by Karin, Anya
I couldn’t respond, instead just watching him trot back to the wagon and hop up to the driver’s bench. I waved, trying my best to keep composed. “Come back soon!”
“Will do, ma’am,” Eli replied. He lifted his hat and gave me one of his nods. With that, he was gone.
Settling in didn’t take long, and neither did a quick wash-up before bed. As night settled in shortly after Eli departed, I sat on the porch with a cup of water as father sipped a measure of spirits. That night’s stars were as beautiful as any I’d seen since leaving Yankton. But knowing that soon, Eli would be looking at the very same ones, and maybe thinking of me, made the ache in my heart quiet for a time.
Four
September 8, 1878
Deadwood, Dakota Territory
A loud knock shook me awake. I rolled over, and went to the window. My second floor room overlooked the dirt path which doubled as the street to town, so from it I was able to see most everything, which included the porch.
The sun was bright and low in the sky, as it had risen not a quarter-hour before. Downstairs, Father was clomping about in the boots he’d bought, but never worn. The jangle of spurs sounded right after his heels hitting the floorboards. He went all the way to the door, grumbling. I giggled as he went back the other way.
I knew he probably wanted coffee and some breakfast, though he was far too kind to wake me. Hunting through my wardrobes, I found a nice pastel-blue dress that I’d not worn in some time, along with a pair of soft boots that I just loved. Along with a matching bonnet to keep out the sun, I found myself perfectly presentable. I chose a modestly embroidered clutch – nothing too ostentatious. Along with all the mostly-nice furniture that the previous occupants had left in the house, a number of quite fancy mirrors still adorned the walls, one of which I used to check my buttons and ties.
“Oh, Clara! I’m so glad you’re up. I, uh, I thought you’d like to accompany me to town. We can go by the camp store and get the things I’ll need to work the claim.”
I was glad to see his pride wasn’t still deflated from dealing with Mr. Swearengen the day before.
“That’d be just fine,” I said. “But don’t you want some food first?”
He began walking back and forth again. “That’s another thing. I thought we could go into town for that, too. Alongside Mr. Swearengen’s saloon is an inn that apparently has a buffet-style breakfast Eli recommended. I don’t want you to have to go to cooking the first day we’re here.”
“I don’t mind, really.” Though truly, the idea of eating in town was a relief.
He shook his head. “No, no. I insist. This is the best way. I don’t want to wait a moment longer than I must to get to the claim. There’s gold up there, I just know it. But before I can get it dug up, I need to find it. Are you ready to go?”
*
The path between our house and the center of the camp-turned-town took about twenty minutes to walk. Noise and activity was already beginning; miners and prospectors gathering their day’s equipment was the most common sight, though as we ate, a number of men who looked down on their luck stumbled through the front doors of the inn and to rooms.
“Comin’ from the Gem,” someone behind us said in a surprisingly chipper voice. “Play poker and drink all night, then they sleep all day. Terrible waste of a life, but that’s what they do. Small claimers. They find enough gold to pay for their vices, and that’s what they worry about.”
Father turned and I looked past his shoulder to a slight man wearing a brown suit and a bowler seated just behind him.
“Oh my apologies. Spend enough time in one of these camps and your manners will turn every way but better. I’m Sol Star, my partner, who moonlights as the camp sheriff, and I run the sundries shop across the way. Haven’t seen you around here before.” He stood and clasped my father’s hand, then turned to me. “And certainly haven’t seen you. A pleasure, ma’am.” Sol said, tipping his hat.
“Oh yes, of course, I’m Jefferson James and this is my daughter Clara. We were told about you and your shop. Our, uh, the man who brought us here recommended your wares.”
Mr. Star grinned widely. I liked him already. “Is that so? To whom do I owe the pleasure of a reference?”
“Eli Masterson,” I said. The words shot out of my mouth in a single syllable. Both men turned just as my cheeks started burning. “Sorry for interrupting.” I looked at the table, though I couldn’t help but smile just saying his name.
“Oh, Eli! Certainly, he’s a good friend. Does more than most people for this town and barely says a word to anyone about it. If it weren’t for him, I’m almost sure the Sioux would have burned this place to the ground by now. Well, him and Al. And I can tell by the sour face you’re making that you’ve met the town boss, hmm? Less said the better.”
The cadence of Mr. Star’s voice was mesmerizing. His up-and-down, quicker-then-slower speaking reminded me of the way rain falls.
“Well I can see you folks have some food to finish. If you’re needing anything, come across the street when you finish. We’ve got everything from camp latrines to daily ice delivery during the cooler months, which if you can believe it, September is one of.” He pantomimed the wiping of sweat from his head.
“Thank you,” Father said. “We actually were planning to visit you anyway as soon as we were finished, so I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”
Mr. Star stood and nodded politely, then left us alone. The inn, actually, was quite empty aside from the late-rising prospectors and the inebriated. It was a dusty place, but to me there were stories here. I spent most of the time Father ate just looking around. Above the over-large stairwell was a longhorn’s skull, and the dining room was marked with a number of plaques declaring that Bill Hickok did such-and-such here and such-and-such there. Or that Calamity Jane got into a fight with the mail carrier by the doorway.
“I’ll not be offended if you write,” father said. “I can see the look in your eyes, dear. I know you quite well, after all.”
“This place is just so fascinating, isn’t it?” I sat up straighter on the edge of my seat. “There’s so much history here, to me, it seems that all the wildness of the western frontier has come through here at one point or another.”
Father just smiled and chewed his bacon. He nodded at me in a ‘just go on’ sort of way. For the next few minutes, until he was finished, I furiously scribbled every detail of the place. The longhorn skull, the way the inn keeper seemed to habitually repeat the last word of each sentence, a count of the slovenly men who stumbled through the common area – anything I could think to write, I wrote. It’s compunction, really, and serves no purpose except to keep my hands and my mind busy while idle. I’d never do such a thing in the company of anyone excepting my father, but he had grown used to it over the years.
“What do you think of that Star fellow?”
“Hmm?” I looked up, surprised. “Mr. Star? He seems nice enough. I like the way he speaks.”
That got a smile from Father. “I noticed how you were quick to point out Eli’s recommendation. He’s a fine man, Eli. But I don’t want you catching a flight of fancy that ends up hurting you. After all, we’re only going to be here for six months or so, maybe less if everything goes smoothly and the mine gets up and running.”
I was mortified. “But no, that’s not it, I was grateful to him. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. It’s not my business though. You’re a strong woman. I shouldn’t pry into your life like that. We need to be going.” He stood and extended his hand. “Ready, partner?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I’m lucky to have him instead of someone else. I’ve always known that, but never more than when I passed the age where all of my friends had been pushed off to some advantageous husband, or married to a family their fathers thought would benefit their business. But for whatever reason – either because he thought me capable of
making my own decisions, or because he simply didn’t want to deal with it, my heart was my own business.
*
“Could you please calm down, Mr. Rawls?” Sol Star’s voice was quite a bit less melodious than it had been when we spoke at breakfast as it came out of his shop’s swinging door. “There’s no reason for this sort of behavior. We’re both adults. If you bought a chisel, and the chisel broke, I’d give you another one. But my books show you’ve never bought a chisel, and you aren’t presenting me with a broken one at the present time, so why would I think anything of your complaint but that you’re trying to get over on me?”
Standing in the entrance, Mr. Star’s customer seemed to be more bull than man. He stood with his shoulders pinched up near his ears, and his growling was audible from across the store. “Now you listen here, Star, I said I bought a chisel and it broke. Give me my two damned dollars!”
“I will not, Mr. Rawls, and furthermore, I want you to leave right now before this turns into much more than you mean it to. My partner will be back momentarily and I’d rather you walk out of here a free man instead of in shackles.”
The man growled loudly and slammed his meaty fists on Mr. Star’s countertop so hard the ledger book bounced. “You haven’t heard the last of me, Star!” He turned and stomped out the door, pushing between father and me on his way.
“I’m sure I haven’t, no matter how badly I wish that weren’t true.” He shook his head, and then almost immediately became a different person. “I’m much happier to see you folks. Just starting out on your claim? We’ve got a tool package that will take care of you. But first I need to know a few things so I can figure on what you need, exactly.”
My father hitched his thumb in his vest pocket. “Of course, ask away!”
“Well, is this a small claim or a large one? Will you be testing the soil – that is, looking for ore in the ground – or will you be panning? What sort of gold weight are you expecting and –”
Father put his hands up. “I’m almost ashamed to admit this, but I haven’t a clue. I know about as much about gold as you do about the mail system.”
Mr. Star’s eyebrows shot up. “Actually, I’m the town postmaster.”
“Well in that case, I’ll stop trying to make analogies for fear of coming up with what I think to be a clever one that coughs soot in my face. What I mean is I know next to nothing about this business. I was hoping that I’d be able to hire someone to give me an introduction. I could make it worth your while if you were free?”
Mr. Star smiled. “Truth be told, after that run-in with Eustace, I’d be happy to get some air for a time. No charge necessary. Has your claim been reconnoitered?”
“I don’t even know the meaning of the word. The man who sold it to me said that it’d be reconnoitered by George Hearst. But I’d be much obliged if you’d show me. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you? For your troubles, I mean. I’m afraid you’ll lose business.”
“I insist. If salesmen are to be believed, every claim was reconnoitered by Hearst. Business is slow during the day anyhow. Everyone with an eye to being useful is already out in the hills. Everyone with an eye to sloth and vice is presently sleeping off their drink. If you’ll give me a few moments, I’ll head to the courthouse and find my partner to watch the –”
A great crash from outside and then a heavy thud against the walls preceded a man shouting. “Eustace! How many times have I told you to keep your bullshit complaints about equipment you never bought to yourself? I don’t care what Sol said to you, you’re lucky it wasn’t me you tried to warble at! I’d send you straight through the window to say no instead of weathering your endless abuse!”
“Well,” Mr. Star said, “I suppose I won’t need to go looking.”
Tall and clad in a black suit with a black hat, someone who could only have been Seth Bullock strode into the store. “I’m taking Mr. Rawls to jail, unless for some reason you want him released. I have a mind to leave him there until he dies, but I think instead I’ll just let him sleep off the drinking he’s done.”
“Seth,” Mr. Star trailed off. He winked in our direction. “Customers?”
“Of course. Sir,” he said. “Ma’am. Pleased to meet you. Sol? You want this wretch in jail or not?”
“I think a little rest would do him good.” Sol smiled as he spoke. “But then could you watch the store for a time? Mr. James here is new to prospecting, he’s just bought a claim and-”
“Yes.” He twisted Eustace Rawls’s arm around behind his back and shackled his hands. “If you’ll pardon me ma’am, I’m usually not so gruff.” He turned and left, with Rawls making quite a racket.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s always that gruff. In fairness, he usually he only gets irritated when someone like that fellow makes him so.”
“Who was that?” My father asked. “Not the sheriff, the under-turned man with the foul temper?”
“That’s Goldtooth. Eustace Rawls. He’s something of a legend around here. He came from the Comstock when it emptied out. A lot of folks thought he was coming to prospect for George Hearst, but as it happened, old Eustace had left Hearst’s employ. He made his way up here to strike it rich on his own. Thus far, all he’s done is to cultivate a month-long hangover that I’m certain will grip him as soon as his lips don’t taste whiskey for a day or two.”
I chuckled and then quickly covered my mouth. Mr. Star had such a way of rattling off words that I found him endlessly fascinating. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that the way you speak, it’s like you never run out of things to say. I could listen to you for hours.”
“Well thank you ma’am. Since opening this store, I’ve learned the usefulness of speaking circles around people. I expect that if I move into politics later, it’ll come in quite handy.”
At that, Mr. Star turned to his books for a time, balancing expenditures, he said. Father and I looked at all sorts of tools, to pass the minutes until Mr. Bullock’s return.
Ah! He returns. Seth, can I leave you in charge of the store for the day?”
Mr. Bullock scraped something off the side of his boot and onto the store’s steps as he entered. “I already said yes, Sol. I’m terribly sorry about that oaf, folks. He’s one of the many problems that this little camp has grown. He’s already fast asleep though, sleeping like a dead drunk baby.”
“Father? What shall I do while you’re gone?” I had to speak or else I’d laugh at Mr. Bullock’s joke harder than would be proper.
“Oh, hum.” He chewed his mustache. “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, can you arrange the ice delivery with Mr. Bullock, and acquire some household supplies? That’d be most helpful.”
“Yes sir, we can handle that.” Mr. Bullock seemed eager for the men to leave. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. Good luck with your claim.”
Gathering a few tools, Mr. Star led my father out of the store, the two of them chattering away about gold and the process.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mr. Bullock said. “I’ve got some business to attend, and I’d like you to come with me. I’ll show you the town, such as it is. Oh, apologies. Seth Bullock.” He tipped his hat.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bullock, I’m Clara James.” I liked this one too, though his forwardness was a bit disarming. I had to remind myself that in such a rough place, his manners had probably roughened a good deal.
“I know,” he said. “Everyone’s heard you two are presently occupying the house on the edge of town. Nice place.”
“Oh thank you,” I said, taken aback. “But how did-”
“I built it.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “After you, ma’am.”
I stopped in the doorway. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to take you away from the store you’re watching. I don’t want you to miss any business or the like.”
Mr. Bullock shook his head and nudged me into the street, pulling the door closed behind him. “Business never picks up until the afternoon. And I expect Sol did
n’t really think I’d be sitting around in that place while there was a lady to show around.”
Taken aback, but pleased at the company, I took his arm and we proceeded east, into the heart of town.
Five
September 15, 1878
Deadwood Hills, Dakota Territory
“Father,” Pursing my lips, I managed to only laugh a little bit as I beheld my beloved father, the fabulously wealthy Jefferson James, in his working clothes. “I don’t know what to say.”
I’d gone to bed the previous night before he returned, and awakened after he’d already put coffee on the stove. Mr. Star showed him how, he told me.
“You like it? Haven’t ever seen ol’ Pa in anything like this before, have you, Clara? It’s a far cry from my suits and cravats, no?” He pushed his chest out with his hands on his hips. Hips that were covered with hip waders – boots that seemed to turn into trousers. Huge suspenders to hold them up rounded out a truly remarkable fashion which also included a plaid-patterned shirt, and one of those absurd wide-brimmed hats that seemed to be perpetually dirty for no good reason.
“It is certainly a new look. And I don’t believe you’ve ever referred to yourself as ‘ol Pa’ before either.” I patted him on the shoulder. “I suppose Mr. Star had good news for you about the claim?”
Brushing his mustache, my father was hardly able to hide his excitement. “Oh did he ever! He thinks this might be a tremendously rich claim. The only problem is that the gold has to be found first. But that’s no problem. He showed me all manner of things about how to sift through river water to find flecks, and then follow them to the source. It’s a fascinating business, this.”
I was glad to see him so happy of course, but I’m naturally suspicious, a trait which some of my conversing with Mr. Bullock had peaked.