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and there would soon be an end to that, so whatever he could find to
supplement his small stake would have to be found quickly.
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On the third day he found a pocket under a boulder where the water spilling
over created a natural riffle and he netted sixty-six dollars in four pans. As
his supplies had run low, he saddled the mule, leaving most of his gear where
it was. He rode down the canyon to its junction at Seven Mile and then
downGoldCanyon , going by a roundabout route that brought him into town from
the north. He had no desire to advertise the location of his camp or his
direction of travel.
At least a dozen new buildings were going up, and he guessed there would be
three or four hundred men in the area. Probably more, for Gold Hill
andSilverCity had become communities.
Melissa met him at the door. "I saw you coming," she said. "Jim's here."
Ledbetter was seated at the table with a cup of coffee and some doughnuts.
"Sit down," he said, "I've been wishful of seeing you."
Trevallion dropped into a chair and accepted the coffee and doughnuts Melissa
put before him. He glanced up at her. "How are you doing?"
Ledbetter chuckled. "You should do so well! She can't bake them fast enough!
My guess is she's staked a better claim than anybody on the lode." He put down
his cup and looked at Trevallion. "How about you?"
"I've been washing a little dust."
"A pan won't do it. You need a rocker, or better still, a sluice."
"Maybe. I may not stay long."
Ledbetter glanced at him thoughtfully but offered no comment. After a moment
he said, "Before the summer is over, there will be three or four thousand men
here."
He sipped his coffee, then dunked a doughnut. "Val," he said, "you be
careful."
Trevallion's expression did not change. Ledbetter was puzzled by him, having
known many men. Trevallion was a slim, dark-featured man with the broad,
powerful shoulders common among men who used a double-jack for hours at a
time. When he smiled, which was rarely, Trevallion was, he reflected, a
remarkably handsome man.
"Somebody's interested in you," he commented. "Asking around here and there.
Have you got enemies?"
"Who hasn't?"
"With your savvy you could become a rich man," Ledbetter commented. "Atwood
over toGrassValley assayed some of that blue stuff they been throwing out.
Runs three thousand to the ton, I hear."
"There's always rumors. I've heard five different stories on how rich it is."
"Surprised they haven't tried to hire you over at the Solomon. They're
sinking a shaft."
"I was asked."
"If you go over there Crockett is all right, a solid man. Hesketh, well, I
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don't know. He's a man I'd watch. He's in touch with some of those high-flyers
inSan Francisco ."
"A bookkeeper, isn't he?"
"Aye, a bookkeeper. Knows every ounce of ore that comes from any claim on the
Comstock, and he's bought a few claims himself. Some of them don't make sense.
He's bought cheap, too."
Trevallion glanced at Melissa. She was filling out a little, eating better,
no doubt. She had two men and a woman working for her now.
"Jim? This man who has been asking for me?"
"Big, slow-moving man. Takes his time, I mean. Handlebar mustache and a bad
scar over one eye. He's no miner, I'll bank on that. I never heard his name,
but he seems to have money enough to live and get around."
Ledbetter finished his coffee and stood up. "Got to get back over to Mormon
Station Genoa, I mean. I'm meeting a Mexican over there with some mules to
sell."
"Branching out?"
"Uh-huh. But one day I'm going to pack it all in and go back toKentucky .
I'll buy me a place there and settle down to raise horses."
He left, and Trevallion refilled his cup. Ledbetter at least had a plan, an
idea of what he wanted. He might never really do what he said, but at least he
had it in mind. He had somewhere to go.
Trevallion gulped a mouthful of coffee, then suddenly angry with himself, he
started to rise. Slowly he sat down again.
There was a man riding by on a rawboned paint gelding, a big man with a
handlebar mustache. As he drew abreast of the bakeshop he squinted his eyes to
stare within. Where Trevallion sat it was dark and shadowy, and there was not
one chance in a hundred the rider could make him out, but Trevallion noticed
something.
The rider had a deep scar over one eye.
XI
TREVALLION HAD NO memory of the man. Watching from where he sat, he saw him
dismount in front of Eilley's and tie his horse there.
His first impulse was to walk down, sit opposite him and give him a chance to
open the ball. Yet there was no use inviting trouble.
His memory for the night of his mother's murder was stark and clear, yet he
had seen only a few of the men's faces, and those only half-seen in the
flickering light from the camp-fires. Yet this man could be one of them.
But why hunthim?Had the deaths of Rory and Skinner alerted them?
The chances of the group still being together were slight. Such men had a way
of drifting, taking up with anyone who was available to do whatever they had
in mind.
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Suppose, however, the man who came from the shadows, the unknown men, knew
what was going on? He was the only one who had come out of it with any money
and somehow he did not fit the pattern of the others. All of them had the look
and manner of typical border ruffians but him. There had been something cold
and calculating about him.
Melissa returned to the table with a cup and filled it from the pot, then
his. "Mr. Trevallion? There's a lot of talk going on about Secession. The men
who come here for coffee argue about it and sometimes they get very angry. I
don't even know what they are talking about."
"It's a matter of States' rights," he said, "and the slavery question is
involved. With most of the men who come in here I believe the slavery question
is secondary to the right of a state to do as it pleases. You must remember
that better than half of the men in camp are from the South, and whether a
state is to be admitted to theUnion as Slave or Free is very important to
them."
"I wish they'd take their arguments somewhere else! That's about all they
talk about except for how dangerous Langford Peel is or who will win when
Heenan and Sayers fight."
"Just listen," he advised, "and stay out of it. They won't expect a woman to
know anything about politics, so you don't have to take sides. Keep your own
conscience and let them debate the issues. Nobody is ever convinced by
argument, anyway. They just think up new reasons for maintaining old positions [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]