She continued her journey toward Deadwood, wondering what fate would offer. When a beautiful spark of light caught her attention, Cinda hunkered down to inspect it. Suddenly she had a plan for the first time in her life.
* * * *
The chunk of gold dazzled her eyes. Cinda had never seen anything so beautiful or so shiny, and nothing had ever filled her with such hope. Looking at that golden rock sent waves of delight tingling over her skin, and her body shook as she contemplated touching it. The excitement she felt surpassed the exhilaration she’d gotten when Thomas Wilson hitched up the horses and they’d set off from Ohio years before to find their fortune. That first jolt of the wagon had made her mind burst with images of what might come to pass. Her stepdaddy said they’d be richer than kings, and their lives would change. They’d changed all right, and had she been blessed with the gift of sight and could see the future, Cinda would have stayed in Ohio. Each journey to another mineral strike pushed Thomas closer and closer to the edge when he found the area tapped out. As much as she hated her stepfather, she’d hoped the Black Hills would give him the opportunity to find his fortune, but once again, her stepfather had met with failure. The future had offered nothing but watching him drink himself into more stupors and feeling the fury of his fists as he took out his frustration on those around him.
Suddenly though, looking at that shimmering hunk of metal, Cinda envisioned a different future. She’d only seen gold a couple times, and never a nugget this big, but she knew the difference between real gold and fool’s gold. Once she got the nerve to pick it up, she intended to keep it because this gold was as real as it got.
Every ray of sun glistening through the tall trees seemed drawn to its brilliance. It created a dazzling symphony of golden light that hurt her eyes, yet she couldn’t stop staring at it. Forced to squint despite the shadowy copse where she squatted, her hand trembled as she reached toward it. She glanced around the woods, unsure why, but the importance of secrecy weighed heavy in her mind. Her stepdaddy had known people killed for less gold than this small thumb-sized nugget that lay near her foot. Cinda checked the pocket of her dress for holes, then snatched it up and shoved the nugget inside.
She realized she’d been holding her breath when a gasp filled the woods. She knew it was hers but still jerked at the sound. After a shaky laugh, she rose then checked the pocket to be sure the treasure was still there. Silly perhaps, but she’d done sillier things in her life.
The idea crossed her mind to head to Deadwood and trade the gold for cash. Though not large, she thought the nugget would probably provide enough traveling money to get pretty far away. She could take the stagecoach to Cheyenne. She knew the train ran through there, and she’d have her choice of destinations. First, though, she wanted to find some word about Miranda. If she could locate her sister, they could head back to Ohio together and plan their future. Perhaps they could return to their grandmother’s house. She didn’t even know if their grandmother was still alive, but it was the only safe haven she knew. In the meantime though…
She glanced around the woods again because one thought thrummed in her mind.
There might be more gold.
More gold meant oodles of money and definitely a better future. Money opened doors and offered opportunity. More importantly, money bought information. Finding Miranda might take longer than she thought, and she had no idea how much she might have to pay along the way. Most people didn’t offer information out of the kindness of their hearts. In fact, since they’d come to the Dakotas, she’d been hard pressed to find much kindness at all.
She hiked up her skirt and petticoats and stuffed the edges into the tattered belt, then grabbed her satchel from the ground and tossed it over her shoulder. She strolled north, in no hurry now. Slow and cautious would reap more rewards than going off half-cocked like her stepfather was wont to do. He hadn’t had better luck in the Dakotas than he had in any other territory they’d lived in or traveled through. He hadn’t found a lick of gold in over a year in the Black Hills, and what he had found could be better described as dust.
Cinda followed the bank of a gurgling stream, her gaze wandering over the damp ground and dipping into the water. She searched for anything that blazed like the sun. Gold had become her new favorite color.
After several hours of stopping and starting, bending and stooping, she found another nugget, larger than the first one. She clapped a hand over her mouth, barely containing the whoop of joy, and jumped up and down in the stream, squeezing the lump in her fist. The frigid water splashed up her bare legs, and her body broke out in goose bumps. Her boots soaked through. The cold water squished into the worn socks and between her toes, reminding her that dancing around in six inches of water probably wasn’t the healthiest thing to do. She might pay for it later, but at that point, Cinda didn’t care. She’d never been happier in her entire life. She splashed and frolicked, twirling in the stream, and silently screamed her elation for long, blissful moments, daring nature to do its worst.
She wanted to hug someone, but she seemed to be alone in this neck of the woods. That was probably just as well because they’d have carted her off to the nearest asylum. After her body stopped quivering with excitement, she dropped the gold into the pocket of her dress, gave it a satisfied pat, and continued the quest. The irregular lumps of beautiful metal knocked together with a very satisfying weight. She fingered them through the rough material of the skirt, loving the jagged edges and smooth surfaces that told her she could be a wealthy woman if luck held. She hadn’t been a believer in luck up until now, but something had led her to that spot, and something had led her to this one. She came to an abrupt stop in the bubbling stream, staring above the bank.
She stood still, only vaguely aware of her frozen feet. On a tiny hill above the stream sat a small cabin. It nestled beneath some giant-sized trees, almost lost in a hodgepodge of bristling vegetation. Poorly constructed, the cabin looked decrepit and ready to fall down in the next stiff breeze. It also looked uninhabited. A warped plank served as a door and hung by one rusty hinge. The boards pretending to be shutters over the only visible window looked ready to give up their task and fall to the ground.
She sloshed backwards through the stream, trying to get a better look. The cabin was in pretty bad shape, but she’d seen far worse inhabited by the men who’d come to the Dakotas. Some lived in squalor in the back alleys of the mining camps, and others burrowed into hollowed-out caves in the hills. Most of the miners lived little better than animals.
This place was a palace for these parts. Despite that, it looked uninhabited. She glanced at the chimney.
“There’s no smoke.”
Surely, if the occupants were home, there would be a fire in the hearth. Maybe they were panning in the hills or downriver.
But the tools of the gold mining trade—pans, screens, sluice boxes—leaned against the dilapidated structure. She recognized them because her stepdaddy had quite a collection of his own.
“They can’t be off panning because they didn’t take the equipment.”
She twirled a piece of hair around her finger, staring at the forlorn cabin.
“They’re gone,” she murmured. “Why would someone leave all this?”
She thought of Thomas Wilson, a man with large dreams but nothing to show for them. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, he failed. In another few months, perhaps someone would travel past the Wilson homestead, find it empty, and stake a claim because Thomas had plain moved on.
“They left because that’s what men do when they give up.”
She trudged through the water, her heartbeat escalating as the thoughts spiraled faster and faster through her head.
“They’re long gone, back to their farms or their shops, back to their wives. No need for panning equipment in St. Louis, or New York, or Denver. And they left everything behind ’cause they’re really bad diggers. They didn’t have the luck or the skill.”
Cinda smiled
and patted her pocket.
“But I might have both.”
She glanced around, feeling rather stupid for talking to herself, then decided she shouldn’t worry about it. Talking to anyone in the near future seemed less likely than finding more gold on her new claim. Her brows rose, and she cocked her head.
Your claim, Cinda? When did you decide that?
“Right this minute.”
She rubbed her hands together and smiled just thinking about the possibility of finding more gold. She squared her shoulders and nodded, knowing it was the right decision. She trudged out of the stream and started to climb up the bank. She slipped and fell to her knees, pitching forward into the mud with a squishy noise. She dirtied her dress as well as the palms of her hands, but it all seemed so insignificant, and she laughed. The sound of it circled the woods, and a happiness she hadn’t felt in forever curled around her like a loving hug. Not that she knew what hugs felt like any more, but she remembered those her grandma had given out, and it was a nice feeling. She got to her feet, checked the pocket, and fisted her hand around the nuggets.
“Home sweet home.”
She laughed again then scrambled up the hill to investigate her palace.
* * * *
The former occupants must have left quickly because the old, worn cupboard still held some food, broken up dishes and a couple of pots. Cinda took quick stock and decided she had everything she’d need for cooking. A comfy-looking quilt covered a big, lumpy bed in the corner. After wiping her hands on her skirt, she touched the quilt, and it felt soft and nice. She couldn’t wait to sleep under it, knowing that anything she heard in the night would be less scary than hearing the sounds of her stepfather prowling through their cottage. She’d be willing to wrestle with a bobcat or shoo out snakes as long as Thomas Wilson stayed the hell away from her.
A washstand under the window held a basin and pitcher and some personal articles a man would use to shave. She wondered why a man would leave a razor and strap, but she looked at it as a bonus. She wouldn’t be shaving any time soon, but a razor came in handy for lots of things. The hearth needed cleaning out, but she thought she could go a few more days before she had to do it, and the tidy little stack of wood at the base of the cooking stove was a nice sight. Her new little house didn’t hold much more than that beyond a small hearth bench, a rickety table and two roughhewn chairs. She’d have an extra for any company that might come a calling. She laughed at that but seemed to be laughing a lot lately. She liked it just fine.
She dropped the satchel on the table and set to unpacking. A row of pegs lined one log wall, four of which held some men’s clothing, streaked with dirt and patched many times. She knew why these had been left behind. Who needed panning clothes if they weren’t panning? Well, that suited her just fine because she’d be panning tomorrow and be able to work far better wearing trousers. They were a little large, but Cinda decided she could hack off some of the length and tailor them to her liking once she’d settled in. Plus, if her luck held, she’d be able to afford to buy her own set of mining clothes.
She hung up her good dress and her shawl and put her extra boots near the door. She left her brush and the broach Grandma had given her in the bag, along with the only book she owned, a dog-eared dime novel Thomas had bought to keep her quiet before their journey years ago from Ohio. The book had only lasted for about fifty miles, and he’d refused to buy her another, saying reading was a waste of time, and he wasn’t put on earth to cater to Cinda Parks’ needs and wants.
She wondered at times why Thomas had even married her ma with her ready-made family. He was a sorry excuse for a man. Any man who’d sell a woman, let alone his own stepdaughter, deserved a special place in one of the levels of hell. She knew there must be better men out there, though she had no interest in finding one. She could take care of herself.
After trekking out to the crystal clear stream, she returned with two buckets of water, one for cooking and one for scrubbing off the road dust. She poured the water into a kettle and swung it over the hearth, then found some salted pork in the cupboard and set about making supper. She looked forward to it because she had a big hunger rumbling in her belly and had become a pretty good cook over the years. The only good thing about having parents like Thomas and Marion Wilson was that a girl learned to look after herself, and that suited Cinda just fine, too.
* * * *
The morning dawned clear and bright and, though she’d never slept better in her life, Cinda eagerly bolted out of bed to get to work. She washed up again, thinking how stupid it was considering she’d be caked in mud within an hour, but she liked to start each day fresh. It cleared her head of cobwebs and allowed in new thoughts. She took the razor off the washstand and hacked some of the length off the pants and the sleeves of a flannel shirt. After she yanked the dirty panning clothes over her clean skin, she rolled up some of the excess and wrapped a belt twice around her waist.
She glanced at the pieces of material that had fallen to the floor. There was enough there to make herself a decent apron if she could find a sewing kit. Whoever had owned these clothes was a big son-of-a-bitch. Not that it mattered to her, because he was long gone. He had scurried back to his safe little home in the East, a broken man with broken dreams, and left everything to Cinda Parks, new claim owner.
My claim.
It had the best ring to it and seemed like music to her ears. She stood in the center of the room and wolfed down some of last night’s supper. Luck. Timing. Fate. No matter what word she chose to explain her good fortune, it all boiled down to the same thing. She’d never had much to call her own, and now she had an entire plot of ground, a nice little cabin and possibly a ton of gold. She couldn’t contain her excitement, and should anyone have passed by and glanced through the hole in the boards pretending to be shutters, they’d have thought she’d lost her mind. Most girls didn’t dance to imaginary music or laugh for no apparent reason, but she couldn’t stop her excitement from boiling into the open.
She yanked her hair back and tied it in a strip of flannel then raced around the cabin. After making the bed, sweeping a little dirt out the door, and tidying everything up, she was ready to get to work. She surveyed her clean little home, clutching the gold in her fist like King Midas himself.
“Hmm. What should I do with my bounty?”
She couldn’t decide if she should keep it with her or find a place to hide it. She figured the safest place would be with her, so she wrapped the nuggets in some more flannel and pushed them inside her chemise, tucking them between her breasts. Luckily, she was fairly well-endowed and had a great cleavage for holding treasure. She figured if worse came to worst and they fell out of the chemise, they’d get caught in the shirt because the tight belt formed a barrier.
She glanced around her cabin with complete satisfaction and a very happy heart.
“Now to make myself richer.”
Chapter 2
Stuart Dare listened to his brother bitch and moan on the trail back from Deadwood for three hours. Stu guided the horse and wagon around a rut in the path but kept his gaze on the back of Mitchell’s head, trying to convince himself that tossing a boot at him wasn’t a good idea. Mitch had such a hard head the impact probably wouldn’t affect him anyway.
“Give it a rest, would ya?” Stuart said.
Mitch twisted around in his saddle and pierced Stu with a scowl. It reminded Stu of the way he looked in a mirror when he cut himself shaving—dark, angry, and murderous. “We’re never going to get out of these fucking hills if we don’t get that mine operational.”
Stuart rolled his eyes, which prompted another glare from his twin. “I had to wait for the goddamn telegram. I can’t make messages come through the wire. Did you want to make another trip into town this week?”
“Christ no.”
“At least we know everything’s on schedule, and Ty Markham should have everything here within the month.”
“I wanted out of here before th
at,” Mitch grumbled. “How long does it take to get a crew together? Next time I’ll do it myself.”
Stuart laughed. “Oh, sure, that would work. With that charming personality of yours, you couldn’t get a whore to fuck you for a nugget the size of Texas. Your chance of convincing a bunch of diggers to work for you is next to zero.”
“The time table’s all screwed up now.”
“Taking a night off in Deadwood isn’t going to upset the time table. You need to learn to relax.”
“Fuck relaxing. I thought we were running for supplies and doing a quick turnaround, but no. You had to go and change everything with your lame ass plans. We could have gotten in a night’s digging.”
“Jesus, Mitch, calm down. It was one night.”
“And for all we know someone’s come along, found the shaft and—”
“And what?” Stuart laughed. “Managed to extract the gold from a thousand tons of rock overnight? We’re done for now. We can’t do any more without equipment, a crew, and more dynamite. Seriously, Mitch, I don’t know what you do with your brain sometimes. Is it in your saddle bag? ’Cause it sure as hell isn’t in your head.”
Mitch reached up and crunched the top of his hat. He jammed it down like the action would keep his head from exploding. “I don’t like leaving the mine unguarded. I don’t trust anyone.”
“I know, and around here, it’s understandable, but it’s our claim. The Black Hills might have some serious low-lives, but we own that land. No one can take it from us. It’s recorded.”
“Ha!” Mitch twisted in his saddle. “And did you leave your brain in Deadwood? Dead men don’t own anything, Stuart, recorded or not. The maggots around here wouldn’t hesitate to turn us into dead men.”
“You’re forgetting something, Mitch.”
The Gold Digger Page 2