Gaffney, Patricia (27 page)

"Unless he's tunneled over from his mine to yours."

She nodded, staring at nothing, thinking hard. "I know a way
to find out."

"How?"

"Come on." She might not be speaking to him, but just
now she was awfully glad for his company. She led the way through the littered
yard, past the long, slant-sided mill building, the rusted-out husks of
jiggers, grinders, sluice tables, and steam hoists, to a cinder track that led
into the woods behind the mine. She thought of the last time she'd walked along
this quiet, shadowy trail—in the company of Mr. Shlegel, who had wanted to show
her his mining property. It hadn't been completely paid out then; he'd still
had men placering along the riverbed.

"Where are we going?" Jesse asked in a low voice, trying
to catch her hand.

She pulled away. "Can't you hear it?"

"What?"

"The river." A few minutes later the trail broke out of
the trees, thinning to a path that stopped at the edge of the cliff.
"Wait," she cautioned when Jesse started into the open. "In case
somebody's there." They went slowly, side by side, glancing in every
direction. It wasn't necessary to be quiet; the roar of the Rogue a hundred
feet below drowned out everything.

Not everything. A low, chugging sound grew louder with every step
they took toward the cliff edge. Cady figured out what it was a second before
it came into view. "Steam dredger," she said loud enough for Jesse to
hear. "That goddamn—polecat!"

"Is that your property?"

"No, but this is. Look, he's following a vein from the Seven
Dollar back into the cliff. See down there?" She pointed down at the wheel
tracks and the pile of strewn rubble on the rocky bank directly below.
"The dredger's a blind—he's placered out on his side. That—
thief!"

"Come on, Cady, we'd better get out of here." He had to
grab her arm and pull before she would budge. "Let's go before somebody
spots us."

He was right. She let him lead her away, glad for the dark cover
of the pine woods again. They began to run. The closer they got to the
clearing, the stronger a feeling grew that they were being watched, followed.
She'd tied the buggy to a section of a rusty trommel in the mine yard.
"Hurry," she told Jesse as he unhitched the horse. "Hurry,
hurry, let's go." She felt jittery as a cricket. Some of Wylie's men were
as ruthless as he was. If she and Jesse got caught here, now—she didn't want to
think about what could happen.

Jesse swatted the mare, and they cantered out of the bumpy yard,
bouncing in the buggy like dolls in a child's wagon. The road to town was empty
in both directions—thank God! They were safe, and nobody had seen them. Still,
they'd ridden nearly a mile before she started to relax.

"Polecat," she said again, hammering her knees with her
fists. She knew plenty of worse words for Wylie, but she was still watching her
language in front of Jesse. Which was pretty stupid.

"I don't get it. What exactly is he doing?"

"He's placering with a dredge along the riverbed— cleaning
bedrock after the gravel's stripped away. But it's a cover, a blind. He's
placered out, same as the Seven Dollar. What he's really doing is following ore
shoots from
my
riverbed back into
my
mine. I saw it!"

Jesse still looked baffled.

"Before there was a Seven Dollar or a Rainbow, they struck
virgin placer gold below the cliffs at the river's edge. People made a fortune,
and then it dried up. So they switched to mining for lode gold, hoping to
follow the ore bodies back uphill to the source, maybe a big underground lode.
Wylie had some luck, but Mr. Shlegel never did, he just found a few stringers
that petered out. So he gave up."

"And you think Wylie's found a lode? A big one? In your
mine?"

"I don't know what he's found, but it's sure as hell in my
mine. Thieving bastard. Well, he won't get away with it." She rubbed her
hands together. "Ha. I've got him this time. If I can get Tommy to do
something," she amended, half to herself. "But still. Finally. Got
the son of a bitch dead to rights. I don't see how he can slither out of this
one. This is against the law, and I've got proof. Go straight to the sheriff's,
Jesse, don't stop at the livery. By God, this time I'm going to get him."

But she wasn't nearly as sure of herself as she sounded. Some kind
of superstitious dread was making her hands perspire, and she couldn't shake a
weird, nightmarish feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Maybe it already had. Jesse slowed the buggy for traffic on Main
Street, and after half a block Cady figured out what was peculiar. Everybody in
the street or on the sidewalk stopped and stared at them, but nobody spoke. Nestor
Yeakes was lounging in front of the livery, as usual, but when Jesse waved at
him he didn't wave back. He just stared.

"Hey, Sam," Jesse called to Sam Blankenship, who was
crossing Noble Fir in front of the real estate office. He stopped in the middle
of the street—and stared.

"What's going on?" said Jesse, and Cady shrugged back at
him, bewildered. She didn't like it. It was more than peculiar, it was
downright scary.

Ham spied them at the same moment Cady saw him, coming out of
Chang's laundry. Immediately he made a dash for the buggy. She put her hand on
Jesse's arm. "Stop, stop—he shouldn't be running—!" Jesse pulled on
the reins, and the mare pranced to a halt.

"Cady—Mr. Gaul—Mr.—" Ham stumbled over his tongue,
couldn't get the words out.

"What?" Cady cried, disturbed by his face, his manner.
He was excited, but that was nothing new; it was the fear behind his eagerness
that alarmed her. "Stand still, Ham. Tell me what's wrong."

"They's a man!"

"A man," she repeated, struggling for calm. "What
man."

"He up at the Rogue right now. He say—he say—" The
whites of his eyes gleamed as he rolled a frightened glance at Jesse.

"What?"

"He say his name's Gault!"

"Jesse? What are you doing? Jess—turn the rig around!"
Cady tugged on his arm, trying to read the expression on his face. "Where
are you going? You can't go to the Rogue, he'll kill you. Jesse!" She
punched his shoulder, and finally he looked at her.

"I have to."

"Why?"

"Because a man's got to do what a man's got to do."

She hit him again. "Are you crazy? It's Gault, Jesse—the
real
Gault! What do you think he'll do when he finds out you've been
impersonating him?"

"Well, I reckon he'll be mad."

"I reckon he'll shoot you!"

He looked grim and didn't answer, just kept driving the buggy
toward Rogue's Tavern.

"Damn it. This is because of what I said, isn't it?" She
shook him by the wrist in her agitation. "I take it back—you're not a
coward. You're not." That only made him smile bleakly. "You're
not.
I just said it because I was hurt. Please, Jess, turn around and get out of
town, ride as fast as you can. Nobody'll—"

"Too late. I'm not running anymore."

Why was he
talking
like that? She started to curse, but it
did no good; he wouldn't even look at her. Fear finally shut her up; she
watched in speechless dread as he halted the mare in front of the saloon,
handed her the reins, and leaped down. "Maybe you better stay out here,
Cady. Safer." And with that, he left her and went toward the swinging
doors.

She clambered down clumsily, shaky-kneed. "In a pig's
eye," she said out loud, and the trembly sound of her own voice scared her
even more. Ham trotted up, out of breath, holding his side. She gave him a
quick, reassuring hug. "I want you to drive the buggy to Nestor's, and
then I want you to stay there. Don't come back to the Rogue. Hear me,
Ham?" He nodded, but she wasn't sure of him—he'd disobeyed her before. She
said it all again, bending down and looking him in the eye. "Don't you
come back to the Rogue, Ham, I mean it. Stay at Nestor's till I come and get
you."

"Okay."

"Okay. All right, then. Go."

She watched him hop up on the buggy, turn it, and trot off down
Main Street. She waited till he was out of sight, and then she ran into the
saloon.

It was packed. It looked like church on Sunday, minus the women.
Catching sight of Levi's bald, shiny head above everybody else's, she pushed
and elbowed her way through a sweaty press of bodies. "Excuse me—Gunther,
move—let me by, Stan—" until finally Levi grabbed her wrist and hauled her
behind the bar with him. She stepped up on the foot- high riser she used to
serve drinks from when Levi wasn't around—and if he hadn't grabbed her again
and held on, she'd have waded back into the crowd. Because from here she could
see Jesse. He stood beside a table where Merle Wylie sat with another man.
Gault.

God Almighty. Definitely Gault. Looking at him, Cady felt
disoriented, almost light-headed, shoved back in time to the day Jesse had come
to Paradise. This man, this real Gault with his black clothes and black leather
eyepatch and black cigarette, looked older, craggier, not half as handsome, but
his... his
aura
was the same. No, it was worse. Jesse had looked like a
cocked gun, as if he'd as soon kill you as spit on you. Gault looked like he'd
much rather kill you.

Amazingly, they looked alike—almost a family resemblance. Same
beaky nose, same steely-gray eyes and silver-streaked hair. No wonder it had
been so easy for Jesse to be Gault; no wonder so many people had bought it
without question. Even her. Especially her.

She felt a hand clamp down on her forearm and turned as Glendoline
stepped up beside her, jostling her on the riser. "Cady,
look."

"I'm looking."

"Who is it? Which one do you think—"

"Hush." Wylie was saying something, and she wanted to
hear. All around her, speculative muttering stopped when he scraped back his
chair, grinning up at Jesse.

"Well, well, well," he said gloatingly, dragging the words
out. "What a fascinating conversation I've been having with Mr. Gault
here. I always knew there was something phony about you. What's your real name,
mister? What do you do for a living, punch cows? Polish spittoons?"

Somebody's nervous laugh cut through the taut silence. Cady's
hands shook. Where was her gun? In a cigar box on the far side of the bar—she
couldn't get to it from here. What would she have done with it anyway? Jesse
had his back to her, she couldn't see his face. She could see Gault's, though.
Lord God in heaven. If he wasn't a cold-blooded killer, she'd eat her hat and
swallow the feather.

He stood up slowly, lazily, like a snake changing position on a
warm rock. Face-to-face, the resemblance between him and Jesse was even more
startling. His smile was like death, and when he spoke in his whispery voice,
so eerily familiar, it made her shudder. "I don't know who you are,"
he told Jesse, "and I don't much care. You've got something that belongs
to me. Couple of six-guns. You can hand 'em over now, nice and easy, and I
won't kill you. I ought to, but I won't. But if you take longer than five seconds
to lay 'em down on this table, I'll shoot you where you stand. One."

"Jesse!" Terror made her yell it. The way he held
himself, the stubbornness in his shoulders, his stiff arms—she had an awful
premonition of what he would do.

She was right.

"Listen, you." His creepy whisper echoed Gault's,
sibilant syllable for syllable. "I don't know who
you
are, and I
don't give a damn. If you're not out of my face before I count to three, I'll
put a bullet through the eye you've got that phony patch over. One."

Gault blinked rapidly, and for half a second Cady actually thought
she saw consternation blur the resolve in his hard, cruel face. But the moment
passed, and his vicious smile uncurled again, making her scalp tingle.
"Looks like we got ourselves a standoff," he whispered menacingly.

Menace was all right, menace was fine. At least he'd stopped
counting.

"Uh-oh." Glen dug her fingers harder into Cady's arm.
"Oh, no, oh, no."

Cady saw what she saw: Sheriff Leaver coming through the swinging
doors and trying to push his way through the crowd. Hatless, tie askew, collar
crooked, he looked green and sickly, and Cady remembered what Willagail had
told her this morning—he and Jesse had gotten drunk together in the jailhouse
last night. "Oh, this is just great," she quavered, wringing her
hands. "Now Gault can kill both of them."

Glendoline clapped her hands to her face and burst into tears.

"You see the paper this morning?"

"What?" Cady glanced up at Levi, uncomprehending.
"Did I what? See the
paper?"

"Front page. Sara Digby say she seen who left off all that
money at her place."

"Who?"

"Jesse."

"What?"

"All right, what's going on here?" The sheriff's reedy
tenor sounded anything but authoritative, but it did grab back Cady's fractured
attention. Glen's, too; she stopped bawling to listen. "Break it up. I
want everybody to get out and go home. Come on, now. There's not going to be
any shooting, so you might as well move on. Arthur, Sam, let's go. Stony,
Leonard, you, too, Shrimp. Come on, everybody out."

Nobody moved, not one soul. They milled, shuffled their feet,
unfolded their arms, but nobody went out the door. Glen wailed, "Oh,
Tommy," and Cady put her arm around her.
What's this?
she thought
distractedly. Was Glen sweet on the sheriff after all?

"Which one of you is Gault?"

Maybe someday Cady would look back and laugh, remembering how Will
Shorter looked asking that moronic question, glasses perched on the end of his
nose, pencil poised over his notebook. As if the real Gault would raise his
hand and the fake one would slink away, mystery solved.

"I'm Gault."

"I'm Gault."

"You're a liar."

"You're a liar."

"Fight it out," Wylie suggested gleefully. "Right
here and now. That'll settle it."

"Fine with me," whispered Jesse.

"I can hardly wait," whispered Gault.

"Jesse!" It wasn't Cady who yelled it this time, it was
Ham. She saw him shoving and fumbling his way through the crush of gawking men.
Levi let go of her arm and started to vault over the bar, but just then Ham
spurted out of the crowd and made a rush for Jesse. He threw himself against
him, slamming into his hip and almost throwing him against the table.

"Okay, hold it!" No more whispering; Jesse's voice rang
out clear and commanding as he pulled Ham close, shielding him with one hand on
his head and the other on his shoulder. "There's not going to be any
shooting in here."

"Outside." Wylie stood up, his eyes glittering with
excitement. "Take your fight outside. Guns at twenty paces. You can—"

"Too dark." Gault jerked his chin toward the window. The
sun had set; dusk was creeping in. "I want a nice clear shot when I kill
the man who says he's me."

"Likewise," Jesse sneered. Cady watched every man in the
room look at him, then at Gault, then him, then Gault.

Gault said, "I can kill you tomorrow as easy as
tonight."

Jesse curled his lip. "Ten o'clock suit you?"

What? What? She couldn't believe her ears. Clutching at Levi's
hand so hard he winced, she yelled, "No!" but nobody paid any
attention to her.

"Ten o'clock. In the street." Gault removed the slim
black cigarette stuck in the side of his mouth and flicked it on the floor at
Jesse's feet. "You feel like committing suicide any sooner than that, let
me know. I'll be at the hotel."

"Same goes. I'll be here."

Openmouthed, Cady watched as Gault, the real Gault, the man who
was going to kill her lover at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, waded into the withering,
awestruck crowd and sauntered through the swinging doors.

****

It's hard to argue with somebody you're kissing. Hard to hold up
your end of a debate with a man who's trying to get your clothes off. Cady was
giving it a try, though, and staying as far from the bed as she could without
actually going outside. To get sex off Jesse's mind she
might've
gone
outside, except it was raining.

"I'm not doing this," she insisted for the third or
fourth time, turning her mouth away to avoid his marauding one. "Not until
you say you've come to your senses."

"Rather come to your senses."

"Will you
stop?"

"Can't." His lips were warm and his mustache tickled.
She craned her neck, but that only gave him access to her throat. "Cady, I
just gotta have you."

He had her pressed up against her bureau, and she could feel
exactly how much he had to have her. "If you're doing this for me, I'm
telling you, Jess, you don't have to."

"I was hoping to do it for both of us."

"Not—this. Damn it, you know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Will you just listen? Oh, God." He'd finally gotten her
dress undone in back, and he was peeling it off her shoulders and down her
arms. "Quit it, now. Quit." Such a half-hearted protest; she didn't
blame him for ignoring it. "Jess, we have to talk."

"Later."

"No, now." She put her hands under his chin and forcibly
lifted his face from the hollow between her breasts. "Please." She
was reduced to pleading. His beautiful face, smiling at her so sweetly,
worry-free, animated only by lust and longing, was going to be her undoing.
"I don't understand you," she wailed. "If you fight Gault, he'll
kill you."

"No, he won't. That's not going to happen. Trust me," he
ordered, holding her still and kissing her on the mouth. She tried to talk, but
he said, "Shh," and kept on, seducing her with the care he took the
single-mindedness and the gentleness.

"Oh, Jesse, don't." But she didn't stop him from
unfastening her chemise. Instead she buried her nose in his hair, and Jesse
buried his in her bosom, stroking her, painting her bare skin with his tongue.
"I'll give you money. Do you want money?"

"Sweetheart," he said tenderly, "shut up."

"I've got a nest egg. It's in the bottom drawer, under my
stockings."

"How much?"

"Over two thousand dol—"

He covered her mouth with his, pressing his tongue inside and
silencing her with sexy, stirring caresses. She lost track of the conversation.
It seemed like forever since she'd touched him like this, made love with him
like this. "I was so stupid," she whispered when he let her speak.
"Do you forgive me? It's my fault we wasted so much time. Oh, Jess, I love
you."

"I love you, Cady."

"Do you? Oh, Jesse, do you?"

"I swear it. Marry me when this is over."

She started to cry. "Stupid," she muttered, smearing at
tears with her fingers. But she couldn't help it. A war was going on inside
between despair and bliss, and she couldn't control herself.