Mountain Angel

by Patricia McAllister

  Angel didn’t care to remember the proxy marriage. She only nodded disconsolately and twisted her hands together until they were strained white with tension.

  “There must be some other way,” she said.

  “Way?”

  “To guard the mine. I don’t want some town drunk sent up to the Lucky Devil. Heaven knows all the able-bodied men are already up at the silver mines. So who does that leave us to hire? Drunks and thieves.”

  A measure of grudging respect showed in Lily’s expression. “You’re right,” she said. “So what do you suggest?”

  Angel thought about it. “I know the way,” she said, and a brief smile teased at her lips as she thought of Rachel and remembered her promise to show the other girl the mine. “I have a friend begging to come along. Surely a couple of women could hold down the fort.”

  “A couple?” Lily looked indignant at the idea. “Better make it three.”

  Angel’s jaw dropped as understanding dawned. “You?”

  “Why not? I can pack a pistol cleaner than most and I’m a crack shot when it warrants. Besides, I’m sure you and your lady friend have confined yourselves to more genteel pursuits, like church socials and gossiping around town.”

  Lily’s smirk made Angel want nothing so much as to slap the woman, but she remembered Holt’s plea and gritted her teeth. So, she was to be saddled with a church mouse and a notorious woman. Maybe someday she would cease to be surprised by the wild cards life dealt her.

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU want to go, Angel?”

  Looking past Neal’s worried expression to the core of genuine concern underneath, Angel was touched and wanted to tell him the truth. But Lily was insistent she reveal their plan to nobody. So she and Rachel had concocted the tale of driving over to Clear Creek to visit an elderly aunt of Rachel’s. It had satisfied Prudence and Neal, too. If either of them had suspected the truth, Angel knew they would have forbade she and Rachel leave.

  With a dazzling smile, she lied, “Of course I want to go. There’s no use hanging about here, waiting for Holt to return, and I have no intention of being pitied any longer. I’ll stay at Rachel’s Aunt Clara’s until he comes crawling back.”

  Neal’s expression clearly indicated what he thought of that likelihood, but he was too tactful to say anything. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come along? There might be rough characters along the way.”

  “Nonsense. It’s only a few measly miles on a good road, and besides, where would you stay in a maiden lady’s home? Even a preacher doesn’t need gossip.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, but there was a puzzled light in his eyes.

  “Thank you for bringing out my things. Here’s Rachel now.” Angel gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek, standing on tiptoe. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Rachel’s wistful expression as the wagon drew near.

  While Neal loaded her bags, Angel climbed up beside Rachel and tied on her bonnet. She felt something hard bump her hip and glanced down in surprise to see a heavy pistol hidden in the folds of Rachel’s skirts. The other girl gave her a fleeting, devilish grin before turning to say goodbye to Neal.

  As they drove off in a roiling cloud of dust, Rachel with a competent hand on the team of mules, Angel let her amusement bubble over.

  “You’re certainly expecting your adventure.”

  “I’d be disappointed with anything less,” Rachel admitted, patting the cracked leather holster at her side. “This was Pa’s before he was killed in the war. The Army sent it home, along with a note telling how much he prized it. Mother kept it though there were no boys to give it to. Later I nabbed it and hid it in my room. I always fancied myself a Martha Jane Burke of sorts.”

  “Who?”

  “Calamity Jane. Haven’t you heard of her?” Rachel’s face took on a dreamy look again. “She’s the equal of any man at guns, and doesn’t apologize for it. Why, she brings dire calamity down on any man who crosses her.”

  Amazed at the quiet revelation, Angel saw her new friend in a different light. She would have imagined Prudence’s daughter to be a prissy, self-righteous soul if she hadn’t seen evidence of Rachel’s pluck up front. Somehow it didn’t seem so shocking when Rachel evidenced curiosity rather than outrage when Lily joined up with them on the road outside of town.

  Seated atop a prancing white mare, Lily looked dressed for a day in the park. Her split-skirt riding habit was of green velvet and ostrich feathers sprouted from her rakish hat. Her hair was coiffed and dressed to one side, spilling in auburn curls all the way to her waist. If it was false hair she didn’t bat an eyelash at wearing it, and she returned their wide-eyed gazes with a toothy white grin.

  “Ready, ladies?” She tapped her spirited mare with a gold-tasseled quirt and fell into a brisk trot beside them.

  Rachel leaned over to Angel and whispered excitedly, “I’ve never talked to a fancy lady before.”

  “You haven’t, eh?” Lily interrupted unabashedly and winked at Rachel’s shock. “Well, chick, now’s your chance. We’ve got hours to kill before reaching the mine. Might as well exchange our life stories.”

  Angel sensed the sarcasm, but Rachel didn’t. “Oh, I’ve got ever so many questions,” she burst out, then bit her lip in consternation when Lily hooted and slapped her thigh.

  Angel only hoped they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew along the way to the mine, because it certainly would prove difficult trying to explain both Lily’s presence and why they were going the wrong way.

  As the miles fell behind them, all three gradually relaxed and enjoyed the unusually warm fall day. Lily regaled the younger women with what she swore were true stories of her interesting customers. Without mentioning names, she talked about the rich and famous who had heard her sing, and how she had once received a gold sovereign from a real European monarch.

  Angel was skeptical, but Rachel oohed and aahed appreciatively when Lily produced the sovereign from her bodice, neatly drilled to fit on a gold chain around her neck.

  “It’s real,” she told them, and bit the coin to prove it. She then removed her treasure and let Rachel inspect it at her leisure while Angel took over the reins for a time.

  “How romantic,” Rachel gushed, thrilled with the thought of a king enamored of anybody, even a singer with a questionable history. Angel thought with amusement her friend wasn’t half so worldly as she pretended to be, Martha Jane Burke stories or not.

  By the time Lily finished up her most dramatic tale, of how she had hidden an infamous pair of bank robbers in her bedroom and brazenly lied to the authorities about their whereabouts, they had reached the valley.

  Half rising from the wagon seat, Angel released a stricken cry. A blowing pile of ashes and chimney bricks were all that remained of the little cabin. It was burned to the ground. Obviously recently, as the smoking pile of rubble attested.

  “There’s a warning if ever I saw one,” Lily remarked grimly as she reined in her horse.

  Angel felt tears stinging her eyes. They were tears of rage, not misery. The cabin could be replaced, but not memories. Not the precious Indian dress Holt’s mother had owned. The other two women glanced at her in alarm when she jumped down from the wagon and ran across the meadow toward the ruins.

  All Angel found left of the chest was the lock, a melted lump of iron. She started to pick it up and cried out when it scorched her fingers. Then Lily came rushing over and physically hauled her out from the ashes. The singer took off her expensive hat and crushed it as she beat at the smoldering hem of Angel’s skirt.

  Rachel met them halfway back to the wagon. “Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry.”

  Dazed, Angel only looked at her helplessly until the dam broke. She fell into her friend’s arms and quietly sobbed. It was like losing a part of her soul.

  Eventually the tears passed. “Who did it?” she cried, too angry and miserable to be consoled by Rachel’s pats on her back. “Who would do something so hateful?”

  Lily picked up
a battered but recognizable tin star she found lying in the grass. “Not just anyone. Sometimes the law’s the worst offender of all.”

  Angel turned and snatched it from her. She stared red-eyed down at the badge and what it represented and let out a colorful oath. Rachel squeaked and Lily chuckled.

  “He won’t get away with it,” Angel vowed.

  “Who?” The others spoke in unison.

  “Red Garrett. Of course he’s behind this. He wants a cut of the mine, but by God, he’s going to have to come through me to get it.”

  Even Lily was startled by this revelation. “Honey, I never said —”

  “Never mind how I know. I understand you can’t risk crossing him yourself. I don’t expect either of you to stand behind me on this one. I’ll have to do it myself.”

  Angel remembered the mine. She looked across the clearing in alarm, but the shaft appeared undisturbed. Of course, Garrett couldn’t jump a claim if he sealed off the only means of getting the profits.

  “Well, what now?” Rachel asked uneasily.

  “I’m going to stay,” Angel said. “It won’t hurt me to sleep on the hard ground for one night.”

  “I reckon it won’t,” Lily agreed, moving to her horse’s saddle, where she withdrew a rifle from the silver-chased scabbard.

  Rachel hesitated. Then she also went to retrieve her trusty pistol from the wagon. “Just in case the adventure isn’t over yet,” she said before they began setting up camp for their stay.

  Chapter Eight

  SOMEWHERE IN THE TREES, a horned owl hooted low and deep. Angel muttered and drew the blankets farther up and rolled over onto one side, trying to get comfortable. A rock dug into her spine and another into her thigh. She thrashed a moment to reposition herself. What woke her up? She blinked sleepily against the white glare of a full moon, then froze as she happened to glance across the moonlit meadow.

  A few feet away Rachel snored softly. Lily volunteered to take first watch, but Angel saw the other woman’s figure slumped back unconscious against a boulder. She stiffened when she saw a dark shadow gliding from the trees.

  “Lily,” she hissed. But her voice choked off in her tight throat. The shadow hesitated, a big black figure, and Angel felt her skin go clammy with fear. It was a man, not an animal. It moved upright, and too stealthily to be anything else.

  Lily’s rifle lay propped up against the boulder at her side. Angel was lying a good ten feet away. She eyed the gun and the creeping shadow and decided to take the chance. But for a moment her limbs wouldn’t move. She was so scared she was frozen in place.

  But she had to do something. The other two women were fast asleep and she couldn’t wake them without catching the man’s attention. Numbly, Angel forced her body to obey her mind. She crawled across the cold ground, a lump of wriggling blankets, pausing occasionally to gauge her chances as the shadow advanced.

  A couple feet and she’d be safe. Dry-mouthed, she felt a spasm of terror clench her stomach as the intruder drew ever closer. Both of them apparently had the same goal: Lily’s rifle. Angel didn’t know if he’d seen her or not; she was mostly hidden by the boulder. But if it was Red Garrett, he was about to get the surprise of his life.

  Her fingers inched over the boulder to grasp the barrel of the gun. They closed home as Lily stirred. Quick as a cat, the singer’s hand shot out and jerked the weapon from Angel’s grasp. Then Lily whirled and leveled the rifle on the other woman.

  “Not me,” Angel croaked. “Him.”

  She gestured desperately at the shadow that materialized into a man. Lily spun back around, but a trifle too late. A huge fist contacted with her jaw, and the singer slumped back against the boulder.

  “Rachel,” Angel screamed.

  The moonlight threw the ugly, scarred face of the intruder into sharp relief as he whirled toward her. Angel struggled out from the imprisoning blankets and lurched out of his reach. She heard his muttered oath as he swiped at her and missed. She forgot about everything but the need to save herself.

  Angel only made it a few pitiful feet. His foul breath came hard and fast in her ear when he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her backwards, lifting her off the ground. White-hot pain lanced her scalp, and her scream was cut off as his big hand squeezed her windpipe shut.

  Then she heard an explosion as stars behind her eyelids blossomed. She fell, jarring both elbows on the ground. Choking and gasping, Angel rolled out of the way as the man crumpled to the earth beside her.

  Angel lay wheezing for several moments as the world slowly righted itself. Her hands on her bruised neck, she struggled to her knees and saw the trembling figure of Rachel standing there.

  Rachel’s shaking white hands held her father’s pistol in a death grip. Her eyes were huge, glistening pools as she stared at the unmoving man.

  Lily groaned and stirred. The other two women’s eyes met at last, and Angel managed a weak croak.

  “Thanks, Calamity.”

  THEY BURIED THE BODY in the morning in a shallow grave inside the forest’s edge. Angel turned away the moment the deed was done, letting Lily tamp down the moist earth with a shiny black patent leather shoe.

  “There,” the redhead said briskly, gingerly touching her bruised jaw. “That’ll do. No need to go to a lot of trouble just so the animals can dig him up again.”

  Rachel shuddered. Angel went to her friend and offered quiet words of comfort.

  “You saved our lives, Rachel. He was up to no good. I’m glad you were here.”

  “B-but I killed a man,” Rachel said through chattering teeth.

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Lily said in a strident tone. “He would have been happily shoveling us three under instead, given the chance.” Her words were blunt but well-meant. “I have the damndest feeling we were followed up here.”

  “Me, too,” Angel said. In full daylight she had studied the features of the stranger and wondered why he was faintly familiar. Then it had come to her with a rush of shock. The pitted scars supplied the answer. He was the man quarreling with Holt when she had first arrived in Clear Creek.

  Olsen was his name. Lily knew him. She said he was a no-good weasel, a tough who could be hired by anyone for the right price. She showed little remorse when she helped the other two women drag him into the forest, and less when they buried him.

  Rachel went to place stones around the shallow grave. “Even a criminal deserves a marker,” she whispered as the tears streamed down her freckled cheeks.

  Lily made an irritated noise and stomped off. Angel followed her, catching up to the other woman as Lily moved to saddle her horse.

  Lily was shaking her head in disgust. “Hard to believe that’s the same girl who had the gumption to pull the trigger last night.”

  “Everyone has a soft spot,” Angel said. “Even you.”

  “That so?” Lily jeered. “What’s mine?”

  “Holt.”

  Angel felt a rush of jealousy when the other woman didn’t deny it. She watched Lily plunge a fist into her mare’s belly to force the animal to exhale, and then draw up the cinch with more force than necessary.

  “You little fool,” Lily muttered. “You don’t know the first thing about me and Holt. So I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Why are you so defensive? You love him, don’t you?”

  Lily threw down the stirrups and whirled around. “Listen, chick, I only came up here to watch the mine because Holt asked me to. That doesn’t include answering questions from his nosy wife.”

  Angel saw the high color in the woman’s cheeks and was convinced Lily was in love with Holt, and probably for a long time. She felt sorry for Lily and for herself, because she suspected neither of them would ever win Holt’s heart.

  “I’m sorry,” Angel said quietly.

  Lily didn’t ask what she was sorry about. She only stared at Angel with hard green eyes for a long moment, then swung up into the saddle. As she briskly arranged her velvet skirts, she said, “I’m
going back to Oro. You ladies better wait awhile before following me in.”

  “We’re not going to Oro. We’ll visit Rachel’s aunt over in Clear Creek as planned.”

  Lily gave a curt nod and rode off. Angel sensed the animosity lingering in the air long after the other woman had left.

  RACHEL WANDERED OUT OF the woods. Her skirts were stained with mud and grass, and bright tears still dotted her cheeks. “I put some wildflowers on the grave.”

  “I take it you don’t care much for adventure now.”

  Swallowing hard, Rachel shook her head. “I’m sorry I ever wanted to come up here. No wonder it’s called the Devil Mine.”

  “Lucky Devil,” Angel corrected her, and paused to think. Why had her father and Arthur Murphy chosen such an ominous name for their mine? Why not Lady Luck or Annie Mae or something relatively amusing and harmless?

  Angel had to admit there was something dark and frightening about an endless tunnel delving into the heart of the earth. She tore her gaze from the abyss and shivered.

  “Let’s get going, Rachel. It’s a long drive to Clear Creek.”

  She didn’t have to suggest it twice. Both women climbed into the wagon, and Angel cast one sorrowful look over the ruins of the little cabin. Then, with a brisk click to the team of mules, she pointed the wagon north.

  RACHEL’S HANDS SHOOK NOTICEABLY as she poured the tea into eggshell-thin porcelain cups for three.

  “What’s the matter with you, Rachel?” Clara Maxwell’s querulous voice cut through the silence like a finely-honed knife. “I declare, you’re spilling priceless Earl Grey all over my fine lace tablecloth.”

  “Sorry, Auntie.” Rachel set down the silver teapot but didn’t raise her gaze to meet her aunt’s.

  Angel smoothly intervened, distributing the cups and overlooking the fact all three saucers had their share of tea, as well.

  “I’ve never known you to have a case of the nerves, my girl,” Clara continued. She was an older lady, all the more imposing in glistening black bombazine. Her neatly rolled white hair resembled two fat sausages dangling on either side of her head, and they danced about as she shook her head. “I want you to take a dose of Mrs. Carter’s Nerve Tonic in your tea, Rachel.”