Comstock Lode (1981) Read online

  "Fair enough."

  They drew up at a hitching-rail, and both men dismounted. Trevallion looked up at the mountain.Maybe, his brain said,just maybe this is it.

  He glanced at Melissa Turney's blanket-roll. It was pitifully thin. "You'll need a better groundsheet," he said, "and more blankets. It's cold up there."

  "It will be summer soon," she protested.

  "Aye, that it will, but there'll be cold nights aplenty before then."

  "I can't afford it."

  "No problem. I'll stake you that far." He hesitated then suggested, "If you're that serious about the baking, we might go partners for a bit."

  Ledbetter agreed. "I've fifty dollars I'll venture. If you can bake, you'll have all the money you'll need in no time at all."

  "We'd better get what she needs now," Trevallion said. "No need making another trip back down the mountain." He held the door for her as she entered, Ledbetter following. Trevallion was the last one through the door, and the first person he saw was Ramos Kitt.

  Chapter VIII

  For an instant Trevallion had an impulse to turn around and walk out, but if Kitt was in the area, they must one day meet. He was halfway across the room when Kitt turned and saw him.

  Startled, Kitt froze in position, his right hand holding a pair of pants he was examining. Carefully, he put them down.

  "How are you, Ramos? You're looking well."

  Slowly, Ramos Kitt relaxed. "I'm doing all right. I wasn't expecting you."

  Trevallion smiled. "So I noticed. I wasn't expecting you, either."

  Ramos took the makings from his pocket and began to build a cigarette. As he touched the paper to his tongue, he looked over it at Trevallion. "I hear Skinner is dead."

  "Last time I saw him, he was."

  "He was a friend of mine."

  "What was between us was no business of yours. You met him at Butter's Mill, after Marshall's find. What was between us goes back before that."

  "I met him in '54. Butter's was finished by then."

  Trevallion stepped to the bar. "I'll buy a drink, Ramos." Ledbetter and Melissa were watching, puzzled. "There need be no trouble between you and me."

  "He was my friend."

  "Skinner was a friend to no man. A riding partner, maybe. An associate, maybe. But not a friend. Anyway, he's gone. He had a fair shake and he lost."

  "He was good with a gun."

  "But not good enough. Will you have that drink?"

  Ramos hesitated. He was a slim, wiry man who had easy, catlike movements. He wore sideburns and a mustache. "All right."

  They moved to the bar and were served, the man behind the bar large-eyed with awareness.

  "Prospecting?" Kitt asked.

  "In a way."

  "What was it between you an' Obie?"

  Trevallion did not want to talk about it. Neither did he want to kill this man. "He was one of them who killed my mother and father. That was ten years ago."

  "Do I know any of the others?"

  "You might. Maybe you knew Rory?"

  "I knew him. A no-good card-" he broke off suddenly. "Rory's dead?"

  "He is. He was killed when caught cheating."

  Ramos looked at him out of the corners of his eyes, then gulped half the whiskey. "There is gold here," he said then, "but not much. I've been thinking of leaving."

  "Have you heard about the silver, then?"

  "Silver?"

  "The blue stuff. The stuff they've been mucking out of the sluices and cursing for a nuisance. There's been an assay, and it runs strong with silver."

  "The hell you say!" He paused, then asked, "Do you think it's worth staying for?"

  "I do." Trevallion finished his drink. "Ramos, I've some friends to help here, and a young lady who wishes to start a bakeshop. I'll be going then. But, Ramos?"

  "Yes?"

  "There's going to be money to be made here. A great lot of it, and there's a lot of no-nonsense sort of men coming in who will be making it and not wanting trouble. You're not a miner, but you'd make a guard for gold shipments, other things."

  Ramos smiled, showing even, white teeth. "Aguard? Me?"

  "I'd trust you, Ramos." Trevallion looked into the suddenly unsmiling eyes. "I'd trust you with any amount, and know that if it didn't get to Sacramento it would only be because you were dead or out of ammunition."

  "Maybe you trust too easily, my friend. There are those who say I ride the other trail."

  "There are many trails and if one doesn't suit, we can try another." He gestured a hand. "I smell money, Ramos. You can be rich here, honestly, and end your days on a ranch over in the valley with a lot of fat Kitts running about. You've been riding a bad horse, Ramos, and so have I, but it's time to switch saddles."

  "Maybe."

  Trevallion turned away, then added, "Carry plenty of ammunition, Ramos."

  Trevallion rode with Melissa up through Gold Canyon. Their mules' hoofs clattered on the rock under the thin soil. It was bleak and barren, marked with clumps of short, sad grass mingled with the sagebrush and cedar.

  They drew up within sight of the settlement, if such it could be called. Scattered stone huts, some ramshackle shacks of dirty canvas and planks, further along a frame building or two, and a log house built of cedar cut on the mountainside.

  A dog barked, and a woman in a faded blue dress stood in the door of the log cabin and shaded her eyes at them.

  "Is ... is thisit?"

  "It is."

  Wind stirred her pale blonde hair as she turned to look at him. "I expected more."

  "They are all the same. Boom camps start like this. If there's rich ore, they grow."

  "Will there be stores? Places like that?"

  "Saloons first, then boarding houses, and what will be called hotels. Many of those will be in tents. Usually two or three mines pan out and the rest come to nothing. The discoverers will sell out, take their money, spend it, and when broke they will go out looking for another strike.

  "Those who don't sell out will be tricked or forced out. Then they will drift on and be forgotten. Then will come the men who know how to develop and manage properties, the ones who know how to make their money work for them. I saw one of them on the trail, a man named George Hearst. He was at Sheep Camp and Grass Valley."

  "What will become of me?"

  "If you stick to what you are planning, you will do well. Stay away from mines and do not invest in mining stocks. Just bake, sell, and save. And steer clear of Alfies."

  "He was all right. He just-"

  "He ran like a rabbit. Ma'am, I will help you build your own place and get started, but let me warn you.

  "You're a good woman. You will work hard and you will do well, and you will find a good man if you will wait.

  "Probably you'll not wait. There will be another Alfie. He will be good-looking and empty, and he will spend your money and come back for more and more, and finally he will leave. Another will come along who might have different hair and eyes, but he will be Alfie all over again."

  "You don't think much of me."

  "On the contrary, I do. Just don't mistake loneliness for love."

  "I'm afraid of this place. It frightens me." She hesitated. "Mr. Trevallion, I don't have much money. I don't have a place to live. I wanted to come but now that I am here-"

  "You will start by sleeping on the ground. We all will, and we all have. As for a place, I will help you build one. As of today, I shall buy into your business. I will help you build, and I'll buy what you need for the first month. I want twenty percent of the profits."

  "That's a lot."

  "As of now, it is nothing."

  "I have two hundred dollars. My mother saved it and hid it from-from him. There's a little more than that, actually, but not much more."

  "You've made another mistake. Never tell anybody what you have. Especially the Alfies."

  "I'll never see him again."

  Trevallion smiled. "Want to bet? He knew you had some money, d
idn't he? No doubt he believes you have more than you do, so he will be here in a few days with a very smooth story to tell. Later, after you've talked a bit, he will tell you of this great chance he's got, if he only had a little more money. He will need a stake, just for a start."

  "You don't like him."

  "I know his kind. I'll tell you what to do. In the first place, don't lend him even one dollar, but tell him you need help building your place of business, and you will pay him just what you pay the others."

  "He will not come. Not now. Anyway, he was nice and he wanted to help."

  "Forget him. Stay away from the Alfies and you will become a rich woman."

  "And lonely."

  "We are all lonely. Be lonely, but plan for security. The winds blow very cold for a poor man. Know all the Alfies you wish, ma'am, but when they ask for money, no matter how little, tell them no. If it does nothing else, it will help to find the ones who really care."

  "You're hard, Trevallion."

  He pointed suddenly. "There! That's a likely spot! Right beside the road and not too much work to clear the ground ... if somebody hasn't claimed it."

  The place was fairly level and scattered with rock, with a fair-sized cedar a few yards back from it. Melissa looked around, dismayed. "Isn't there a better place? It's so rough, and all those rocks!"

  "Building material. But take a good look around. There isn't much choice."

  He glanced up along the narrow strip of trail. Here and there men were working, sinking holes, building their own shelters, or simply talking. "Stay here," he advised, "and start moving those rocks. Pile them yonder."

  "Move the rocks?" She dismounted and looked around. "I guess I can, all but those real heavy ones."

  "I know you can. Just you get started, keep busy, and let me handle the rest of it."

  He walked his horse along to where three men were sinking a shaft. They were down about five feet. He drew up and watched them work for a minute or two. When one of them straightened up from his work, he asked, "You boys have been here a spell. See that piece up yonder where the lady is working? Has anybody filed on that?"

  "Lady?" As one man they turned to look. Melissa had removed her hat and her blonde hair caught the feeble sun. "No, not that I know of. What's she doin'? Does she aim to work that claim?"

  "Says she's going to build a bakery. Of course, it will take awhile, her being all alone like that, but she figures to bake pies, doughnuts, and such."

  "Can she really bake?"

  "Damned if I know, but Jim Ledbetter, she came up with one of his pack trains, he says she makes the best doughnuts a man ever ate."

  A slim red-haired man leaned on his shovel. "Makes a man's mouth water. I ain't had a doughnut since I left Ohio, an' that's three years this comin' spring."

  "Lone woman like that," the speaker was a chunky, solidly built man with a bald spot, "it'll be too much for her. Her chimney, for instance, buildin' a chimney that will draw well-that's an art!"

  "I'm no hand at chimneys," Trevallion said, "but I am sure enough hungry for doughnuts. I figured to help her a little, just to hurry it up."

  "Hell!" The third man dropped his pick. "Let's all go! With three or four working, it will take no time at all, an' this talk of pies, doughnuts an' such, it fairly makes my mouth water."

  Red agreed. "Eilley makes a fair dried-apple pie, but doughnuts ... ?"

  They started down the trail with their tools. Seeing them, a man on the next claim called over, "Hey! What's goin' on?"

  "He'p a lady with her house! She figures to open a bakery!"

  The man shouldered his shovel. "Come along, John. If they can help, so can we."

  "A bakery, is it?" John said. "She'll be needing ovens then."

  "Three rooms," another commented, "one for the baking, one for the selling, and one for sleeping. Three should do it."

  Trevallion rode on ahead. "Melissa," he said, "you've got help. They will have your house up before sundown. Smile a lot, now, and let them advise you. There's men in that group who could build anything, and will."

  The man who knew how to build fireplaces immediately took charge, laying out the foundations and walls. Trevallion helped for some time, then mounted his mule and rode back down the canyon. As he rode he scanned the hills. He should be finding a claim for himself, but he avoided crowds, and the bottom of the canyon was filling rapidly.

  He was riding through the settlement at Gold Hill when he saw a man he remembered from the Frazier. "Tom?" he called.

  The lean, narrow-shouldered man looked up, squinting. "Val? I'll be damned! Heard you were dead!"

  Trevallion gestured at the hole. "How's it look?"

  "Too soon to tell. But the canyon looks good. I think this is the big one, Val. I really do." He looked up at Trevallion. "We're all used to hunting gold. We've seen strikes come an' go, but it was gold we hunted. Most of us never knew anything else.

  "All the time we were panning for gold or working the sluices, that damn blue stuff kept clogging things up. I must've mucked out fifty tons of the stuff, an' maybe more. Then somebody got smart and took some over to Grass Valley.

  "Atwood-d' you remember him? He ran the assay. Silver! Pure-dee silver! That was when the boom started."

  He gestured toward a canvas-roofed shed nearby that had a bar running its full length and men standing three and four deep in front of it. "There they are! The workers and the talkers! You just go over an' listen. You never heard so much damn' nonsense in your life! Men bragging about their mines! Talking about ore, leads, offshoots, shafts, and winzes and most of them never held a muck-stick in their hands, let alone a single-jack or a drill. To hear them tell it you'd think the camp was full of mining engineers!"

  Tom took a plug of tobacco from his pocket, offered it to Trevallion, who refused, then bit off a corner and returned the plug to his pocket. "By the way, there's been a man asking for you. A couple of days back."

  "Asking for me?"

  "Wanted to know if you'd come into camp yet. When I asked if he was a friend of yours he said not exactly, but he'd heard of you. Big man. I found out later his name was Waggoner."

  The name was unfamiliar.

  "Staked a claim yet?" Tom asked.

  "Not yet." Trevallion gestured back the way he had come. "Young lady back yonder plans to open a bakery. Some of us have been helping her build a place."

  "We could use one. Eilley's all right, but she's so busy she doesn't know which end is up."

  "Tom? That young lady, she's a good girl. Her name is Melissa Turney. Jim Ledbetter and me, we're sort of keeping an eye on her. You could do the same when you're up that way."

  "Sure as shootin'. Got a girl of my own back east, and I hope to bring her out soon's I have a stake. Sure, I'll go up there now and again, just to pass the time of day."

  Waggoner? Trevallion considered the name. He knew no one of that name, and his memory for names was usually good. Nor was he a man apt to be asked for. Trevallion was a loner and known to be such. He traveled alone, worked alone, and so he had no old chums or partners who might be looking for him.

  Tom Lasho he had known for years. Tom had been on Rich Bar, he had worked in Grass Valley, and he had done his first mining at Rough an' Ready. Lasho had done well on Rich Bar, but then he had gone back to the States and spent it all.

  Trevallion was in no hurry. He took several days to scout around, talking little, listening a lot, but most of the time he simply spent studying the country. The best ground had been taken and old "Pancake" Comstock claimed everything in sight, bullying, threatening, or arguing what he called his "rights."

  On the fourth day, at Spafford Hall's Station, he encountered a square-set, bearded man with a quick smile. "You're Trevallion?"

  "I am."

  "I'm Will Crockett. I own the Solomon." He paused. "Can I buy you a drink?"

  "No. Just tell me what you want."

  "They say you're a first-class miner, a hard-rock miner. I've a job for you,
a good job."

  "Sorry."

  "Working for someone else?"

  "For myself, when I locate a claim."

  "The good stuff is taken. I'll pay top wages and start you at shift boss."

  "Thank you, no."

  "I need a good man, a man who knows ground and who knows how to sink a shaft and get the ore out."

  "Sorry."

  "You won't even talk about it? Damn it, man, I've a good claim! One of the best! But I'm no miner. I'm working ten men over there, and we're getting out some ore, but it isn't paying off .like it should. I need a mining man."

  "Sorry." Then, liking the man, he said, "I may not even stay. I'm a drifter, Crockett. If I do stay I'd rather have a place of my own that I can work when I wish." He permitted himself a slight smile. "You see, Crockett, I am probably the only man on the lode who doesn't want to get rich."

  "Then what are you here for? No man lives in this godforsaken place unless he wants to be rich!"

  When Crockett had gone Trevallion stood outside Spafford's, trying to remember where he had heard of the Solomon. Then it came to him. That batch of mail Ledbetter had brought over from Placerville was for the Solomon, most of it for Hesketh, the bookkeeper.

  He watched the line of wagons, horseback riders, and walkers heading up Gold Canyon. Occasionally one would come over to Spafford Hall's, but Trevallion avoided them, and avoided their questions. He was restless and irritable, and he knew he should locate a claim and get to work, for instinctively he felt that was what he needed.

  He needed hard work, yet it was more than that. He was changing.

  Crockett's question irritated him. What had he come for? Why was he here?

  The answer was plain. He had come to find a man ... or men. He had come to kill.

  Four of the men who had killed his father and mother were dead. The others still lived, unpunished for their crimes, but they would come here, lured to the honeypot of gold and silver. They were not miners, they were wolves, and they would flock to this place.

  And he would be waiting.

  The trouble was, he no longer wanted to kill.

  Chapter IX

  In the gray light of a windy morning Trevallion rode up Gold Canyon to Melissa's bakeshop. Leaving his mule in the lee of the stone building, he went inside to complete the shelves he had begun.