Trevallion looked at him coolly. “When I have to be.”
Johnny laughed. “So am I good,” he said. “I’m probably the best there is. That’s why I am going into Virginia City. I want to see that Farmer Peel, Langford Peel. Is he as good as they say?”
“He’s always been good enough.”
“I wonder if he’s as good as me?”
Trevallion was irritated. Yet Johnny was nothing if not charming. There was something warm and friendly about him one could scarcely avoid liking. “Leave him alone,” he advised.
“He’s good, is he?”
“He’s very good, and he minds his own business and doesn’t go hunting trouble.” And then he added, “The only trouble-hunters I ever knew were young.”
“Yeah? I wonder why that is?”
“Because they don’t live long enough to get old.”
Eldorado Johnny laughed. “Well, maybe you’re right. But don’t you ever wonder if you’re better than him? Or me?”
Trevallion finished his beer and then he said, “No, I don’t wonder about it. I just don’t give a damn. If a man needed killing, I’d kill him. I’ve never seen the Farmer be anything but a gentleman.”
“Tell him I’m coming up to see him.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You bring your own message, Johnny, but when you do, buy yourself whatever you want to be buried in.”
He put down his glass and went to the door. He stepped into the saddle and looked back at Johnny, who had walked to the edge of the porch. Trevallion lifted a hand and Johnny replied, then he walked back inside.
For a moment he was silent, then he looked across the bar at the bald man. “He’s got it all, hasn’t he? Damn him, he’s so sure! I wish—”
“He’s been through it, Johnny. He’s been up the river and over the mountain. He’s the kind you leave alone, Johnny.”
CHAPTER 14
A bitter wind was blowing off Sun Mountain when he dismounted at the bakery. He led his mule to the stable, and then, bowing his head against the wind, he went around to the front door of the bakery.
Melissa was there with Vern Kelby and two other men. She got up quickly. “Trevallion! Of all people! Sit down and I’ll get a cup!”
“Come far?” Kelby asked.
“Eldorado,” he said.
Melissa put a cup of hot coffee before him and began fixing a plate. The bakery smelled good, and it was warm and snug.
“Many pulling out?” he asked.
Kelby nodded. “Here and there. We catch them coming and going here, but nobody in his right mind would spend a winter here.”
“Weather doesn’t interfere with mining. Not when you’re underground.”
“But a man has to come up once in a while. The placer miners are pulling out, most of them.” Kelby turned his head to look at him. “How about you?”
“I’ll stay.”
“You must do all right.” There was a question there and Trevallion did not like it. “I understand yours is a placer operation.”
“It’s hard work.”
Even in his brief absence, the town had grown. More buildings, and at least two of them for business. The others were residences, if such they could be called. As he looked up the street, watching the men struggling against the hard-blowing wind, he decided he did not like Kelby, but it was probably prejudice. Actually, he knew nothing about the man, one way or the other.
“Are you staying?” he asked then.
Kelby hesitated. “I am not certain.” He glanced up at Melissa as she returned with a plate of food for Trevallion. “Melissa certainly does not wish to leave.”
“Leave? This is all I have! This is my business, my life, really. I am independent for the first time in my life.”
Kelby smiled. “Independence may not always be the best thing. Especially,” he added, “for a woman.”
“A woman can be independent as well as a man,” Trevallion said. “Gives her a choice. A woman alone, with nobody, and with no income can have a bleak future. I would say Melissa has done well here, and with the coming of spring she will do better, much better.”
“You believe this place will boom?” Kelby was skeptical.
“I do.”
Kelby gestured up the street toward Lyman Jones’s hotel, a canvas and frame structure where an old sluice-box doubled for a bar and whiskey was served in tin cups and drawn from a barrel. “Lyman’s staying, and so are some others, but the smart ones are getting out. I’ve been advising Melissa to sell out and go back to California. With what she has she could open a business out there.”
“You don’t understand, Vern,” Melissa protested. “I am doing well here because there are a lot of men and very little to eat but bacon and beans. Down there baked goods is no novelty.”
“With what this would bring you,” he said, “we could—”
“ ‘We’?” Trevallion said.
“Well, I’d be glad to help her get started. With a little capital one can do a lot.”
Trevallion put down his knife and fork and took up the coffeepot and refilled the cup. “Mr. Kelby,” he said, “Melissa has a going business in a boom mining camp. If she stays with it, she can become rich. Operating a business up here is quite simple, and down there in California it is quite otherwise.
“True, she is barely going to make expenses this winter, but she will be on the ground when the crowds come in next spring. She has worked hard, very hard, to build this business. She built the business not for what she has done but for what she will do.”
“That’s what I have been telling him,” Melissa said.
“But the winter will be hard for a woman,” Kelby protested. “I am only thinking of her.”
“Of course,” Trevallion said.
“After we are married I shall be helping her with the business,” Kelby said. “I am sure with a bit of assistance in the management she can do much better.”
Melissa flushed. “Now, Vern, we had not decided anything of the kind,” she protested.
“I think—” Trevallion started to say, when Kelby interrupted.
His irritation was obvious. “Look,” he said, “I realize you are a friend of Melissa’s but that doesn’t give you reason to run her life. She will do what she wishes. When you finish your coffee, I would suggest you leave.”
Trevallion put down his cup. His face showed nothing. “Melissa,” he spoke quietly, “suppose you tell him.”
“Vern,” she said hastily, “you don’t understand! Trevallion is my partner. He put up some of the money to get me started, he and Jim Ledbetter. Without them I would have had no business.”
He flushed angrily. “You did not tell me!”
“No reason why she should,” Trevallion replied. “Her business affairs are confidential. They are her own business and hers alone.
“As of this moment, if she sold out she would have almost nothing. If she stays on here she can become very well off. It is a business she has built by hard work and her skill at baking. Furthermore, I am afraid that Jim Ledbetter and I did not have any plans for taking on a manager. If you two get married, that is your affair and none of ours. How the business is conducted is another thing.”
“I see.” He got up. “I am afraid I did not understand.”
“Vern, please! There’s no need to be angry.”
“You could have told me before I made a fool of myself.”
“Mr. Kelby,” Trevallion said, “in the course of a week there are several hundred men come in here. All of them are friendly. I venture to say that Melissa has had at least fifty proposals since she has been in town. Naturally, she could not tell her business affairs to every one of them.
“Melissa has done all the hard work. The business is moving, growing, but it is the future that holds promise. She has handled her business very
, very well. I would suggest to you, sir, that Melissa is an uncommonly practical young lady, with a good business sense.”
“The winters here are cruel,” he protested. “She’s not strong enough. I simply do not want her to have to go through all that.”
Trevallion smiled. “Mr. Kelby, you are right. The winters are tough, but I think you underestimate Melissa. When spring comes she will be here, and all the stronger for it. I know very little about women, but I have observed that there’s often a lot of steel in some of those fragile-seeming girls.”
Kelby glanced at her. “I doubt if I shall stay. I want to be where there are lights and music and some sunshine.”
Kelby left, and Trevallion turned to Melissa. “Have you heard from Jim?”
“No, I haven’t. The weather has been bad over the mountains, and I guess he’s waiting for a break.”
Trevallion finished his coffee and went up the street to Lyman Jones’s saloon. There was a sheet-iron stove inside, and men were clustered about it, almost as many as were at the bar.
Trevallion ordered a beer and listened, for this was the surest way to pick up the news. Jones himself brought him his beer, and Trevallion asked, “Seen Jim Ledbetter around?”
Jones shook his head. “No, can’t say I have.”
Tapley came in and he beckoned to the Arkansawyer. “Seen Jim?”
“No, I ain’t, and that there is a worrisome thing. Knowin’ Jim, I’d say he’d push to get at least one more trip in before the passes closed. He’s got good stock, and if anybody could make it, he could. Besides, he’d have plenty of folks to take back with him.”
A big man in a red blanket coat turned around, asking, “You fellers stayin’?”
“I reckon,” Tapley replied.
“Got me a good claim I’d sell cheap,” Trevallion noticed the callouses on the man’s hands, “and this here’s no pipe dream.”
“Why don’t you work it your own self, then?” Tapley asked.
“Wife’s sick. Got to get her outside to a doctor. I been minin’ ten year, and this here’s the best I’ve seen. Silver, with a showin’ of gold. It ain’t showin’ much right now, but she’s there, I know it is.”
“Where’s it lie?” Trevallion asked.
“Up the hill a way. If you’re interested, I’ll show you.” He gestured around. “This bunch is on their uppers as much as I am. I’ll need cash on the barrelhead, no deals.”
“Let’s have a look,” Trevallion suggested.
As they went out into the cold, the man said, “My name’s MacNeale. You’re Trevallion, aren’t you? Seen you over to Rough an’ Ready a time or two, and on the Yuba.
“Remember John Mackay? Quiet sort, an Irishman with a mite of a stutter? He’s here, he and O’Brien have a place on the mountain above the Ophir.”
“I remember him. A good, steady man.”
The claim was at the top of Union Street, and the location did not look too good. MacNeale had put a shaft down fifteen feet and started a drift following a lead that looked promising.
MacNeale showed him several samples from a sack near the shaft. Samples were, of course, usually carefully chosen from the best ore.
“Look,” MacNeale said, “I’m in a bind. This here’s all I’ve got, and all the men with cash money have gone out to California. I’ve got to get my wife out of here right now, and I don’t have more’n twenty bucks to my name. You name it and I’ll take it.”
“I haven’t much, myself,” Trevallion said, “and there’s a long winter ahead. I’ll give you two hundred in gold.”
“I’ll take it.”
MacNeale held out his hand and they shook hands. Trevallion stood for a moment, looking around him, studying the lay of the land. The ore bodies on the Ophir, Central, and Mexican claims had been exposed for some three hundred odd feet and the indications were good. Something in excess of thirty tons had just been shipped to the coast for refining.
Descending into the shaft again, he walked along the drift. He held his lamp so the light could shine to the best effect, and he studied the vein. It was very thin but seemed to widen toward the tunnel’s face.
What lay beyond? It was anybody’s guess, but he had a good feeling about it.
“Come on, we’ll weigh out the gold.” He paused for a moment and said, “MacNeale, I think you’re right. I think the claim is a good one, and I’m not one to take advantage. I’m paying you the two hundred, but I’m going to give you five percent on top of that.”
MacNeale flushed. “Now that’s mighty straight, but I—”
“It was your discovery. You get five percent of whatever we get, which may be nothing at all.”
When he had paid out the gold, his sack was somewhat lighter. He hefted it thoughtfully. He might have enough for another buy, and now was the time. In the spring the Californians would be coming in with money and know-how, and they would start things moving. He tucked away the bill of sale in his pocket and said, “Now, Tap, we’ll go see what happened to Jim.”
“I’ll be goin’ west m’self,” MacNeale said, “and I’ll have a look about.”
“We will go now,” Trevallion said, “you will have no time for looking about, and you with a sick wife.”
“Nonetheless, I’ll have my eyes open,” MacNeale said, “but you’d better look alive yourselves. There’s those about who would kill a man for a two-bit piece.”
They rode down the trail in the evening with a gray sky overhead and a wind behind them. They rode down to the trading post first, but they saw no mules nor had they word of a pack train.
“Woodford’s,” Tapley said. “Might be he stopped there, with the wind and all.”
The hoofs of their mules clattered on the frozen road. There was a sifting of snow in the air.
“If he’s caught in the passes—”
“He’s a canny man, Jim is. He knows that trail better than either of us, and he knows places to hole up that we do not.”
“There will be tracks then,” Tapley said.
They pushed on into the growing storm, with snow falling thick about them.
Darkness came and the thick snow falling. “Tap,” Trevallion said, “we’d best camp or there’ll be somebody out looking for us. We’ll find nothing in this.”
“Aye,” Tapley drew up, peering about.
Trevallion started to turn from the trail, but the mule would have none of it. He tugged at the bit, wanting to go on.
“Tap,” Trevallion loosened the rein, “the mule knows something. I’m going to let him have his head.”
“First time I ever heard of a mule wanting to go on,” Tapley grumbled, “but he may. They’re uncanny smart, mules are.”
The black mule broke into a trot, plunging ahead into the thick snow. For several minutes he forged ahead. Finally Tapley called out, “Trev, I think that mule’s crazy! We’re getting nowhere, nowhere at all!”
Suddenly the mules drew up, hee-hawing into the storm. From somewhere ahead and off in the woods, there came an answering call.
“I’ll be damned!” Tapley said.
The wind whipped snow in their faces, catching their breath. The mule pushed on, buck-jumping through drifts, and suddenly they came upon the body of a mule, beyond it a dozen others huddled together.
“Jim?” Trevallion called.
“Over here,” the voice was faint. “For God’s sake, hurry!”
CHAPTER 15
He was lying in the snow behind a log, half-sheltered by brush, his face twisted by pain.
“Bust a leg?” Tapley asked.
“Like hell! I was shot! Shot, damn it, by a bunch of murdering scum! Get me out of here, will you?”
Trevallion wasted no time. He made a hasty bed of boughs and covered it with Jim’s slicker. Then he helped Tapley lift the injured man over the
log to the makeshift bed.
Quickly he crumpled bark in his fists, gathered twigs and, in a matter of minutes, had a small fire going. “When did it happen?” he asked.
“Been lyin’ there two days,” Ledbetter grumbled. “They was lyin’ in wait when I come around the bend just below here, and they shot me out of the saddle, killed my mule.
“Fallin’, I grabbed my rifle and got off a couple of shots. One of them started for the mules, and I dusted his scalp. You’ll find his hat lying yonder, unless they sneaked back to get it.
“After a bit they gave up on me and drove off six or seven of my mules. I’d hunkered down behind this log because they might come back, and sure enough, they did.
“They knew they had lead into me and figured I’d be dead, but I taught ’em otherwise. I put one of them down—gut-shot him—and they pulled out again.”
“Know who they were?”
“I caught a glimpse of one of them. Take a look for that hat, might tell us something.”
Tapley had rounded up the mules and got their packs off. Moving out at that hour was beyond question, so they banked snow around to keep out the wind and visibility for any interlopers.
Trevallion cut away the pant-leg and examined the leg. It was broken below the knee, and there was a bad gash where the bullet had torn through the flesh. Evidently a ricochet from the nature of the wound.
“Killed a good mule,” Ledbetter grumbled. “Lucky I wasn’t riding Emma. She’s my best. She was feeling poorly, so I left her behind this trip.”
“How many were there?”
“Six, maybe seven. That one I gut-shot, he just isn’t going to make it. I’d bet on it. I scratched another one or two.”
“What did they get?”
“Flour, sugar, coffee, some canned goods, and two mule-loads of blankets. I’ll have to take a look to make sure. Most of the mules just stood. They know my voice, and also they don’t stampede worth a damn. Those men yelled and threw rocks, but it was no use. The mules they got were some of the newer ones.”
Trevallion bathed the wound with hot water, finding no evidence of infection, probably due to the cold. How the man had survived was a miracle, but he had seen too many such things to be surprised.
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