Working the Lode (12 page)

Brannagh opened his mouth to bray some more, but Cormack said calmly, “Go, Brannagh. Your collection services are no longer required at Lion Island.”

Brannagh stomped downhill, shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll just see what Wimmer, Sly, and Mowry have to say about this! And all of you are ejected from the mission!”

“Is that so?” Bigler bellowed. “I’d rather be ejected than to pray alongside a hypocrite such as you!”

Cormack put a protective arm around Zelnora as he led her back to the river.

“Will Quartus be upset to be ejected?” Cormack asked her.

She smiled. “Apparently his mother will be extremely upset.” She was stupefied at how free she felt, having been cast into the same kettle as these “pickled spirits” who mined the gold camps of California. Far better the maggots of society than the hypocritical shylocks of the “civilized” settlements.

Cormack squinted at the sky. “Well, fortunately, it takes about four months for a letter to get overland, so he’s got time to plan what to say to her.”

“Yes, or six months round the Cape.” Zelnora agreed happily.

Cormack pointed at her. “He should send the letter that way.”

Zelnora laid her head upon his shoulder as they came within sight of their claim. Erskine and Quartus, a hundred yards downstream, waved as they worked Erskine’s rocker.

Chapter Twelve

July 4, 1848

Sutter’s Fort

Sutter threw a huge feast, inviting everyone in the fort’s vicinity. In the old armory building, he set a long table loaded with beef, game, fowl, and all the luxuries which a frontier life could offer. The table was laden with bottles of sauterne and Madeira, and enough fiery
aguardiente
brandy to satisfy all who wished to “splice the main brace.” There was also a fandango that Cormack itched to get on over to, as he was clad in his best dress, his shirt with long quill-wrapped fringes and red wool cuffs. Feeling the dandy, he’d slapped on a broad-brimmed Spanish hat with a new crimson scarf around the crown.

Aaron Erskine had taken a bookkeeping position with Sutter in order to be closer to Mercy, leaving their gold mining operations sadly bereft of one-third of their labor force, Bigler having also forged off on his own. So Cormack, Zelnora, and Quartus visited Erskine in his office adjacent to Sutter’s dining room. Erskine was occupied weighing gold and changing money, serving a line of men that went out the door and into the courtyard, so the trio took seats alongside the wall.

“The irony must not escape you that they are allowing me to handle money again.” Erskine grinned as he handed a nearly naked Indian a couple of
reales
for his gold. The exchange rate for Indians differed from the rate given whites. This Indian had made a prior deal with a white man, one could tell from his state of nature, aside from a frock coat and socks.

Cormack laughed. “I noticed that sign. Sutter must be desperate for employees that haven’t caught the gold fever and gone running off. But a lot of these claims are already getting worked out.”

Erskine knowingly wriggled an eyebrow. “I talk to a lot of folks, as you can imagine. Folks are washing an average of five hundred dollars dust a day. But as you said, a lot of the claims are worked out already.” Glancing surreptitiously from side to side and seeing only carefree Diggers and one chap with a bottle of bug juice, Erskine imparted, “I just heard tell yesterday of a big new strike on the Stanislaus, between Wood’s Crossing and Sonoran Camp. That’s the place to be, from all accounts.”

“Sonoran Camp?” Cormack pondered. “I heard that’s a lawless frontier chockfull of Spaniards playing monte and horse racing—damn it, Quartus, will you cheese that drum, please?”

Quartus gave Cormack sad eyes brimming with tears. “I’m warming up for the fandango!” he protested.

“You’ve been warming up for weeks,” Zelnora pointed out calmly. “I’ve heard of those dry diggings. Men from Sonora in Mexico, expert miners, created that town. On account of its situation on slate rock with auriferous quartz veins just below a limestone belt, it seems to be exceedingly rich. Do you have any samples I could look at?”

“Certainly,” Erskine said promptly, rising and going to a table at the back of the room.

“You know,” Cormack told the Indian next in line. The fellow waited patiently wearing only a sombrero and a crimson sash that looked suspiciously like the one Cormack had traded for that enormous lump of gold. “You could get double the value in
reales
if you just had a white man trade in your gold for you.” The Indian stared blankly at him.

“What is ‘bull baiting’?” Quartus asked Cormack.

Cormack frowned. “Why do you ask that?”

“I heard in Sonoran Camp they have bull baiting. Do you tease a bull into charging then jump aside at the last minute?”

“Maybe it’s something akin to a bull and bear fighting,” Cormack mused. “The most cruel and senseless thing ever. Those Spaniards have gone beaver to be amused by such as that. Poor doings when a ‘bear hunter’ puts old Ephraim into a cage, then lets him out into a pen to be gored by the bull. They’re both tied together,” he told an awestruck Quartus.

“Neither one has fair play!” Erskine pointed at him indignantly, handing Zelnora the gold samples. He attempted to soothe Quartus by telling him, “The fight almost always ends without many coups on either side. Neither of the combatants really means to raise much hair, they just want peace.”

Cormack said, “Erskine. Let me put this in your safe till you can credit it to my account.” He would place most of their gold into the safe, keeping on him only what he needed for today’s festivities and to purchase supplies for Lion Island. Cormack aimed to buy a lot in San Francisco where he’d heard an auction would soon be held—a few hundred dollars for beach and water lots. Brannagh always attended those auctions, flaunting his brethren’s money, and hurrah for vengeful doings if Cormack could purchase a lot away from him. It was the settlements for him, once he earned his fortune! He’d not squander his gold earnings away on liquor and women like so many had already done.

While Erskine put their dust away, Zelnora told Cormack in a low voice, “This Sonoran Camp ore is of the highest quality, twenty-four carats even, almost ready to go to the mint. We should find some of these Sonoran Spaniards and find out more about it.”

“Sounds like a pretty smart spree,” Cormack agreed. Louder, he told Erskine, “Sounds like our
compañero
Brannagh is speechifying out there. We should pay our respects.”

Cormack slapped his hat onto his head, and Zelnora took Quartus by the hand as they left the assaying office. Cormack was proud of Zelnora for raising Brannagh’s hair that time in Lion Island, and she had seemed more confident as of late, walking more erect, smiling freely. Blooming, really, with the freedom of not being under any man’s thumb.

“Cormack, why would Aaron not be allowed to handle money?” Zelnora inquired as they threaded their way through the fort’s inner courtyard, past beef on smoldering charcoal fires, ragged men done up in brass-buttoned waistcoats toasting “here’s all the hair off your head,” and Californio women with braids woven in intricate architectural heaps. Plaintive airs on guitar and fiddle were sung with much pathos as they walked through clouds of
cigarito
smoke, the little
cigarita
also puffed freely by señoritas. “Wasn’t he a broker on Wall Street?”

Cormack had feared that question. He had been surprised Erskine had mentioned it in front of Zelnora. So now he had a handy reply. “Yes, he was a trader, a speculator on Wall Street,” he said, picking up two cups of
aguardiente
from a long table and handing one to Zelnora. To distract Quartus, he handed him one, as well. “A very good money man, from all accounts. I fear Sutter won’t have much money to manage, though, if men keep deserting him as they’ve been doing, or plundering his land and cattle. Already Marshall is a ruined man, all the squatters overrunning his mill.”

Zelnora would not be distracted, however, as they approached the clearing where Brannagh held forth. “Is that how you met him then, on Wall Street? Were you an investor?”

“Yes, we met nearby Wall Street. Erskine needed protection from some ruffians.”

“Oh, someone was trying to stick him up? Extort money from him? Blackmail?”

Cormack grinned. “Something like that. More like they were trying to raise his topknot.”

Clutching his arm, Zelnora leaned her bosom against him. “And you went and raised their hair to protect him?”

“Something like that. Hey. Don’t you want to hear your former employer bloviate? Look, Quartus—Brannagh is making a speech.”

Quartus commenced to drumming a rapid tattoo. “Speech! Speech!” he exhorted, though Brannagh was already bellowing welcome to their esteemed guests, Colonel Mason and Lieutenant William Tecumseh Sherman, up from Monterey to view the gold diggings for themselves and discover why they were left with only a few soldiers to guard their coastal fort, everyone else having deserted to the mines. As a private’s monthly pay was now worth about a pound of flour, it was no big surprise. Captain Sutter was already so in his cups, he was sliding down his chair and would soon be on the ground.

“These men are murderers, I say, as well as thieves. I know it, and I will die or see them hung by the neck.” Apparently, Brannagh referred to the Spanish brigands roaming California in bands. Recently Sly, Nutting, and a few other men had been attacked and robbed of their gold on the river road. “I'm opposed to any farce in this business.”

Cormack felt Zelnora shake with laughter against his arm. “That’s a good joke,” she muttered.

“We are the mayor and the recorder, the hangman and the law. Every morning, we read fresh accounts of murders and robberies. I want no technicalities. Such things are devised to shield the guilty!”

Odd that when Brannagh shouted earnestly about brigands, Cormack’s eye fell upon an intent Spaniard who had been staring at him. This Spaniard leaned back against the adobe wall of the blacksmith’s shop, clad colorfully in a steeple-crowned glazed sombrero and dandified velvet
calzoneras
fastened up the side with gold buttons, open to the knee. Being taller than most Spaniards marked him as a
gente de razón,
perhaps Castilian. His soft brown-black hair came nearly to his shoulders, and he sported one of those thin moustaches Cormack had always associated with the brigand, although perhaps Brannagh’s speech was coloring his vision. As was normal in these parts, his spurs were of enormous size, the shaft ten inches long, the roller bristling out into six points, which rattled with a quick, sharp sound. The man was handsome in a compelling, mysterious way, with a pointed, well-formed nose and high, dramatic cheekbones. He could have a bit of the Plains Indian in him…

But why was he staring so intently and levelly at Cormack? Maybe he coveted Zelnora as the most vivacious and intelligent woman at the entire fort. Or maybe he was a Spaniard who could tell them about the Sonoran Camp dry diggings. Like most white folks, Cormack assumed all Spaniards were acquainted with one another.

As Brannagh wound down his speech and Colonel Mason took up various toasts, Cormack told Zelnora, “Let’s get to the fandango.” He grabbed a chunk of cheese and a bottle of champagne on their way out the fort gate.

A mass of Americans and Californios threaded the mazes of a cotillion as a fiddle and concertina struck up “Old Uncle Ned.” While Quartus joined the band and beat out that rhythm on the drum, Cormack donned his dress buckskin coat with beaver collar and cuffs. Taking Zelnora by the hand, they joined the dance with other couples and waltzed to the unhappy lyrics.

His fingers were long like de cane in de brake,

He had no eyes for to see;

He had no teeth for to eat de corn cake,

So he had to let de corn cake be.

Cormack was invigorated to be dancing for the first time since the last rendezvous, when mountain men flush of cash went on their spree and were as open-handed as an Indian could wish the sale of whiskey. They joined hands in a circle with other dancers and sashayed out, sashayed in. Zelnora tossed her braided head and skipped with light feet, laughing with the other emigrants she was acquainted with. Cormack realized that he wished to settle in a place with social activities, so he could see Zelnora this giddy and fresh-faced all of the time.