Gold Comes in Bricks (12 page)

After a while Pete came back in and sat down. I looked at him for a minute, then took out my wallet, and took out four one-dollar bills.

He handed me back two of the dollar bills. “I only brought a pint,” he explained.

He took a bottle from his hip pocket and put it on the table while he got glasses. He poured some in each glass, then put the bottle back in his pocket.

It had a deep-amber color. I tasted it. It wasn’t at all bad.

“Good stuff,” I said.

“Thanks,” Pete said, modestly.

We sat there and drank and smoked. Pete told me stories of old mining camps, of lost mines in the desert, of claim-jumping, of feuds, and interspersed his conversation with comments about the old gold-dredging days.

Over the second glass, with my head feeling a little woozy, I said, “There’s some talk about a new dredging company coming in.”

Pete chuckled.

“Didn’t they miss a lot of bedrock around here?” I asked. Pete said, “The company I was working for was run by old man Darniell. Anything he missed you could put in your eye.”

“But there were some places where they couldn’t get down to bedrock?”

“Yep.”

“Quite a lot of them?”

“Yep.”

“Then why can’t they redredge this country?”

“They can.”

“And make money?”

Pete pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“And they can turn it back into agricultural land?”

“That’s what they claim.”

“Why wouldn’t it be a good thing?”

“Maybe it would.”

“I suppose they’ve got the old records of the prospecting that you did, know just how deep the old dredgers could go, and know just where to go after the stuff they want.”

Pete leaned forward. “Damnedest crudest bunch of salting I ever saw in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“The drilling they’re doing.”

“They’re doing drilling?” I asked.

“Sure. Down here about a mile and a half. My God, but they’re crude!”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean!” he said. “Hell, they just dump the gold in the drill pipe and then pan it back out. Every once in a while they come up with a bunch of suckers. The suckers stand gawking over the gold pan. What they don’t notice is that the drill man has to keep a hand on the rope in order to steady the bit when it’s going up and down. You watch that hand, and every so often you’ll see him dip into his pocket with one hand and take the other hand out of his pocket to steady the drill rope. Watch closer than that, and you can see little colors of gold dribbling down every time he does it— Mind you, he’s pretty slick at it. He doesn’t do it so it shows up too big. He’s got it all figured out, and they don’t bring up any gold at all until they get below the place where the old dredger worked. But, brother, you take it from me, when they hit bedrock they put it in plenty rich. You can take the figures they’re getting from their holes and figure the acreage they’ve got lined up, and the mint would have to go out of business. They’d have to dig up the whole darn state of Kentucky to find a place to store the gold.”

“That must take quite a bit of gold.”

“What? To salt the hole?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “It don’t take much. They’re damn fools. They’re goin’ to get caught.”

“How many holes have they put down?”

“Three. They’re on the fourth. They’re just started.”

“Know who’s back of it?”

“Nope. Some crowd from the southern part of the state. They’re sellin’ most of their stock around there.”

“How does the town feel about it?”

“Oh, they’re divided. You’ll find croakers and boosters. The minute it begins to look as if they’re goin’ to start puttin’ up a dredger though, you’ll see the Chamber of Commerce standing on its head and wiggling its toes— Only they ain’t goin’ to put in no dredger.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would show up their prospects too much. The minute a dredger works that country, it’d show that the ground had been salted. I don’t think they intend to spend no money to put up a dredger. They’re doin’ a lot of talkin’, pourin’ gold into the ground, and gettin’ it back so they can pour it into the next hole. How about fillin’ your glass again?”

I said, “No thanks. That stuff has authority.”

“It packs a wallop. That’s what I made it for.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ve got to drive the car back.”

“I don’t hit it very hard, but I like it when I’m sittin’ around talkin’ with a friend. You’re a good guy—a writer, eh?”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you write?”

“Oh, articles about different things.”

“You don’t know much about mining, huh?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“How’d you happen to pick this to write about?”

“I thought it would go over swell—not in a mining journal, but in an agricultural journal.”

He looked at me for a while without saying anything, then he tamped the tobacco down into his pipe, and relaxed to the comfort of smoking.

After a while I told him I’d be on my way, that I’d come back later on perhaps and get some more information. I told him I’d pay him five dollars an evening. He said that was fair enough, and shook hands. “Any time you want to come back and visit,” he said, “it ain’t goin’ to cost you no five bucks. I like you. You fit in. It ain’t everybody I let sit down and visit. And it ain’t one person in a hundred that ever gets to sample any of this stuff.” He jerked his head in the direction of the glass on the table.

“I can understand that,” I said. “Well, so long.”

“So long.”

I drove back to the auto court. A big shiny sport coupé was parked in front of the cabin I’d rented. I took my key out of my pocket and opened the door. I heard the sound of motion in an adjoining cabin, and closed my door quickly. Then I heard feet on the graveled walk, light steps on the porch, and a knock on my door.

Well, this was it. I’d done the best I could.

I opened the door.

Alta Ashbury was standing on the threshold. “Hello,” she said.

I held the door open for her. “This,” I said, “isn’t a good place for you to be.”

“Why not?”

“Lots of reasons. For one thing, the detectives are looking for me.”

“Dad told me.”

“For another thing, if they should find us here, the newspapers could make a nice story of it.”

“You mean love nest?”

“That’s right.”

“How thrilling,” she said, and then added after a moment, “It’ll be all right, in case you’re worried.”

“I am worried.”

“What about, your good name?”

“No, about yours.”

She said, “Dad’s coming up. He’ll reach here about mid-night.”

“How’s he coming?”

“Plane.”

“How did you know I was in this court?”

“I covered them all until I found you. There are only four, you know. I hit this second.”

“Why is your dad coming up?”

“Oh, things are getting hot.”

“What are the new developments?”

“Mr. Crumweather called me on the telephone and asked me to meet him at his office tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.”

“Don’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I think he has the missing letters. I think he’s getting ready to twist the screws.”

“You mean that he had them all?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t believe this about the detectives selling out the district attorney?”

I shook my head and said, “Take a load off your feet. You’re here now, so you may as well enjoy yourself.”

“Donald, you’ve been drinking.”

“And howl”

“What’s the idea of the celebration?”

“I was having a session with a bootlegger.”

“I didn’t know they had them any more.”

“They’ve always had them. They always will.”

“Was he a nice bootlegger?”

“Uh huh.”

“Was it good stuff?”

“Pretty fair.”

“Didn’t you bring any with you?”

“Just what I carried away inside of me.”

“It smells as though that had been a lot.” She came closer and sniffed. “Garlic, too.”

“Bother you?”

“Lord, no. I’m sore that you didn’t take me with you. I could have had a lot of fun calling on bootleggers and eating garlic. What was the garlic in?”

“Beans.”

She sat down in one of the creaking auto court chairs. “Got a cigarette, Donald? I got excited when I heard you drive up, and dashed off without my purse.”

“Where is it?”

“Over in the other cabin.”

I handed her a cigarette. “Got any money in it?” “Some.”

“How much?”

“Six or seven hundred. I don’t know exactly.”

“Better get it,” I said.

“Oh, it’s all right. Tell me, Donald, why did you come up here?”

“I’m trying to get some stuff on Crumweather.”

“Why?”

“So when he puts the screws on you, I can put the screws on him.”

“Think you can do it?”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty sharp.”

“This is where Bob’s company had its land, isn’t it?”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Only a little that Bob’s told me.”

I looked at her. “I’m going to ask you a question and you may not want to answer.”

“Don’t do it, Donald. We’re getting along nicely. I hate to be questioned.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I like to be independent and live my own life. When people start asking me too many questions and make me answer, it makes me feel I have no privacy. I’ll answer them if I like the person who asks them, but I resent it afterward. I’ve always been that way.”

“I’m going to ask it just the same.”

“What is it?”

“Have you given your stepbrother any money?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I suppose Dad wants to know.”

“I
want to know.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Much?”

“No.”

“Money to put in his company?”

“No, not a cent. Just to keep him going and give him a chance to get started when Dad shut down on him.”

“How much?”

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I want you to.”

“I will if you make me, but I won’t like it afterward.” “How much?”

“About fifteen hundred dollars.”

“Over how long a time?”

“About two months.”

“When did you quit?”

“When he started working.”

“You haven’t given him any since?”

“No.”

“He wanted more after you shut down on him, didn’t he?”

“Yes. That made me mad. Understand, Donald, I don’t care too much for him. I think he’s an awful pill, but, after all, he’s been dragged into the family, and I have to make the most of him or else go out and live by myself.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

“Because of the awful mess of things Dad made.”

“You mean his second marriage?”

“Yes.”

“How did he get roped into that?”

“I’m darned if I know, Donald— Oh, it’s a hell of a thing to talk about.”

“Go ahead. You’ve started now.”

“Well, it was my fault.”

“How?”

“I went to the South Seas, and then down into Mexico, and then on a yachting trip.”

“Well?”

“Dad was alone. He’s a peculiar combination. He’s crusty and hard-boiled, and down underneath he’s a rank sentimentalist.

“He’d been very happy with Mother, and Dad and I always got along like nobody’s business. His home life had been very happy, and it meant a lot to him. After Mother’s death—she had an independent fortune you know—her will left it divided between Dad and me. I was— Oh, I suppose I’ve got to tell you. I was mixed up in a love affair that had given me a lot of heartbreak. I’m over it now, but for a while I didn’t think I’d
ever
get over it, and Dad told me to go ahead. I packed up and skipped out. When I came back, he was married.”

“How did it happen?” I asked.

“How do those things always happen?” she said bitterly. “Look at her! I don’t want to talk about her, but I don’t have to. You’ve seen her. How could a ball and chain like that get anyone to fasten herself onto? There’s only one way.”

I stared at her. “You mean a sort of blackmail. Do you mean—”

“Of course not,” she said. “Figure it out for yourself. The woman is a consummate actress. Didn’t you ever wonder, Donald, why it is that so many women who have strong individual characters and are just dandy good fellows never get married, while some nagging, whining piece of feminine humanity usually gets a pretty good husband?”

“Are you going to let your back hair down and tell me secrets of sex?” I asked.

“Yes, if you have to be told,” she said with a half-smile. “You’re old enough now to know the facts of life, Donald.”

“All right, tell me.”

“The people with individualities,” she said, “are just the same all the time. They won’t resort to all the little sneaky tricks of character-changing that the hypocrites will. Women of that type simply show themselves. They show themselves as they are. A man can either like them well enough to marry them or not.

“Then there’s the other type. They don’t have any personalities of their own except disagreeable personalities, and they know enough to keep those defects of character covered up. Well, Dad’s present wife found out that he was lonely, that he wanted a home, that his daughter was out traveling around the world and would probably get married. She invited him out to her home for dinners.

“Bob was swell, gave the picture of man-to-man good-fellowship, and she was nothing like the way you see her now. Dad never heard about her blood pressure until after he married her. She was just a sweet, home-loving thing who didn’t care about going out, who wanted to make a home for someone, who would stroke Dad’s forehead when he was tired and play chess with him— Oh, she just
adored
chess—” Alta’s eyes glittered. “She hasn’t played a single game of chess with him since they were married.” She raised her voice so that it mimicked her stepmother. “ ‘Oh, I’d lo-o-ove to, Henry. I miss those games so-o-o-o much, but my
poor
head! It’s my blood pressure, you know. The doctor says I must have things very quiet and easy.’ ”

Suddenly she stopped and said, “There you go. You got me started. I suppose you’ve been waiting for this opportunity, figuring that sometime you’d get me when I was mad enough to tell you the whole damn thing.”