by Linda Ladd
His only choice, he supposed, was to put up with both of them until they reached San Francisco. Then Windsor and the kid would be on their own. It would be easier to give them the slip in the city, and he could telegraph Gray for money and let him know he was all right. But getting there was still the problem. He just hoped they could catch an express west without too much trouble.
Hell, he thought, even if they did manage to catch a train, it would probably be blown up by Indians or held up by outlaws. Or both, the way his luck had been running. After all he had been through, he was surprised he was still alive.
For most of the day, they picked their way down the slippery, ice-coated trail that ran parallel to the railway bed. In several areas the Indians had been at work, prying up tracks or burning bridges. No wonder Silverville was so cut off from the rest of the country. It would take months for the construction crews to rebuild the trestles.
Forging on, Stone forced his mind to go blank, determined to reach the refueling station that used to lie at the fork of Wilson Creek. He didn't want to spend a night out in the cold where the Cheyenne could spot their campfire and where he'd have to listen to Sun-On-Wings serenade Windsor with his damned courting flute. The boy could talk all he wanted about becoming a Chinese priest, but the adoring looks he continually cast in Windsor's direction told Stone a different tale. The kid was in love with her, all right. Enough to leave his people and go wherever she led him. Stone knew how that felt. He'd follow her to China and back to get what he wanted. Sexual frustration was a new experience for him, and he hated it. And with each passing day, it was getting worse instead of better.
Near dusk, Stone drew up his horse, relieved to see a building in the distance. The creek running beside it shone in the setting sun like a silver ribbon, and he was elated when he saw a wisp of black smoke drifting from the chimney.
"It looks like we're finally going to have some good luck for a change," he called back to Windsor, then urged his horse onward.
Not long after, he dismounted at the front of the depot. Before he could tie his reins to the post, the front door swung open, and he found himself looking into the double barrels of a shotgun.
"Hold it right there, mister."
Stone held it right there. He raised his hands. "We don't want trouble. We just need some help. We've been stranded out here since our train was ambushed by the Pawnee a couple of months ago."
"Then why you got that Injun with you?" the voice growled suspiciously.
So much for Sun-On-Wings' disguise, Stone thought. "He's a friend. He's all right, you have my word."
"What's that he's got ridin' on his back?"
"It's a monkey, but it's tame," Stone answered, feeling stupid giving such an answer. "None of us wants to cause you any trouble."
"All Injuns is trouble. You ain't been 'round here much if you don't know that yet. So git. I ain't trustin' no Injun-lover in my place."
"Look, my name is Stone Kincaid. My family owns the Kincaid Railway Company out of Chicago. Surely you've heard of it. If you can get a telegraph through to Chicago, I can prove everything I say."
The gun lowered a degree. "Stone Kincaid, you say? I got an inquiry about that feller a month or so back. If you're him, seems your family's lookin' for you. I reckon if they's a reward out for findin' you, I oughta get it."
Relieved, Stone nodded. "That's right. I'll see that it's worth your while to help us."
"Then I reckon you can come on in."
The door opened to reveal a short, wiry man of about forty. His face was heavily lined and covered with deep pock scars, but he grinned, revealing long white teeth as Stone followed him inside with Windsor and Sun-On-Wings on his heels.
"Sorry for holdin' the gun on you," the stationmaster was saying, "but you don't live long out here in the mountains if you ain't real careful-like. The depot man afore me—he got done in by drifters and left outside for the buzzards to pick. They didn't find him for near a month. The name's Robinson, Mr. Kincaid."
The man held out his hand, and Stone shook it. It felt greasy. "We certainly appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Robinson. We've been up at Silverville and the Ringnard Mine."
"At Sweet Sue's, I reckon. Boy, ain't she some woman?"
"Yes, she is," Stone said, glancing at Windsor.
"You hungry?" Robinson asked. "I got some black beans and corn pone cooked up back there on the stove."
"Yeah. We all could use a bite to eat, if you have plenty. When's the next express coming through?"
"Don't rightly know." The man paused as he dipped up a ladle of beans and dumped it on a plate that looked none too clean. "Supposed to be one in the morning, but with the Injuns cuttin' up the lines and pryin' off the rails, we don't run true to schedule no more."
"Is it a Kincaid express?"
"Nope, it's running outta St. Louie."
"I don't have any cash, but I can telegraph for some as soon as—"
"I have much gold."
At Windsor's surprising revelation, Stone turned to look at her. She stepped forth and pulled a small black silk pouch from inside her clothing. She spilled the contents onto the scarred table, the heavy coins clattering loudly against the wood surface.
"I'll be danged. You's a girl, ain't you? I can tell by your voice." The man grinned as if proud of himself.
"She's a nun," Stone said quickly, aware of the way Robinson's eyes were now intently surveying the front of Windsor's body. "Where'd you get all that money?" he asked her.
"My mother gave it to me."
"Your mother? I didn't know you had a mother."
Robinson snorted out a chortle. "Near everybody has a mother at one time 'nother, I reckon."
Stone ignored him, more interested in hearing Windsor's reply.
"She is in San Francisco. Are the coins enough to buy tickets to go there?" she asked Robinson.
"You told me you were an orphan and that you were raised by priests!" Stone accused.
"Why, little lady, that there's enough gold to buy out half of St. Louie," Robinson answered.
"That is good," Windsor said, nodding at the stationmaster. "Then I would like to purchase three tickets. I will carry Jun-li in my bamboo case."
"No ride in belly of iron horse," Sun-On-Wings decreed from behind them.
"Why didn't you tell me you had a mother in San Francisco?" Stone demanded furiously. "Who is she?"
"You did not ask me, Stone Kincaid. She will welcome us into her household." Windsor then turned to address the worried Indian. "You will have to ride the train if you wish to accompany us. There is no other way."
"No ride in belly of smoking beast. Bad medicine."
"Then you'll have to get back to your village the best way you can," Stone snapped, his temper getting the best of him again.
"You must think long and hard through the night, Sun-On-Wings," Windsor said soothingly. "This is a great decision you must make. If you board the iron horse, you cannot return easily to your people, for it will take us far away."
"You're gonna hafta pay for the beans, too," Robinson chimed in suddenly, greedily eyeing Windsor's cache.
"Take all the gold pieces you wish," Windsor told him generously. "I have no need of money."
"Wait a minute," Stone intervened at once, stopping Robinson's hand as he reached for the small fortune lying on the table. Stone picked up one coin and tossed it to the stationmaster. "That's more than enough to pay for our fare and the beans."
Disappointed, the man wiped his nose with his forearm, then finished dipping out their supper. Stone carried his plate to the corner where Windsor and Sun-On-Wings had taken places at a rickety table. While he ate, he watched Robinson. The gold that Windsor had spilled out with such naive disregard was enough to provide a whole lifetime of luxury for the grubby, keen-eyed depot man. Plenty enough to kill three strangers for. Stone sighed, well aware he wouldn't get much sleep that night, either.
13
The high and barren hills of San Fr
ancisco were wrapped in the eerie fog that drifted nightly into the city to muffle the cold, deserted streets. As he left the Ferry House at the foot of Market Street, Stone peered through the creeping mist that swirled along the ground. He hadn't been to California in three years, and now that he had finally arrived, he found it difficult to believe the trip from Chicago had taken him nearly two months.
Exhausted from lack of sleep and constant hardship, all he wanted was a bed, a soft one with clean sheets. After a good night's rest, he would be ready to proceed. Windsor Richmond, on the other hand, looked and acted as fresh as a newly sprouted daisy blossom. She never seemed to tire or grow weary, even though she had spent most of the week on the train performing her monotonous, droning incantations while he had sat and watched her, all the while struggling desperately inside himself to keep his hands off her.
As for Sun-On-Wings, once they had finally persuaded him to venture up the iron steps and into the passenger car, he had shown a lively interest in everything he laid eyes on, from the black silk tassels on the window shades to the brass cuspidors beside each seat. At the moment, the kid was even more absorbed in the wonders of downtown San Francisco as he stared awestricken at the lamplight casting a yellow glow in the fog high above his head.
"The Concord Hotel is just up Market Street. It's late. We better stay there tonight," Stone suggested, not wanting to waste any time.
"No. We must go to the household of my mother. Sun-On-Wings will be welcome there. Come, I will show you the way."
Before Stone could object, Windsor hurried off down a dark sidewalk, Jun-li in the bamboo case slung over her back, her rapid pace disrupting the damp mists along the ground. Sun-On-Wings followed without hesitation, and Stone brought up the rear, beginning to wonder about Windsor's family. Lord, what kind of mother would a girl like Windsor have? Certainly not any run-of-the-mill lady, he thought. More likely she would be something novel, like a circus juggler or a gypsy fortuneteller.
His curiosity grew as Windsor led them down Market to the point where it forked into California Street, then traveled west a block or so. Before they reached Powell Street, she turned north on a road that rose on a steep incline. Nob Hill, he thought, an area he had heard was fast becoming one of the most exclusive in the city. Due to the late hour, many of the elaborate brick homes were dark, but the tall stone walls and ornate, iron-spiked gates bespoke wealth and power.
Whoever Windsor's mother was, she obviously resided in the most prestigious part of San Francisco, one equal to Lincoln Avenue in Chicago, where his own family had their palatial home. Or perhaps Windsor had lost her bearings in the murky haze obliterating the street markers and house numbers. He would be surprised indeed if she turned out to have a socially prominent relative in the city. Unless her mother was a servant in one of the houses, he realized suddenly. That would certainly be the most reasonable explanation.
"There. That is the house of my mother."
His expression dubious, Stone eyed the four-story, red brick mansion. At the higher elevation, the mists had dissipated enough for him to make out the Italianate facade with its impressive portico, six bay windows, and fancy gabled roofline.
"You're telling me that your mother lives up there in that house?"
"Yes. I do not understand. Your voice sounds as if you do not believe me."
"Who the hell is she? The Queen of Sheba?"
Windsor looked at him as if she thought he was very strange. "No. My mother is not a queen. Her name is Amelia Richmond Cox."
"Cox?" Stone furrowed his brow, trying to place the name. It suddenly dawned on him who her mother must be. "Not the Cox family who owns all the gold mines?"
"Yes. Do you know her?"
"I've heard of the family." Stone's brother, Gray, had once been interested in forming a partnership with Cox Mines when rail lines had first reached San Francisco. The deal hadn't worked out, but Stone remembered reading the report that had summarized the Cox holdings. The figures estimating their wealth had been mind-boggling.
"Aren't we showing up unannounced a little late?" Stone asked Windsor as they passed beneath the ornate scrolled pillars and stopped in front of an eight-foot-high front door of intricately designed stained glass. A huge Christmas wreath made of fir boughs and red ribbons decorated the entrance. Good God, Stone thought, he had forgotten all about Christmas. He wasn't even sure what day it was.
"My mother will wish to receive us despite the hour."
Windsor turned the doorbell key, which initiated a shrill ring inside the house. After many minutes had passed with no answer, she knocked loudly and rattled the door handle. Finally, a flickering light appeared dimly behind the thick crimson-and-gold panes. When the portal was opened, a young Chinese boy squinted sleepily at them, holding out a chimneyed oil lamp to light their faces.
Windsor smiled. "It is Windsor, Ning-Ying. I have returned."
Ning-Ying beamed when he heard her voice, laughing and performing a quick bow from the waist. "Enter, please. We have waited long for you."
Windsor bowed in turn. "Thank you, Ning-Ying. These are my new friends. This is Sun-On-Wings. He is a great Osage warrior."
Pleased at her complimentary description, Sun-On-Wings nodded, then bent in a newly learned Chinese bow.
"And this is Stone Kincaid, the man I wished to kill."
Stone wasn't nearly as thrilled with his introduction, but the Chinese boy bowed to him with every bit as much courtesy.
"Ning-Ying? Did I hear someone knocking at the door?"
Stone lifted his gaze to the massive mahogany staircase that rose at right angles at the rear of the spacious entry hall. A small woman stood at the corner landing, leaning over the glossy carved banister and clutching her black quilted wrapper together at the throat.
Windsor was the one who answered. "Mother, do not be alarmed. It is I. Your daughter, Windsor."
The woman moved around the newel-post and into the light cast by a gold gas lamp affixed to the wall. Even in the glow of the dim jets, Stone could ascertain both relief and joy written across the woman's face as she gazed down at her child. Amelia Richmond Cox loved her daughter very much, he knew that at once, and she was not as old as Stone had expected her to be, most likely somewhere in her late thirties. Stone could readily see where Windsor had inherited her delicate, patrician features. Amelia was a beauty, too.
As she moved down the stairs, she appeared graceful and elegant, though now her face was composed, making it more difficult for Stone to read her emotions.
"I'm very glad you have come home safely, Windsor," she said in a cultured, low-pitched voice. "Ning-Ying and I were beginning to worry about you."
"I am sorry if I caused you concern. As you can see, I am well."
At once, Stone noticed the stiff formality between the two women. Both of them acted extremely uncomfortable with each other. Why?
"Stone Kincaid and Sun-On-Wings are strangers here. They have nowhere to stay in the city," Windsor was saying now. "I beg you to extend an invitation to them. Both have come to my aid when I needed their help."
"Then, of course, they are more than welcome in my home." Amelia Richmond Cox inclined her head graciously in Stone's direction. Her eyes lingered an extra moment on Sun-On-Wings, but Stone could detect no scorn or distaste in her expression. Another short silence ensued, as if the two women were endeavoring to think of something else to say to each other.
"Are you hungry?" Amelia asked a moment later. "I'm sure Ning-Ying could find something good in the pantry. And perhaps while he prepares it, we could sit down together and you could tell me about your journey."
"We are very tired," Windsor replied, effectively curtailing her mother's idea.
"Of course. I understand. Come, I will show your friends to the guest rooms." Amelia smiled slightly, obviously unsure of how to deal with her daughter. Again Stone contemplated the strangeness of their strained behavior.
"I have a surprise for you, Windsor, a Christmas prese
nt," Amelia announced with a hopeful look. "I realize Christmas was several days ago, but I'd be pleased if you'd let me give it to you now."
"Of course, Mother. Thank you."
"Please follow me. And, Ning-Ying, don't forget to bolt the door."
Amelia led them up the steps, which were covered with a wide runner of black-and-gold Persian carpet, to the second-floor corridor, then up a narrower stair to the third story. At the top, Windsor's mother stood back and let her guests precede her. As Stone stepped through the doorway behind Windsor, he paused and stared in openmouthed disbelief.
The wide corridor stretching out before him could just as well have been a royal receiving hall of the Imperial Palace inside the Forbidden City of Peking. Every inch was hung with shimmering panels of the finest silk—crimson, gold, black—all embroidered with beautiful Oriental scenes. Shiny black-lacquered tables set with gold handles, their tops etched with Chinese symbols, lined the walls, placed among low divans with gold-and-black silk cushions. Through the nearest bedchamber door, he could see a gigantic ebony bed atop a draped dais, the canopy of flowing scarlet silk grand enough for an empress.
"Are you pleased, Windsor? Ning-Ying helped me with the decor. Everything came straight from China."
Amelia Cox's question sounded so eager and vulnerable that Stone almost felt sorry for her. He glanced at Windsor to gauge her reaction to the magnificence surrounding them. As far as he could tell, Windsor seemed even more astonished by the lavishness of the decoration than he was. And Sun-On-Wings' eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
In answer to her mother's question, Windsor put her palms together and bowed respectfully to Amelia. "I am most grateful."
The barest flicker of disappointment flitted across Amelia Cox's face, but she quickly hid her reaction by turning to Stone.