver whipped them into action, and the stage rolled down the dusty road. Billy dismounted, stuffed the wallet, cash, and watch into his coat pockets, grabbed the mail bag, then leaped to the saddle and left at a dead run.
He rode toward Bannack for less than a quarter of a mile, then stopped in a thick grove to change clothes. He stuffed the brown suit and the cap under a rock, then checked his loot. The cash from the two miners amounted to less than a hundred dollars, but the fancy wallet belonging to the dandy had over five hundred in cash! He transferred it to his own wallet, then searched the mail pouch. There were only two bulging envelopes—one, filled with legal papers; the other, fifty dollars in greenbacks, which he pocketed. He stuffed the empty wallets and the mail sack under the rock with the clothes, then mounted and rode away.
Instead of returning to Virginia City, Billy circled around and headed toward where the Ruby River led toward the foothills. It wouldn’t do to appear back in town so soon after the stage rolled in, and he’d already planned what he would do. Although he had never been to see Bronwen Morgan, he’d heard Parris Pfouts speak of Winslow’s place, giving some general directions. Billy headed for the hills, and after a false start, found the landmarks Pfouts had mentioned, and a little after one that afternoon spotted a slow spiral of smoke rising ahead. He made his way along, and as he rounded a curve in the timber, saw the cabin up on a
rise.
As he rode up the slope, the door of the cabin opened, and Bron came to meet him. “Well, now, look who’s come to visit!” she said. Her happy greeting made him feel good.
“Got tired of my own company,” he said, dismounting. “Quite a place,” he smiled, nodding at the cabin.
“Tie your horse, Billy, and we’ll visit,” she said, coming to stand beside him. “How good to see you. I’ve thought about you often.”
She was fresh and clean in the afternoon sun, and he had forgotten how green her eyes were as they sparkled. “I’ve been fine,” he said, adding, “I’ve wondered about you, though. Parris keeps me posted, but you’re cut off out here. Don’t you get bored?”
She laughed and took his arm. “No. Come, see my cow.”
They walked around to the back of the cabin where a red cow and a yearling stood looking over a fence as the two approached. Bron put her arms around the cow’s neck. “This is Penelope.” She was obviously very proud of the animal, and of the chickens that scurried toward her as she clucked for them. “We get two dozen eggs a week now, and plenty of milk and fresh butter,” she said. “Come now, and you’ll have a glass of it.”
She led the way to one wing of the cabin, seated him at the table and poured a glass of milk. “That’s good milk, Bron,” he said as he drank. “But, where is everyone? I thought you had a mob out here.”
“Oh, Choiya and the babies are in the other wing,” she said. “Buck took Alice and Paul fishing.”
“What about Winslow?”
“Why, he’s gone to town, Billy. I’m surprised you didn’t meet him.”
Page faltered slightly, then said quickly, “Guess you didn’t think you’d be doing this when you got to Montana, did you, Bron? I mean, you haven’t been able to missionary much.”
She smiled and leaned forward. “Why, that’s going to happen, Billy. Choiya’s teaching me to speak Arapaho, and Zacharias has taken me over to Black Pigeon’s camp twice.”
“You preach to them?”
“Well, not so much.” Bron smiled and there was a trace of self-mockery in her eyes. “I try to use what little I know of their language—and they think it’s funny.” She laughed ruefully. “Last time I was trying to say ‘God made everything—from snakes to babies’—and they all laughed at me!”
“What did you actually say?” Billy asked.
“ ‘The snake fell out of the tree and ate the baby!’ Wasn’t that awful? But they’ve accepted me now. I know that God’s going to do a great work with them.”
Her easy references to God disturbed Page, and he changed the subject. “Winslow find any gold yet?”
“Why, no, Billy. He’s not prospecting.”
Page shook his head. “That’s a shame. I don’t know anything about mining myself, but I heard the assayer say the creek that runs through this land could be rich.”
“Some men have taken up claims on both sides of Zacharias’s land,” Bron nodded. “I guess they must have found some gold, because they work at it steady. But Zacharias will never do it.”
They visited for an hour; then she insisted on fixing supper for him. He protested at first, but realized it would be a good alibi if he stayed the night. Besides, it was a nice diversion.
By suppertime the place was busy as an anthill. Winslow came driving in just before dark, and greeted him warmly. “Billy, I’m glad to see you. You’re staying the night, of course?”
Page had seen Winslow only once, and then he was drunk. Now there was a steadiness in his eyes and an air of competence that discounted Billy’s first estimate of him. This man could be trusted. That realization brought relief, for Page had not liked the idea of Bron being allied to a weakling.
The supper was fish, squirrel and dumplings, slices of tender deer steak, fresh bread, and peach pie, all washed down with fresh milk and scalding black coffee. Billy rather enjoyed the constant refrain of talk and laughter throughout the meal. It was a refreshing change.
He did his share of the talking, too, for they all were eager to hear fresh news—especially Lillian. “I wish I could live in town,” she blurted out. Page caught the touch of bitterness and recognized the subject was a source of contention.
“You’re better off out here,” he said. “The town is filled with toughs, and getting worse all the time. It wouldn’t be safe for a woman to go out alone. Matter of fact, it’s not safe for a man.” He spoke of the holdups, the shootings, and how the saloons and dance halls were rich pickings for the owners. “The miners work like dogs for their gold,” Billy continued. “Then come in and throw it away gambling and drinking.”
Zack nodded. “I knew that’d happen. But one day the gold will play out. Then the town will dry up. All the rough characters will move on to the next place—and the Gulch’ll be like it was before.”
Billy grinned at him. “You’re just going to sit out here and be a hermit till that happens, huh?”
Zack scanned the group around the table. “Well,” he said ruefully, “I’m not sure I’d qualify for the office of hermit anymore, Billy, but I sure won’t leave this place and go fight just to stay alive in a town like Virginia City.”
A tinge of jealousy hit Page, and he smiled wryly. “We can’t all have your luck, Zack,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know any other man who winds up with all the benefits of marriage without any of the responsibilities. You’ve got a bunch of women to wait on you and do all the cooking and cleaning, but they can’t even nag you if you decide to go into town and party with a pretty girl.”
Bron’s face flushed, and Choiya’s eyes flared with anger. Billy knew he’d overstepped his bounds and hastened to say, “But I don’t know of another man who’d take on all this.”
His careless remark had created an underlying tension, and despite the apparent warm atmosphere, the remainder of the meal was subdued, though outwardly pleasant. During the rest of the evening Billy didn’t miss anything. He could tell that Choiya still chafed from his rude comment, but he also noted the way her eyes followed Zack constantly.
The women and children slept in the one cabin, and the men in the other. For about an hour Zack and Buck discussed the war with Billy. Since none of them were directly involved, the conflict seemed very far away. Page said it looked as if England would recognize the Southern Confederacy. “We’ll have two countries then. Guess it’ll be better that way.”
Zack disagreed. “I’m out of it—but if the North loses, two bad things will happen. First, there’ll still be slaves in the South, and that’s just plain wrong. Second, if we’re sliced into two small countries, either France or England will keep picking away until one or the other gets us under her flag. They’ve never really given up that idea.”
Page exclaimed, “Why, that can’t happen to the United States!”
“Why not, Billy?” Zack said, a trace of sadness in his voice. “It’s the strong against the weak. You know that. As soon as some country feels strong enough to take us, they’ll try. We won’t be able to stand up to them if we’re divided.”
Neither one wanted to yield on his position, so they retired for the night, and the next morning Billy rode off, promising to return soon.
As he rode toward Virginia City, Page mused over the events the evening before. He was puzzled by what he had seen. He cared primarily for Bron, and though she looked happy, there was, he perceived, a potential for disaster in the situation. He liked Winslow, but thought him a strange man, the way he chose to live.
When he arrived in town, Billy stabled his horse and went to the Rainbow for dinner. He joined Pfouts and Simpson, and covered his whereabouts immediately. “I’ve been out to see Winslow,” he said. “You know, that’s a funny situation—but Zack’s done more than most of us would, taking all those people in.”
“I never thought it would work for Bron, but she seems happy enough,” Pfouts said.
Soon the conversation turned to the stage robbery, as Page had known it would. “You didn’t know about Barn
ey being held up yesterday?” Parris asked.
“Why, no,” Billy said. “Anybody get hurt?”
“No. Barney said it was just one man—not a gang.”
Simpson shook his head. “Nobody thought the incoming stage would be hit. Now they’ll have to carry a guard both ways. Plummer sent two more deputies over, but they won’t be able to do much. Names are Forbes and Lyons.”
“Dillingham needs help,” Pfouts agreed. “The toughs are getting out of hand.”
Billy listened to the conversation for a while, then went to his room and later to the Silver Moon and played blackjack for an hour. This time he won over a hundred dollars. My luck’s changed, he thought with a streak of pleasure. He got up and walked around the saloon, listening to the talk of strikes and big nuggets. One man held up a huge chunk. “Worth maybe two—three hundred.” But as Page watched, he saw the miner lose it in a poker game and then write an IOU for another hundred.
It was dark when he left the Silver Moon, his mind on the huge nugget he’d seen. I’d like that chunk but not—
“All right, stick ’em up!”
Billy whirled, a spasm of fear shooting through him as he recognized the man.”I’ve not got much with me . . .” he said, slowly reaching for his wallet.
The gun held on him was as steady as his voice. “I’ll take the cash and the watch you stole from me yesterday.”
Page knew he was a dead man, but he assumed an air of nonchalance. “You found me quick enough.”
“Not hard. Let’s have your gun, carefully! Now, the watch.”
“Up in my room—so’s most of the money.”
“Let’s get it, Page.” He motioned with his revolver.
Billy stepped out into the street with the man right behind. “Is your gun out?” Page asked.
The Wounded Yankee Page 17