Alana (15 page)

Then he’d made himself stop looking and start thinking. He would have to find out what had happened to his sister and to their business; charging around blindly would do no good.

From the docks he’d ridden across town to Abraham Hampton’s small house. Hampton had been Rafe’s mentor and the former captain of the Montgomery Lines flagship; Rafe had asked Captain Hampton, who had retired, to work with Elizabeth during his absence and to help her whenever she needed assistance. Rafe had been sure that he would learn what had happened from Captain Hampton.

After tying his horse to the railing, he’d gone to the door and knocked. Several minutes later, the door had opened and Rafe had found himself staring into the surprised face of Abigail Hampton. When she’d looked at him, her eyes had widened and the blood had drained from her face.

“It can’t be–you can’t be–they said you were dead,” she’d whispered.

Rafe had put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m very much alive, Abigail. Is the captain home?”

It had taken the older woman a few moments to collect herself, but when she’d realized that he was indeed Rafe Montgomery, she ushered him into the house. The captain was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly after sitting down across from her in the small salon.

She’d shaken her head and had spoken in a low, fearful voice. “Abraham was murdered a year and a half ago,” she’d said.

After Rafe had recovered from his shock and had offered his heartfelt condolences, he again had asked what had happened in his absence. “He was killed after those people took over your company. He told me the night he died that he was going to get to the bottom of it all. After he died, I went to the authorities and told them he’d been killed. I even gave them what proof I had, but they said it was an accident, pure and simple.”

“An accident?” Rafe had prodded, holding back his own thirst for information about Elizabeth and the company.

Abigail Hampton had looked at him moist-eyed. “They said he had drowned. That he was drunk and fell off the pier. Rafael, you know Abraham never drank, never.”

Rafe had hissed involuntarily in surprise. He knew Abraham Hampton never drank. It had been the captain’s belief that whiskey destroyed more ships than any storm. No officer that shipped out with him was permitted to drink, unless it was for medicinal purposes.

“Abigail, I know this will be hard, but you must tell me everything, every last detail.”

And Abigail had. She’d spoken almost dispassionately, yet Rafe had seen the emotions pull at her face.

At the same time that Rafe was being tried as a Federal spy, his sister had been confronted by several men who told her that Rafe was being held a prisoner and would be hanged. They told her that the only way to prevent Rafe’s death was to sign the papers that transferred the title and all possessions of the Montgomery Company to them.

Elizabeth, forced by the specter of the death of her only brother, had signed away the company.

That was not all. Two days after Elizabeth signed the papers, the Montgomery house had burned to the ground. When no trace of Elizabeth was found, it was presumed that she had died in the fire.

Rafe, upon hearing this, had turned ashen, but Abigail Hampton had put her hand over his reassuringly. “She didn’t die, Rafael. Abraham learned that. I’m positive that’s why they killed him. You see, the day after she signed the papers, she’d told Abraham what had happened. She told him that when she had done everything they’d asked, and she’d demanded that they set you free, they had laughed at her. They told her you were already dead.” Abigail had paused then for a breath and for control of the emotions that made her words so heavy.

“As soon as he’d learned of the fire, Abraham went to the house. He found Jamie, the caretaker, wandering aimlessly on the grounds, his face and head covered with blood. Jamie had seen four men break into the house that night. He said he was sure they were the ones who started the fire, because when they left the house, they were carrying Elizabeth between them.

“Jamie had run after them, and one of the men hit him on the head. The next thing he knew, it was daylight and the house was gone.”

“Then she is alive,” Rafe had whispered with hope.

Abigail had nodded her head. “But no one knows where.”

“I’ll find her,” Rafe had promised. “And I’ll find the men responsible for your husband’s death, too.”

“Be careful, Rafael,” she had warned.

Then she’d asked him what had happened to him and why he had been away so long. After hearing his story, she had nodded her head thoughtfully. “How are you going to find Elizabeth?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You have no money at all, do you?”

Again, Rafe had said no.

Then Abigail had smiled for the first time. “I want to help you. Abraham left me secure, because Montgomery Shipping always treated him fairly.”

Rafe’s first reaction had been to refuse, but Abigail would not hear of it. “For my own peace of mind, please let me help.”

Reluctantly, he had accepted.

With the money she loaned him, he had gone to the Pinkerton Agency and arranged for them to search for Elizabeth. But, Rafe had known that his revenge would require more money than Abigail had. There was only one place to find that money–in the California gold fields that had once been so vast and profitable but were now said to be played out.

After explaining to Abigail what he was going to do, Rafe had left San Francisco. He’d given Abigail’s address to the Pinkerton Agency and had then told her that he would keep in contact with her.

In December of eighteen sixty-five, Rafe had ridden out of San Francisco, determined to regain his business and avenge the wrongs done to both himself and his sister.

Three weeks later, he had ridden into a mining town at the edge of the old gold fields. He’d spent several days in the saloons talking to old prospectors and had found one man who seemed different from the others. Rafe’s intuition had made him watch the man closely. The older man told no stories, and when the other prospectors had talked to him in jeering tones, he had ignored them.

Rafe had learned that most people thought Caleb Magee was crazy because he had spent the last ten years looking for a lost mine said to contain the mother lode, which had spawned the entire gold rush.

In a careful way, Rafe had listened to everything, and he listened, too, when Caleb spoke. He heard no bragging in the man’s voice; rather, he’d sensed a deep certainty.

After five days of watching and listening, Rafe had approached Caleb Magee. He’d bought him a drink and let the older man talk for a while. When he’d seen that Caleb had said all he was going to, Rafe began to question him about the lost mine.

“It’s there,” Caleb said matter-of-factly.

“Then why haven’t you found it?” Rafe had asked just as matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know for sure, son,” he’d replied to Rafe. “Maybe just bad luck.”

“What makes you so certain you can ever find it?”

Caleb had stared at Rafe for a full minute before he replied, and when he finally had, he had not used his voice; rather, he pointed his index finger at his heart. A moment later, he’d backed up his gesture with words. “I feel it in here.”

Something made Rafe trust him. It was a special feeling that told him the man was not crazy.

“Why aren’t you out there now, looking for the mine?” he’d asked as he’d signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.

“It takes money, son, and I’ve plum run out of that.”

Rafe had laughed at the man’s honesty and had again felt drawn to Caleb. “There must be a lot of people who would take a chance on you for that kind of a find,” he’d ventured.

“There are,” Caleb had stated. “But I don’t want their money, because once I find that lode, they’ll sure as hell find a way to steal it from me. Besides, I’m getting too old to go out there by myself.”

The next day Rafe had again approached the old prospector, and had looked directly into Caleb’s eyes.

“I don’t have a lot of money or a lot of time. I need to find a good strike, and I’m willing to work my butt off to do it,” he had told Caleb flatly.

Caleb had studied him for several moments before he nodded his head. “I like you, son, and I like the fire I see in your eyes. How much do you have?”

When Rafe had told him, Caleb smiled. “That’ll give us about two, maybe three months’ worth of time. You got that much to spare?”

“When do we leave?” Rafe had asked.

“Tomorrow, after we buy the supplies and after we get over the hangover that we are about to acquire.”

Rafe had laughed at that and had matched Caleb drink for drink until neither one of them could see more than three feet ahead.

When the morning had come, along with the hangover that Caleb had promised, Rafe was standing in front of the supply store watching Caleb walk steadily toward him.

Two hours later, they had ridden out of town. Three months after that, they had found their first thin vein of gold.

It had been a strange discovery, for when they’d reached a desolate section that was half mountain, half desert, Caleb seemed to come alive. He’d looked around, and then stared at Rafe. “I feel it, son, I feel it’s near.”

Rafe had not reacted in one way or another, but neither during the three long months had he given up hope in Caleb, for he knew the old prospector was his only chance. Even so, when they'd discovered a long-abandoned mine, its rotting timbers falling apart, Rafe had almost left.

“This is it!” Caleb had stated. Then both of them had ventured inside and had learned that it was nothing but a played-out shaft.

Rafe had wanted to give up, but Caleb would not. “This is the place, Rafe. Trust me, just trust me.” For another day, they had picked at the rocky surface of the hillside, and just when Rafe was starting to feel the hopelessness of his rash plan, he had heard Caleb’s excited shouts.

A moment later he’d found himself staring at the starting traces of a small vein. “This is it, son! Look at the quartz. Look at the color of those flakes!”

From then on they had worked like madmen; four days later they had mined ten feet into the hillside. As they’d dug, the vein had become denser. After another day’s digging, neither man had any doubt that they had found a rich strike. What they hadn’t known and would not find out for another month was that the vein itself would become as thick as Rafe’s body and the color of it as pure as the color of the sun. They had indeed found the mother lode, not twelve feet from the sight of the original mine.

Taking just a little of their gold and making sure that it had a lot of impurities in it, Rafe had returned to the mining town and had exchanged the gold for four hundred dollars. He had bought three mules and loaded them with enough food and supplies to last a long while; then he’d filed a mining claim under the names of Magee and Montgomery. Finally, he had gone to the general store and to the small postal desk at its rear. There he’d asked if there were any mail for him.  There was a single letter: he’d gone outside and read it.

When he had finished reading it, he’d mounted his horse and started out of town, leading the mules behind him. But, he’d seen nothing before him except the words that continued to swim in his mind.

Abigail had forwarded the Pinkerton’s final report about Elizabeth. They had discovered, after two months of investigation, that a woman fitting Elizabeth’s description was seen in a small town in Nevada’s booming silver strike territory, working in a bordello. But, the report had continued, when their agent went to that town, he discovered that a fire had destroyed an entire section of buildings, including the bordello in question. He had also learned that the woman he was searching for may have died in the fire.

The agent hadn’t stopped there, the report had shown, but had spent several days in the town, checking everywhere to verify his story and continuing to search for Elizabeth Montgomery in case she had escaped the fire. On the third day, the agent had found several witnesses who said they had seen her go up to her room just before the fire, and afterward no one had seen her again.

They’d recovered seven bodies had been when the ashes had cooled, and the Pinkerton agent was satisfied that one of those bodies had been Elizabeth Montgomery’s.

By the time Rafe had put several miles between himself and the town, his grief had burst forth. Later, when he’d gained back control, he’d sworn that no matter what might happen from this day on, the people responsible for his sister’s shame and death would pay with their lives.

Then, for the first time since he had boarded the Angelina, he had brought out his carefully guarded memory of Alana and let it soothe his tormented soul. He had lost one of the two people he loved above all else, and the only thing that had kept him sane in that moment had been the knowledge that Alana was alive and safe and the love he felt for her was always alive in her heart, too.

Straightening in the saddle, Rafe looked up at the late afternoon sun. In two days, he would be in town. The day after that he would take the first steps toward vengeance.

“Soon,” he promised his sister’s memory. “Soon.”