by Peter Clines
She nodded.
“He’d get some good food and a lot of booze and maybe…” He debated a few terms in his mind. “Maybe get some company, like you said. I’d bet he’d probably go to the barber too. Get cleaned up, get his hair trimmed. Maybe even get a shave.”
Her eyes widened.
Eli nodded toward the man slumped by the fire. The man with the tanned nose and forehead, but pale cheeks around his Vandyke beard.
“Ahhhh,” she said. “Good eye, Mr. Teague.”
19
Harry pulled the envelope from her pocket and unfolded it. She reread it, tore off the bottom half, and folded it into thirds. The rest of it went in the small lamp on the center of their table. It flared up and drew a few eyes as it turned to ash.
“Not leaving tracks?”
“You’re learning, Mr. Teague.” She stood up and moved to stand before the other man. “Mr. Russk?”
He looked up from the fire. “Yes?”
“Gregson Edgar Russk?”
“I am,” said the man. His eyes flitted up and down her body, taking in her figure and the clothes hiding it. He glanced over at Eli. “Who might you be, young lady?”
“I’m Harriet. You can call me Harry.”
He grinned and showed off a jagged front tooth. It was a triangle of gray in a row of tan-brown teeth. Eli tried not to think about what a break like that would’ve felt like.
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage, ma’am,” said the prospector.
She lowered herself into the chair across from him, creating a triangle between herself, Russk, and Eli. “A friend told me I might find you here. You’re from the South, yes?”
“Louisiana man,” he said with a nod.
“A Southern gentleman,” she said. “Excellent. I was hoping you might be able to spare a few minutes of your time to help me with something.”
The prospector glanced over at Eli again. “It’s early,” he said, “but I’m willing if the price is right.”
She laughed and granted him what seemed to Eli like a very fake smile. “No, not that,” she said.
He gestured at the bottle. “Want to help me finish this off?”
“It won’t change my mind.”
“Too bad,” said Russk. He tapped the book in his lap. “Don’t suppose you can read?”
“I can.”
His eyes darted to Eli again. “You could spend the day reading this storybook to me, then.”
She shook her head. “It’s the best offer so far,” she said, “but still not what I’m here for.”
He huffed out a sigh.
“My brother and I wanted to talk about your inspiration,” she said. “We were wondering what led a Southern man like yourself to drop everything and head west.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” said Russk with a smirk, “but lots of folks are heading west.”
“Not really,” said Harry. “There must be half a million people just here in Missouri. Most of them aren’t going anywhere. Most people in the country aren’t.” She smiled again. A better smile. “But you did, Mr. Russk. You left behind friends, your job, everything you know. Why?”
He studied her for a moment. This time just her face. Then his gaze shifted to Eli.
Russk stood up. The man stood an inch or two shorter than Harry. “If you’ll pardon my sayin’, I don’t like the path this question leads down.”
She spread her fingers wide, but stopped short of raising her hands. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, “I’m just curious.”
“These ain’t curious questions,” said the prospector. He brushed back the ragged edge of his coat to reveal a tube of scratched leather on his thigh. His hand settled near it. Eli took a moment to recognize the tube. He’d seen too many custom-shaped holsters of nylon and plastic in movies and on television. The simplicity of Russk’s caught him off guard.
Eli leaned forward, but Harry pinned him in his seat with a glance. Her gaze went back to Russk. “There’s no need for guns.”
“Ma’am, every time somebody tells me that, it means I’m gonna need my guns.”
“Well, then, this time will be a pleasant exception.”
He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
“We have no interest in your claim, Mr. Russk,” she said. “None at all. I just want to know what made you travel to California.”
“And I believe I’ve been clear. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If that’s the case,” said Harry, “I do have one other thing you still might be looking for. Favor for a favor.”
“Ma’am,” said the prospector, “I’ve told you all the things I’m looking for. You ain’t offering none of ’em.” He stood up and headed for the bar.
“You haven’t told me about your sister,” Harry said as he moved past her.
Russk took another three steps, giving Eli a cautious look as they came close. Then Harry’s words registered and he spun around. His hand came away from the holster. “What did you say?”
“Louisa is your sister, isn’t she?”
The prospector leaned in close. “My sister’s dead. The redskins got her.”
Harry’s head went side to side. Her eyes never left his. “Would you like to talk now, Mr. Russk?”
His eyes flitted between her and Eli. For a moment, Eli thought the man would turn and walk away. Or reach for his gun again.
“Gregson,” asked the bartender. He had the wary tone of a man used to leaping in, and ready to do so if needed. “There a problem?”
Eli glanced around the bar. More than a few of the patrons watched. The two men playing cards looked eager. So did the woman by the stairs.
Russk’s eyes settled on Harry. She leaned back in her chair. With one hand, she pulled the bottom half of the paper from her pocket and tapped her fingers against it.
“No problem, Ray,” said the prospector.
In the corner of Eli’s eye, the bartender nodded and relaxed. The woman by the stairs sighed and returned her attention to the man with her. The dark-haired man playing cards dropped his hand to the table and chuckled.
“I’m very sorry, my friend, that I must resort to blackmail, Mr. Russk,” Harry told him. “Please believe me when I say I want you and your sister to be reunited as soon as possible.” She held up the folded piece of paper. “This was intended to be a sincere thank-you for helping me with my own quest.”
Russk glanced at Eli. “Thought he was your brother.”
“He’s like a brother to me,” said Harry. “We’ve known each other for so long. Honestly, if a horse’s kick hadn’t left him unable to perform a husband’s duties, I would’ve married him years ago.”
The prospector looked at Eli again, this time with pity in his eyes.
Eli bit his tongue.
“But enough about my problems, Mr. Russk.” She held the paper out past her knees, then pulled it back when the prospector reached for it. “I propose a simple trade. My information for yours. A favor for a favor.”
“How do I know it’s the truth? This could all be some swindle.”
She unfolded the paper, leaving the blank side to the prospector. From where he sat, Eli could see four handwritten lines. “Your sister has brown hair and brown eyes. She had freckles when she was younger. There’s a scar on her left hand and another one behind her right ear, but she wears her hair loose to hide that one.”
Russk’s eyes opened wide. Tears swelled at the corners. “I’ll tell you where the mine is,” he said with a quick nod. “I’ve got a map to the claim and the papers. It’s all yours.”
“As I told you before, we have no interest in your claim.”
Russk blinked away the tears before they could blur his vision. His eyes darted from Harry to the paper. “What do you want, then?”
“Why did you go to California?”
“For the gold. That’s what everyone’s headin’ out there for. We’ve all heard the stories.”
She shook her
head. “But why, Mr. Russk? What set you on your path? What made the decision for you?”
“I don’t understand.” He leaned close to her, to the paper. “What d’you want me to say?”
“Why did you go? What was the final straw for you? The deciding moment. Was it something you heard or read or saw? Did the thought just come to you, perhaps?”
He shrugged. “I just…I d’know. I was in N’Orleans doing odd jobs for a machinist. I’d been hearing some stories about gold, about how people was just plucking nuggets right up off the ground. And then I ended up talking to this one fella who came in about some parts for equipment he needed fixed. Talked with him for almost two hours. He’d come back from California rich as Midas. Was living the dream, you know?”
Harry’s fingers trembled. “And it was him?”
Russk shrugged again. “Suppose so. Never really thought of it like that. But yeah, it was that night I decided t’go.” He tapped the bottle. “I was sipping a bourbon, thinkin’ about what he’d said, and decided to head out to California and make my fortune. And I did. That’s all it was.”
He reached for the paper. Harry lifted it away. His face hardened.
“The man,” she said. “The man you spoke to in the blacksmith’s shop. What was his name?”
The prospector’s jaw shifted. It clicked each time it moved. Eli pictured the jagged point of the broken tooth tapping back and forth against the lower teeth and tried not to wince.
“Hawkins,” said Russk. “Frank Hawkins. He’d done the trail when he was younger, one of the first ones out there back in ’48, and struck it rich. He was heading back for another go when I met him, but this time he was taking a boat down to Panama and crossing there.”
Harry glanced back at Eli to make sure he was paying attention. “If I was to see Mr. Hawkins,” she said, “how would I know him?”
Russk’s head went side to side. “It was almost three years ago, ma’am. I don’t remember much of anything.”
“What do you remember? Anything will help.”
Russk stood up and held his hand above his head. He looked at Eli and raised it a little higher. “He was about yea tall. Strong. Shaved good. Nice fella, but he had this way of kinda…staring at people. Had a strong gaze.” The prospector snapped his fingers. “Had this big buffalo-hide cloak. I asked about it ’cause it was warm out, and he said it was a…a ’membrance from his first trip. Said he’d never get rid of it.”
Harry nodded. “When was this?”
“I told you. Three years ago.”
“Could you be more specific? The month? The day, perhaps?”
He shook his head. “It was March, I think.” He snapped his fingers. “It was two weeks before Easter. End of March, ’50?”
Harry nodded. “That will do,” she said. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, I swear.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Russk.”
She held out the folded piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment, at her, at Eli. Then he snatched it away.
Harry waited while Russk sat down, unfolded the paper, and squinted at the words. Eli watched the man’s lips move while his eyes worked back and forth through the handwritten lines. Almost two minutes passed before he looked up.
“This all true?”
Harry nodded.
“Edmunds had her all this time?”
She nodded again.
“Why?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything beyond what’s written there, Mr. Russk. I can just promise you it’s all true. She’s with Edmunds in Memphis.”
He frowned and crumpled the paper in his fist. Then he looked down at it and spread it flat over his knee. He worked at the wrinkles and creases with his fingers. “Thank you,” he said.
Harry nodded and stepped back to join Eli at their table. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“Which part?”
“His sister in Memphis with Edwards?”
“Edmunds. And I have no idea. As I told Mr. Russk, I don’t know much past what was on the paper.”
The bartender barked out “coffee,” and set a tin mug down on the bar next to a glass with an inch of amber liquid in it. Harry guided Eli to the bar, where she fished a small coin purse from her coat and slid two coins across to the bald man. Eli went to move back to their table, but she held his arm. “Keep some distance,” she said. “We don’t want him starting more of a conversation. It leads to questions we can’t answer.”
Eli nodded and sniffed the bourbon. “So now what?”
“Now,” she said, “we need to find Mr. Frank Hawkins in New Orleans.”
“He could be anywhere by now,” said Eli. “Maybe even dead. He was just passing through on the way to California, remember.”
“I remember, Mr. Teague,” she said. “That’s why we’ll be going…” She lifted her head higher and looked to the door. Then she swung her gaze to the bar.
Eli looked at the rack of bottles, then tried to figure out if she’d seen something in the mirror. “What?”
“Shhhh,” she hissed at him, half closing her eyes.
He shut his mouth. The murmur of conversation still swung back and forth across the saloon. The bartender rustled the coals in the potbellied stove. Outside, the wind moaned on the corners of the building, never quite reaching a howl. When it fell to its lowest he could hear the distant sounds of a main road or maybe a highway.
“Wait a minute—” he began.
Harry’s eyes snapped open. Her hands came up and pushed him toward the door.
He turned his head, trying to catch the sound again. “Is that a car? Here?”
“It’s them,” she said, giving him another shove. “They’ve found us.”
20
The cold hit Eli in the face and clawed at his ankles under the cuffs of his jeans. The patches of warmth inside his coat shifted, and the ones in his jeans escaped back inside the bar. It didn’t seem to be snowing any harder, but what had earlier been a breeze now qualified as a light wind.
Harry shoved him again and the door slammed shut behind them. “Can you still hear it?” she asked him, tilting her head. “We need to know which direction they’re coming from.”
Eli closed his eyes. Flakes of snow settled on his ear. The wind groaned across the rooftops. As the groan faded, he caught the last rumbles of an engine—a big, monster engine—settling down. “That way,” he said, pointing.
“Pissbucket.” She started down the path, glancing back at him. “Come on!”
He took three loping steps and caught up with her on the muddy road. He glanced at the buildings around them. “Do we have time to get back to the car?”
“They’re between us and the car,” snapped Harry. She elbowed him down a different road. “This way.”
“Why?”
“Because if we get too close to them they’ll know right where we are.” She hooked her arm around his and dragged him along the snow-and-mud street. “A little faster, please, Mr. Teague. And try not to attract attention this time.”
“Any faster and we’ll be running.”
Harry turned right at the first intersection and guided them down a new street. In the distance, a three- or four-story building loomed over the houses. A town hall, Eli guessed, or maybe a courthouse. His shoulders hunched as a man in a black coat and hat stepped out from between two buildings, but the man had a thick beard and dark eyes.
“Where will they be?” asked Eli. “The faceless men?”
“Probably coming in from the same slick spot we used. If we’re lucky, there’s only one of them.”
They speed-walked past a dozen people, four horses, what looked like a stagecoach, and two more roads. At the next corner Harry pointed left. They half-jogged down the street, then she led them back up a muddy road, striding alongside a cart pulled by an ancient horse.
Harry went to turn down the next snow-dusted street, and Eli yanked her back. She foug
ht his grip for a moment, then saw what he saw.
Two faceless men in matching hats stood at the far intersection, questioning a man and a woman. Their plastic masks gleamed in the sunlight. The larger one’s mask and build matched the one Eli had first seen back at the bank. His badge was out and raised while he talked with the older couple.
The second one stood a few inches shorter, a few pounds lighter. He wore a vest and dark red tie under his coat. His mask had arching brows, a thin handlebar mustache, and a painted beard so narrow it was almost a line. A familiar design, but Eli couldn’t place it. The faceless man’s head jerked back and forth, never quite far enough to be aimed at Eli and Harry. The movement looked like part keeping watch, part nervous energy.
Harry took a step back, pressing against Eli, forcing him back himself. Six slow steps put them back around the corner. “Consarn it,” she muttered. She looked back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Teague.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said.
“We must be just on the edge of their range,” she said. She took her tricorne off and leaned out, letting her eye slide past the corner of the building. Her fingers tightened on the hat.
“What are they doing?” asked Eli.
“They’re splitting up.” She inched back and turned to him. “Neither of them is coming this way, but now they’re spreading their certainty, blocking off that whole side of town. We won’t be able to get around them.”
He thought about leaning out to look for himself, decided against it. “So what do we do?”
Harry wrung her hat in both hands, then pushed it back on her head. “We keep moving,” she said.
“Where?”
“I don’t know yet,” she snapped.
They headed back the way they came, the snow squeezing into mud beneath their feet. Two men stood talking in front of another building and didn’t seem to notice the chill. Eli could feel the cold seeping back into his bones, although the saloon had given him a nice respite. At the next intersection, Eli took a cautious step forward.
And froze.