The Rich Shall Inherit (6 page)

The young blond giant shook his hand warily. “Nikolai Konstantinov,” he replied, “from Arkhangelsk.” Just speaking the name of his hometown sent a throb of longing through Nikolai, and he blinked away the surge of emotion that threatened to crack his stoic facade.

“Arkhangelsk, eh? And where might that be?” inquired Jeb, lighting a thin cheroot and settling comfortably in the high-backed wooden chair.

“Is in Russia.”

“Now there’s a place I’ve never been. Tell me boy-o, what’s it like?”

“Is better than here,” Nikolai sighed, observing the gray fog pressing dankly against the windows of the smoky saloon. He recalled the small, cramped wooden house by the River Dvina that had always felt so cozy on the frozen black nights of Arkhangelsk’s long winter. But he knew he was romanticizing things—there was no security in that house. The Konstantinov family was very poor and that was the reaosn he was here now, in San Francisco. “I am eighteen now and I will seek my fortune like other men,” Nikolai had told his weeping mother as he left, “I’ve read of the gold out there in western Amerika—gold that is waiting for any man strong enough to take it. One day I shall bring all that California gold home to you, Matushka, and you will live like a princess, just the way my father always promised you.”

“Let me buy you a whiskey,” suggested Jeb.

Nikolai’s ice-blue eyes returned from scanning the frozen plains of Russia and met Jeb’s suspiciously. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Why you buy me drink?”

Jeb shrugged. “Just two foreigners in a strange town,” he replied, “a friendly gesture, that’s all. And you look as though you could use a friend.”

“Where you from?” asked Nikolai as Jeb signaled the bartender for two Irish whiskeys with beer chasers.

Jeb Mallory grinned. “The west of Ireland … one of County Clare’s finest sons,” he replied. “But I’m a man of the world, Nikolai, a man of the moment. What you see—here and now—is what you get.”

Nikolai tossed down the whiskey quickly and then studied his new acquaintance over the rim of his beer mug. He doubted that such fine, regular features and cheerful bright blue eyes could conceal anything really wicked in Jeb’s past, though he had no doubt at all that this handsome black-haired man must have left a trail of broken hearts all the way from the west coast of Ireland to the west coast of Amerika. “Then you are here to seek gold also?” he asked, thawing beneath Jeb’s friendly gaze.

“You’ve been out to the gold fields then, boy-o?”

“Not yet. First I earn money for living. Is a construction site on Union Street. I carry bricks up and down scaffolding. Is hard work and dangerous—a man could fall—but money is good.”
Nikolai sipped his beer, thinking of the dollars strapped around his waist in a webbing belt sewn for him by his mother. He’d discovered early that having money in your pocket brought its own kind of comfort and dignity, and to him that money belt felt warmer than a new jacket on his back or a grand meal in his stomach. “Soon I have enough to go search for gold,” he added eagerly.

Calling for more drinks, Jeb gazed mournfully at the pattern of small circular stains on the polished surface of the table. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, boy-o,” he said sadly, “but if it’s your fortune you’re seeking, you’re looking at the wrong sort of field.” Nikolai gazed at him blankly as he leaned closer. “You want to see a rich man?” Jeb murmured. “Take a look at the rancher at the table over there, the one in the chamois jacket and high leather boots. Now there’s a
rich
man! And you want to know how he got rich, my friend? He bought himself some land from the old Spanish grants down by the Santa Ynez River, and then he put sheep on that land and maybe cattle too—and then all he had to do was sit back and watch the profits grow. And with those profits he bought
more
land.
Land
, Nikolai Konstantinov. That’s what you and I should be carving out for ourselves—a great chunk of beautiful California land … acres, hectares, leagues of land. Land to put cattle on, land to graze sheep, land for building houses and cities …” He waved his hand and fresh drinks appeared in front of them as if by magic.

Nikolai knocked back the whiskey eagerly. “But the gold …?” he began.

“Boy-o, a handful of gold dust dredged up by the sweat of your brow and at the risk of your life is not going to make your fortune! Too many others have tried it before you. Believe me, Nikolai, that rancher over there is far wealthier than a hundred gold prospectors. Now, I’m telling you this in confidence … I aim to get myself some of that land … stick with me, boy-o, and you could be rich too.”

Nikolai’s pale blue eyes were fixed on Jeb’s as he listened raptly.

“There’s no more beauteous a sight than rolling acres of green,” Jeb continued, “just waiting for a herd of cattle or a flock of sheep … and just waiting to put the dollars in a man’s pockets. Sure now, you and I could buy ourselves a fine stake down there, boy-o. The Rancho … Rancho Santa Vittoria, we’d call it … and we could build a big adobe mansion on our land,
with a grand piano in the parlor and a fine cook in the kitchen. I tell you, boy-o, we could have ourselves an Irish-Russian castle atop a California hill!”

Jeb paused for breath, tossing back the whiskey, his bright blue eyes gleaming with excitement beneath the strong straight dark brows. “And just wait till you see some of those Mexican girls, my friend—all lustrous dark hair and laughing brown eyes and skin the color of summer peaches.” His eyes creased with merriment as he drank up and ordered another for each of them.

Nikolai didn’t know whether it was the vision of the rolling acres dotted with cattle and sheep, or the adobe mansion with the grand piano—or even the beauteous dark-eyed girls—but somehow Jeb’s ability to conjure up pictures in words made their future together seem a reality and his suspicions disappeared like the chill Bay fog under a hot sun. “How?” he demanded excitedly. “How you get land?” The barman had placed another drink in front of him and he downed it almost without noticing.

Jeb met his eyes with a sigh.
“That
, Nikolai, is a problem. You see, I know the rancher over there has land to sell, but I’m afraid I don’t have enough to buy it. Not without a partner, that is.”

“I be your partner,” declared Nikolai. “I have money saved … one hundred and fifty dollars. Is enough for my share?”

Jeb’s eyes narrowed as Nikolai began unstrapping the money belt from under his shirt. The sum was less than he had hoped, but it would have to do. “Boy-o, I couldn’t possibly take your hard-earned money,” he said solemnly, “it just wouldn’t be right.”

“But we be partners,” stammered Nikolai, “this land—it will be ours …”

“Well, then, if you insist,” agreed Jeb reluctantly, “but let’s make that
equal
partners now, I wouldn’t dream of having you take less.”

“Equal partners,” beamed Nikolai, his broad face flushed from the drink.

“Now wait just a moment,” said Jeb, taking a pen from his breast pocket, “we’d better put this in writing so you’ll be sure it’s all aboveboard.”

Taking a cardboard sign from the counter that proclaimed
CLANCEY’S IRISH SALOON, KEARNEY STREET, SAN FRANCISCO, AMERICAN AND IMPORTED BEERS AND ALES … A DOZEN DIFFERENT WHISKEYS … FREE LUNCH COUNTER FROM NOON TILL TWO DAILY
, he turned it over and began to write …
Jeb Mallory and
… He
paused, frowning. “It’s no good you know,” he muttered, “no good at all.”

Nikolai choked on his whiskey as his dreams suddenly threatened to disappear. “What you mean is no good?” he demanded anxiously.

“Your name. It’s too foreign-sounding, too confusing. You can’t be a rancher with a name like Konstantinov!” Jeb thought for a while and then said, “Nikolas Konstant—Nik Konstant! Now that’s a good solid-sounding name. An
American
name! How do you like it?”

“Nik Konstant,” agreed Nikolai, his own voice sounding suddenly strange, ringing in his ears as if it were a million miles away.

“Agreed, then.”
Jeb Mallory and Nik Konstant are equal partners in the Rancho Santa Vittoria and all its lands and livestock. Dated this tenth day of April, 1856.
Signing his name with a flourish, Jeb handed the pen to Nik. “Sign right here, boy-o,” he urged, watching as Nikolai, still unused to the American alphabet, signed his new name slowly, forming each letter with care. Then Jeb handed the barman a dollar and asked him to sign as witness.

“There, that’s settled,” he declared, handing Nik the card. “You keep this document and meet me at Marco’s Livery Stables tomorrow morning—at dawn. Order two horses to be ready and waiting and we’ll make an early start.” He glanced at Nik, whose face looked pale and spiked with sweat. “You’re looking a bit worse for the drink, boy-o,” he commented, “better get yourself back to your room and catch some sleep.”

“Marco’s Livery Stables,” murmured Nik, stumbling from the table, his thick corn-blond hair falling over his eyes.

“At dawn,” agreed Jeb, taking his arm and leading him to the door. He watched impassively as the young man, placing his feet carefully and with great concentration, walked slowly away down Kearney Street. “Good luck, boy-o,” he murmured as he turned back into Clancey’s Saloon.

The poker game in the corner looked as though it had settled in for the night and with a hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket, he was set to beat the big-bluffing rancher. After all, hadn’t he just proven that luck was with him tonight? The luck of the Irish, he thought, grinning, as he took a seat at the table and lit a thin brown cheroot. With that and his talent with the cards, how could he possibly lose?

*  *  *

Nik had been waiting for more than three hours. The sun had long since dispersed the early morning fog and was painting the yard at Marco’s Livery Stables a thin spring-gold has he peered down the road for the hundredth time for any sign of Jeb. He felt sick as he thought of his hard-earned money, of how much it would have meant to his family, and of how, filled with wishes and dreams, he’d handed over that money so trustingly to Jeb last night!

Cursing the liquor for turning him into a fool, he stared at the smart yellow brougham as it swung into the yard. The coachman hurried to open the door and Jeb stepped out, still elegant in last night’s attire of crisp white shirt and black jacket, and with a large, fragrant cigar in his hand. With a nonchalant wave at Nik he turned to smile at the woman in the carriage. Nik saw that she had flame-red hair and looked about thirty years old, and she was amazingly beautiful. She looked flushed and out of breath, and as she leaned forward her yellow satin dress revealed such an expanse of soft white bosom that his heart lurched giddily.

Jeb ran his hand through her rich red hair and with a final smoldering kiss he stepped back and slammed the carriage door, waving as the coachman swung the elegant yellow brougham back through the gates.

“I … I thought you were not coming,” Nik stammered, feeling the chill sweat of relief trickling down his spine.

“Just a bit late, that’s all.” Jeb pulled a crowded billfold from his jacket. “Here, boy-o, here’s your stake money back, plus a little extra. I got lucky last night and I’d like you to share in it,” he added magnanimously.

“But … is five hundred dollars!” gasped Nick, counting the money quickly.
“You
give me money so we are no longer partners?”

Jeb puffed his cigar uneasily as the boy fixed him with a stricken pale-blue gaze. “I like you, boy-o, so I’m going to tell you the exact truth,” he said, narrowing his eyes against the curling cigar smoke. “I’m a gambling man,” he said bluntly, “and, as you probably know, Nik, there isn’t anything in the world can cure a man of that affliction! The barman tipped me off earlier in the week that there was this bunch of fellas, up from the ranches, spending money and having a good time in the city—and all of ’em big gamblers. And there was I, without enough to me name to join the easiest game in town! And there you were—and somehow I just knew you’d have a few bucks
strapped in a belt around your middle. I’m telling you honestly, boy-o, I’ve never seen a real ranch in my life—but I’m a good man with words. It sounded pretty good to you, didn’t it? Good enough to part you from your hard-earned money. My mother always said I should try for the priesthood—I’d have told a grand sermon.”

Nik’s face flushed an angry red and Jeb stepped back quickly as he raised his fist. “Now wait a minute,” he pleaded, “to be sure you were taken for a fool—we all are at your young age. But let this be a warning because there’s plenty more men ready and eager to part a fool from his money. Now, now … hold back there, boy-o,” he said nervously as Nik grabbed him by the collar, “I’m here, aren’t I? Didn’t I just give you back your money—and more?”

Nik dropped his fist, staring at the money still crumpled in his hand. “Then we are not partners?” he whispered, his dream shuttered. “There is no ranch?”

“A hundred and fifty bucks wouldn’t buy you much land, boy-o,” Jeb said dryly, “not even down there in the Santa Ynez Valley.”

Nik turned away as a great surge of despair hit him and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He’d been fooled not only out of his money but also into believing he’d found a friend—and a partner….

Jeb watched him as he contemplated his luck last night. It had been strange, really, the way it had all worked out. Not only had he won a packet—but the dream he’d conjured up to part Nik from his money had been turned into reality on the last desperate bluff of a beaten man. He’d intended to convert it into hard cash at the bank, but now he wondered. He noted the breadth of Nik’s shoulders, the sheer power and strength of his torso and arms, rippling with muscles. He knew the boy was honest; he was certain he would be trustworthy—and he sure as hell would be a hard worker. And when you suddenly found yourself the owner of a ranch, what better qualities could a man need in a partner?

“Come on, partner,” he called, leaping onto the waiting horse. It skittered sideways across the cobbles, fresh and eager to be off. “I forgot to mention that your stake in the poker game also won us a ranch….”

Hope dawned in Nik’s eyes and then faded. “You fooling me. Again!” he said bitterly.