“This here’s a fine, big, beautiful country, and men like Bill Stewart are bringing law into it, but they’ve got a ways to go, and they cannot punish crimes that taken place far away and long ago.”
“I see.” She stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Teale. I wanted to know. Please do not mention the subject of our conversation.”
“No, ma’am.”
She turned away, then paused. “Mr. Teale? What will Trevallion do now?”
He shrugged. “Kill the rest of ’em, although I think he’s kind of out of the notion.”
“Out of the notion? Why do you say that?”
“Because there’s at least one of them in town. He knows it an’ he ain’t killed him.” He hesitated, looking around for a spittoon. He found it, spat, and then added, “Fact is, two more of them just rode in, and he doesn’t know that.”
“Why? Why do they come here? Now?”
“That I don’t know, ma’am. I only know they come in, bold as brass, and by now they will have found Waggoner.”
“Waggoner?”
“He was one of them, ma’am. One of that crowd back in Missouri. He was there in the crowd tonight. I seen him.”
“At the theater? Watching my show?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was there. Trevallion seen him, too.” He paused. “Ma’am? I don’t figure to scare you, you bein’ the kind of woman you are, but Waggoner didn’t take his seat until just before the second act. He sat down just before you come on stage.”
She was silent, thinking. After a moment she got up. “Thank you, Mr. Teale. You have been most helpful. I am not frightened, and I wish always to know when there may be trouble. Otherwise, how can I prepare for it? I had believed myself a bystander, now I realize this is not the case. He must be aware of me. He must know something about me, or want something I have.”
“Ma’am, don’t you worry. I’ll be around. Them others, those actors? Will they stand?”
“I believe they will, Mr. Teale.”
“That one? The tallest one? I seem to have seen him someplace before.”
“It isn’t likely, unless you’ve been to the theater in other places than the frontier.” She paused. “Thank you, Mr. Teale. And good night.”
Alone in her room, Margrita—she had dropped the Marguerita long since, shortening it and making it simpler—undressed and prepared for bed. Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought of what had taken place.
She was, she supposed, a beautiful woman. She had been told so often enough in the past few years but was unimpressed by it. The world in which she had grown up had been one where talent and intelligence counted for much more than beauty, and the idea of being beautiful was one that had never impressed her.
Now she was asking herself why she had come here. Had she not been doing well enough abroad? Well, to tell the truth, no. Not as well as she wished, nor as well as she must. As much as she loved the theater, it was a means to an end rather than a way of life. She wanted to find a place for herself, a place where she belonged, that was hers.
From all she had heard, the quickest way to some sort of financial security was in western America. Now she was no longer sure. Jenny Lind had found great success in America, but hers was a special case. The same was true of Lotta, who had done well and, thanks to her watchful mother, had kept most of what she had gotten.
Of course, part of it might be the wish to complete something she had begun, or her parents had begun. They had started west, to find a new home in California. It had been a dream, a dream they had all shared, and a dream suddenly aborted on that awful night.
Yet she was here. If not in California, she was as close as one could be, and she had already made up her mind it was to California she would return.
Tonight had been good. They had played to a packed house, and they were sold out for the week. True, the La Plata Hall was not large, and the makeshift boxes she had installed were not much of a help. She must vary her bills and she would need another woman, an older woman. The new costumes had been a good idea, even if it had cost her a good bit; the people liked the glitter and color.
Waggoner, who was he? Why was he interested in her? The old nagging memory was there, of a face once seen, of someone who had stared at her mother back on the streets of Missouri, of being frightened.
She shook her head to dispel the memory. Absurd. It was some fancied resemblance. Yet, why was he interested in her? Was he somehow tied in with those attempted robberies? But those had been in San Francisco.
She turned out the gas and started for bed, then she stopped and walked to the window, looking down into the dimly lit street.
The saloons were still open, casting some light across the boardwalks; there was still a sound of music, and between numbers she could hear the rattle of poker chips.
The pound of the compressors was like the pound of her heart. Even up here, even at this hour, she could feel the excitement, the restlessness, the eagerness.
She wanted to be down there in the street, she wanted to be part of it. She wanted to own a mine, to see the silver ore coming to the surface, to see it being milled. Impatiently, she turned to her bed and got under the covers, realizing for the first time how cold it was up here at night.
She lay still, then turned on her side and closed her eyes. They opened suddenly.
That boy, he was a man now. He was Trevallion. Didn’t he have a first name? Nobody called him anything but Trevallion.
He had been in the theater, why had he not come around to see her? It was not as if they were strangers. Well, not completely strangers. And what of that money of hers he was taking care of? He might at least give her an accounting.
It probably wasn’t much. All gone now, no doubt. Anyway, he would not remember her after all these years. Why should he? They had been children. It was silly of her to even—
He might be married!
She punched her pillow into a different shape. Well, what if he was?
Trevallion, the name had a sound to it. But what was a name? It meant nothing until you made it mean something, just like you yourself were only what you made yourself become.
But Trevallion did have a sound, and that was because it stood for something to the men who spoke it.
Those mining shares she had were for some company in California. Did someone tell her that company was now operating here? Maybe she was already in the mining business!
* * *
—
Trevallion took a roundabout route back to the cabin, and before entering, he checked the thread he had tied across the tunnel mouth. It was still there.
He unlocked his door and stepped inside. A small fire still showed red ashes in the stove. He added a few sticks, stirred it up, and sat down on the edge of the bunk to pull off his boots.
A beautiful woman…a beautiful, beautiful woman!
And a fine actress. Not really the best he had seen, but close to it. And she had a way about her, the way she moved, the way she talked.
He checked his gun as he did every night and placed it on the chair beside his bed. He put his boots close, too. He always kept some clothing ready to hand, and had ever since that earthquake in ’57, when he was down in the Tehachapi country.
Waggoner, should he call him?
He had been one of them and he had tried to kill him; now he was watching her. But he could not guess that she had been there. Waggoner would not even know there was a little girl.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door. He lifted up on one elbow, his hand reaching out for his gun. “All right, what is it?”
It was Tapley. “Didn’t want to bother you, but there’s going to be trouble in court in the morning. Bill Stewart’s got one of Sam Brown’s friends on trial, and Sam says he’s going to run the jury clear out of the country. You know Bill won’t stand for that.”
>
“I’ll be there.”
Sam Brown—well, it was time. Trevallion turned over and closed his eyes. If he knew Bill Stewart, Bill wouldn’t need any help.
Not even with Sam Brown.
CHAPTER 39
Trevallion was saddling the black mule when Tapley came into the stable. “Jim’s joinin’ us as we ride through town,” Tapley explained. “A couple of the other boys rode down last night.”
“They’re trying the case in Genoa?”
“That’s right. Sam Brown’s been loud talking about what he’ll do to that court, and he’s taking a bunch with him.”
Ledbetter was waiting outside the bakery. He stepped into the saddle, and they rode rapidly out of Virginia City and down the mountain. The morning was cold, the sky clear, and the stars very bright. Nobody talked.
“What d’ you want us to do, Trev?” Tapley asked.
“Stewart will have to deal with Brown. If anybody starts to interfere we’ll stop them. Keep your eyes on the crowd.”
“Stewart’s got nerve. He’d charge hell with a bucket of water.” Ledbetter spat. “He’s about six-two and he weighs maybe one-ninety. He’s a Yale man who took his postgraduate courses in the toughest mining camps in California. When this Territory gets to be a state, he’s the man we want for senator, or governor.”
The courtroom was crowded when they entered. Standing along the wall on either side of the door, they could observe all those who were seated before them. Sam Brown had deliberately taken a seat in the first row where he could glower at the jurors.
One of the Brown faction looked around as they came in and nudged the man beside him. Both turned to look. Trevallion hooked his thumb behind his belt a few inches from his pistol butt. He did not look at the Brown men when he did so, but he knew they were watching.
Judge Cradlebaugh was presiding. He did not like Sam Brown, nor was he afraid of him. Some of the jury obviously were quite afraid, having heard Brown’s threats to come down and clean out the place. When preparing for a fight, Brown always braided his long whiskers and tied them across his throat as some protection from a knife. He had done so now.
Suddenly, he stood up. What his intentions were he never had a chance to disclose, for Bill Stewart, acting as prosecuting attorney, turned sharply around. In each hand he held a .44 derringer. “All right, Brown,” he said, “get your hands up!”
Startled, Brown lifted his arms. “You,” Stewart indicated the bailiff, “disarm him.”
Whatever else Brown was, he was no fool. He knew that if he made a move Bill Stewart would kill him. He stood perfectly still until Stewart gestured with a gun. “Take the stand.”
When Sam Brown was seated, Stewart approached the stand. “Sam, you have made your boast that you would come down here and swear your friend free. That you would scare the living daylights out of judge and jury, and you’d walk right out of here with your friend.”
Stewart held up a Bible. “Sam, do you know what this is?”
“It’s a Bible,” Sam muttered.
“A Bible. You are correct, Sam. But what is a Bible?” Stewart leaned toward Brown. “Sam, this Bible is the Word of God!” He thundered the last words, then turned sharply. “Bailiff, swear him in! To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!”
Stewart stood back until the swearing ceremony was complete. “Now, Sam,” he said, “you have sworn to tell the truth, and the whole truth. You have sworn that on the Word of God.
“The Good Lord watches over us, Sam Brown, and he is watching over us now. He knows the truth, as do you. You have sworn to tell the truth and you must, no matter what.”
Stewart paused, then more gently, he asked, “Sam, did you ever kill a man?”
Brown laughed, looking around the room. “I reckon,” he said.
“How many men, Sam? And remember, you are under oath.”
“Well, sixteen, maybe. I forget.”
“Sixteen men. That’s quite a few, isn’t it, Sam? I don’t suppose many men ever killed that many, do you?”
“Naw! That there Peel, him they call the Chief, he never killed half that many!”
“I suppose not. I guess you’ve killed more men than any of them, Sam. Now take the one you killed down in the saloon a while back? The one you cut up with a bowie knife? And then you laid down on the billiard table and went to sleep, was that it?”
Sam looked around proudly. “Why not? Killin’ a man doesn’t mean nothin’ to me!”
“I guess not. I imagine you’re about as tough as they come, Sam. I’ve seen you around town, and I’ve told myself, ‘now there’s a really hard man!’ ”
He paused again. “That man you cut up, Sam? What kind of a knife did he have?”
“Him? He didn’t have no—” Sam stopped abruptly, looking around uneasily. “I don’t know what kind of knife he had.”
“Sam, you’re under oath now. About a week ago I saw you come out of your house, and then you backed right into it and came out the back door. Why, Sam?”
“Why? If you seen it, you don’t need me to tell you! It was a big black cat ran across in front of me!”
“Of course, Sam. I did see it. A man would be a damned fool to invite bad luck that way. You did the smart thing, Sam. A man as bright as you are could see the danger right off.
“Of course, you also know that having a black cat cross your path isn’t one-tenth, not one-hundredth the bad luck that it is if you break your oath. You know that, don’t you, Sam?”
“I know it!”
“Sam, that man you killed? He wasn’t carrying a knife, was he?”
“No.”
“What kind of a gun did he have, Sam?”
“He didn’t have no gun, he—”
Sam stopped again.
“Unarmed, then you killed an unarmed man, Sam. You killed a man who didn’t have a chance to fight back, didn’t you, Sam?”
“I—”
“And he was drunk, too, wasn’t he, Sam? He was falling down drunk, isn’t that so?”
Stewart paused. “Now, Sam, you aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
“I ain’t afraid of nobody!”
“Of course not. And if someone claimed that you were testifying up here because you were scared, that wouldn’t be true, would it?”
“No! Why the hell should I be scared of you?”
“Exactly! Some might say I am intimidating a witness, Sam, but you aren’t intimidated by me, are you?”
“Hell, no! I ain’t ascared of nobody!”
“Of course not. So you’re not afraid to admit that man you killed was unarmed. No weapon was found on him, was there, Sam?”
“None I know of.” Sam was uneasy. His brow was beaded with sweat. He mopped at it. “I don’t know. He might have had somethin’. I don’t know.”
“He was unarmed. That makes you a murderer, Sam. Not a chief. Not a gunfighter who gives a man an even break, but a murderer.”
Brown started to rise. “Now, you see here!”
Stewart lifted his derringers. “Sit down, Sam. And remember, you’re still under oath. If you lie while you are under oath, Sam, you’ll have no more good luck. Not ever. Not one bit.
“The truth of the matter is, Sam, that most of the men you killed were either blind drunk or unarmed.
“In fact, Sam, at the Battle of Pyramid Lake you threw Baldwin, a wounded man, off his horse so you could escape. You thought that was pretty smart, Sam, but the fact is that you showed yourself for what you are.
“You’re a coward, Sam, a dirty, low-down, stinking coward, not fit for human society! Now get out of here! And if I ever find you in a courtroom again, unless you’re on trial, I am liable to lose what little patience I have left. Get off the stand! Get out! And take that rabble with you!”
Soa
ked with sweat, Sam blundered toward the door and into the street. For a moment he paused, staring wildly about. He made a half move to turn about, then went down the road toward the store. After a moment the others followed, very subdued, looking neither to right nor left.
Trevallion walked to the door and watched them go. Ledbetter lit a cigar. “That’ll finish Brown. He’s got to either face Stewart and kill him or leave the country.”
“He’ll try to kill him, or somebody. Nobody will be afraid of him now.”
Once in the saddle they turned toward Gold Canyon. Ledbetter rode in silence for some distance and then he said, “Trev, by the looks of the ore I’ve seen from that hole in the ground of yours, you’ve got a good mine. Why don’t you bring in some more men and really sink her down? If it is capital you need—”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Trevallion admitted. “So far it’s been paying its own way, allowing for the work I do. To strike the main ore body, I think I’d have to go down at least two hundred feet, and that’s expensive.”
“You give it some thought. I’d go in with you.”
Trevallion hesitated. “Nobody I’d rather go partners with, but you know how I am, Jim. Least thing and I am liable to take off.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” Ledbetter replied testily. “There’s no harder working man on the Comstock! And that wandering off, that’s kid stuff. It’s time both of us settled down, and you know it.”
Ledbetter paused. “Moreover, we need you here. With the war on, the President is going to need silver. You’re worth a sight more here than anywhere else.
“You say you’re a Cornishman, but this is where you make your living, and this is where you’ve chosen to live, and you’re a citizen. The most important thing right now is keeping the country together.”
They rode on in silence and then Tapley said, “Trev? You know that Eldorado Johnny? They tell me he’s ridin’ into Virginia City huntin’ Farmer Peel.”
“The worst of it is,” Ledbetter added, “he’ll find him. Langford Peel never backed off from anybody.”
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