Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) (52 page)

Upstairs, under the eaves, a rough woolen blanket had been hung to divide the two sleeping areas. The narrow beds were nearly identical, each with its own dressing table, which consisted of a packing box with shelves nailed inside. A kerosene lamp, tin pitcher, basin, and cracked mirror completed the supplied necessities. Maddie knew which bed was meant for her and which for Benjamin: a little toy soldier wearing a chipped Union uniform was propped on her brother’s muslin-sheathed pillow; on her own rested a little china doll with golden curls of real hair. Slowly Madeleine picked up the long-forgotten toy, given to her father when he’d come home from Nevada to fight in the Civil War. Although she’d only been six at the time, Maddie remembered now what she had said in her earnest little presentation speech:

“Papa, you should take my dolly with you because she’s the prettiest one I have. She has hair like Mama’s... She might remind you of Mama while you are away again, and then maybe you’ll come home sooner.”

It never would have occurred to Maddie to give her father a doll that looked like her
.

“I’ve convinced your father to let me sleep upstairs with you, darling,” Gramma Susan said from the doorway. Though slow-moving, she remained agile enough on steps. “Ah, there’s your doll. Do you know that I gave you that for your sixth birthday? I wanted to buy you a little doll with red hair and freckles, but you’d have no part of
that.”

“I thought she looked like Mama,” Madeleine whispered.

“I know, love. Your mother was beautiful, but certainly no more than you. And she was quite human.”

“I miss her—” Maddie’s voice broke on a sob. It was comforting to press her cheek against her grandmother’s white hair, freed now of its bonnet. Gramma Susan always smelled faintly of violets; it was a scent that reminded Madeleine, sharply, pleasantly, of her childhood.

“I know you miss her, darling. We all do.”

Lifting her head, Maddie looked out the narrow window that brought light in under the pitch of the roof. Deadwood’s Main Street was dimly visible from their hillside home, and she could hear the curses and laughter of the miners from the other side of the pine trees. Her father’s men. “Mama would be horrified by this place,” she murmured, relieved to say the words aloud. “Every detail of our new life would repulse her... even this house.”

“Madeleine, your mother isn’t with us any longer, and you are free to form your own opinions.” Susan’s blue eyes gleamed behind her spectacles. “What’s important, I think, is that all of us who loved Colleen, and miss her, are here together, endeavoring to begin anew.”

Maddie stepped to the window, surveying the muddy, ramshackle, vice-ridden town below with a rueful smile. “I ought to be safe from people’s expectations here. Everyone in Philadelphia pressed me about becoming active in society... and marrying, of course.” Glancing back over her shoulder, Maddie laughed. “I shan’t have to suffer any attempts at wooing me here! There would appear to be sufficient numbers
of...
women to attend to the needs of the sort of men swarming through Deadwood. I have yet to glimpse one of them, save Father, who looks as if he’s bathed since Easter! I’m certainly not their type, and I couldn’t be more
pleased....”

Chapter 2

July 7, 1876

Daniel Matthews rode into Deadwood from the south, downhill into the crazy zig-zagging gulch. It was hot and the town stank, revealing its character before he could take a visual inventory.

The Black Hills themselves, one hundred miles long and sixty miles wide, were still nearly as enchanting as they had been when he’d first visited them with Lakota people half a dozen years ago. A lush, forested, game-rich island rising miraculously out of an endless sea of grass, the Hills possessed a unique beauty that far surpassed any grander mountains he’d ever seen. Even now, the land was still breathtakingly beautiful... until Deadwood’s assault on the eyes.

Most of Main Street was blocked by two newly arrived bull trains. The oxen, mooing plaintively, were slumped in the mud in front of supply wagons now being unloaded by surging crowds of men. People were everywhere, scurrying in and out of tents, shouting at one another in the street, leaning out of windows in various states of undress. The town was pure, unbridled chaos.

Matthews pushed back his brown slouch hat and slowed his roan, whom he’d christened Watson during one particularly endless day in Wyoming. It made him feel sad and frustrated to see what his own people had done to this pristine haven. On the other hand, Deadwood was exactly the kind of town he needed. Disreputable characters of every sort wandered in and out of gold towns virtually unnoticed; scoundrels, outlaws, and others running from something or someone were the rule rather than the exception. Right now, Dan welcomed the prospect of blending in among them, unnoticed and unknown. He was grateful to have planned for an extended stay in the West; he had brought plenty of money.

His emotions had been intense following the final scene with Custer and his departure from the Seventh Cavalry. Now, however, Dan mainly felt fed up. He’d considered returning immediately to Washington, but he didn’t much feel like facing the president. Custer had been right on one count—Grant was the person responsible for setting in motion the chain of events that led to the insanity at Little Bighorn.

Lying awake these past nights under the starry Wyoming sky, Dan had gone over the scenes between Custer and himself. He felt faintly sick about the whole business, since it was clear that his arguments had only incited Custer further. Perhaps if he had taken a different tack, less true to his own beliefs but tailored to appeal to Custer, he might have had more success.

The hell with it
,
Dan thought now
.
Deadwood was just the place to lie low for a while and wait for the dust he’d raised with Custer to settle.

Smiling grimly, Dan reflected that he’d be a bit difficult to recognize these days. He was scruffy and much leaner, having barely eaten during much of his ride through the unceded territory, where there were no forts or white settlements. He’d bought some of his clothes off friendly Cheyenne Indians near the border of Wyoming Territory. Snug buckskin trousers were stuffed into well-worn boots, and he wore a shirt of faded blue chambray with a brick red kerchief knotted loosely around his neck to soak up excess sweat. A holster and a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45 single-action revolver completed the picture. It wasn’t showy, just extremely effective.

When it became nearly impossible to guide Watson through the dense crowds, Dan tied up the horse in front of a false-fronted building bearing a sign that read “Pioneer Printing Office”. As he dismounted he was met by a man wearing a paper collar and a worn brown suit.

“New here, aren’t you?” He thrust a newspaper into Dan’s hands. “Permit me to introduce myself, pilgrim. I’m C. V. Gardner, publisher of the
Black Hills Pioneer.
We’ve only been printing a month.”

Gardner wore a beard and his deep-set eyes made Dan think of a mournful hound. “Pleased to meet you, Gardner,” he said, shaking his hand. “My name’s Fox, and I’ve just ridden in from the southern Hills.” Glancing down at the newspaper, Dan saw stories on Deadwood’s celebration of the centennial Fourth of July. “Where can I get a bed and a decent meal?”

Gardner winked almost imperceptibly. “Depends on what sort of bed you had in mind. North of Wall Street, you can get yourself plenty of whiskey, a warm little chippie, and probably a bed, too. Try the Gem Theatre first, if you’re interested.”

Sensing that his eyebrows were about to fly up at this information, Dan nodded soberly and went on his way. He’d encountered his share of hard drinkers and soiled doves over the years, particularly during the war, but such pastimes were indulged in with a measure of discretion. Clearly Deadwood was a different sort of place.

The prospect of a bed warmed by a willing woman was tempting, but first he needed food. Salvation appeared in the form of the Grand Central Hotel, which, with just one story constructed thus far, served only meals. Dan went in and consumed huge quantities of mutton, beans, mashed potatoes, and apple dumplings with cream, all for fifty cents. While he ate, he read most of the
Black Hills Pioneer
and drank three mugs of coffee. Finally, his hunger appeased and many of his questions about Deadwood answered, he found himself dreaming of a whiskey, some leisurely conversation at a bar, and perhaps some female companionship.

He swung into the saddle again, bound for the makeshift livery stable down Main Street. They called this part of Deadwood the “badlands,” he’d read in the
Pioneer
and it was wilder than any place he’d ever seen. The freight wagons were unloaded now, and bullwhackers cracked their long whips as they moved the protesting oxen down Main Street. Crates containing everything from store fixtures to caskets were stacked in front of buildings. Now that the excitement was dying down, the gamblers and serious drinkers were wandering back into the saloons.

The Gem Theatre had a balcony that was currently crowded with fancy ladies, rouged and scantily clad. They’d come out to investigate the latest shipments of goods, calling out questions about lace, perfume, and other hoped-for finery. Now, the sight of Dan riding slowly in their direction caused the girls to linger.

“Hey, handsome!” called one. Blessed with long black curls, she wore a flowered silk wrapper sliding off her plump shoulders. “Come on in! Tell Al you want Victoria!”

“No!” countered a slimmer blonde, laughing. “Tell him Bessie! What’s
your
name?”

“Fox.” It was a pleasure to be in a town where surnames and past histories were cumbersome details easier left unspoken.

Now they all began calling to him at once, leaning over the balcony railing to display their charms. Pushing back his hat, he flashed a grin.

“I just have to stable my horse,” he told the girls. “Pour me a whiskey and I’ll be straight up.”

“I’ll just bet you will!” one of them answered in a naughtily suggestive tone, then they all scurried back inside, giggling.

Dan looked around, noticing the strong smell of incense that wafted south from Chinatown. Drawing on the reins, he began to guide Watson across the still-crowded thoroughfare, heading toward the livery.

Then he saw the boy.

He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, with brown eyes the size of saucers. First he crept around the corner of the neighboring Green Front Theatre and paused in the narrow alleyway. Since all the rooms weren’t finished upstairs, there were a couple of curtained booths that opened off the alley. It was supposed to be a convenience; men in a hurry could have a girl standing up, without going upstairs or even bothering to remove their trousers.

Dan had seen a great deal but this shocked him. Then, the sight of a little boy leaning forward to peek around the edge of the curtain was more than he could tolerate. In an instant he was at the entrance to the alleyway.

“Come over here.” He spoke from the saddle, high above the child. “I won’t hurt you.”

The boy’s clothes were soiled, but of good quality. He wore brown pants held up by suspenders, a plaid shirt, and muddy boots that looked as if they’d been custom-made for his small feet. His sandy hair stuck up in cowlicks. “My pa says I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” he piped.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Benjamin.”

“Well, Benjamin,” Dan said with a slow smile, “I have a suspicion that your pa doesn’t want you running loose in the badlands, either. There are a lot worse folks than me around here, so why don’t you come on up and let me take you home.” He couldn’t believe he was saying it himself, considering the other pressing appointments on his schedule, but he didn’t see that he had a choice.

Benjamin retreated, nearly backing right into the curtained booth. However, before he could make matters worse, Dan brought Watson forward until the boy was within reach. He scooped up the struggling youngster as if he were a sack of feathers and let the roan prance daintily back into Main Street.

“Now then,” Dan said firmly, “I’d be obliged if you’d direct me to your house, or tent, or wherever it is you live.”

“I don’t want you to take me home, mister!”

“I can assure you that I am not delivering you back into your parents’ care because I
want
to do so, either. So stop wasting my time and show me the quickest route. I have other matters to attend to.”

“I know! I heard you talking to those fancy ladies,” Benjamin dared to blurt, then pointed south. “This way.”

“Little hellion,” Dan muttered between clenched teeth. “Your parents ought to keep you on a chain!”

* * *

“Gramma Susan, where did Benjamin say he was going? I can’t see him from the windows, even upstairs.”

Madeleine came into the kitchen where her grandmother had begun hanging the blue calico curtains they’d sewn.

“How charming they look!” she exclaimed. Actually she would never have chosen the calico if there had been a choice, but that was true of the entire house. Maddie felt as if she were spending every waking hour endeavoring to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Susan stood beside her granddaughter to admire the curtains. “You’ll never be content here if you can’t lower your own standards, you know. As for Benjamin, I thought he said he was going down the hill to play with the Gordon boy on Pine Street.”