Working the Lode (18 page)

“And what have you proposed to do for her? Is there any hope?”

Cormack didn’t look very hopeful. “I quarantined her, since it’s infectious.”

“Infectious? Then why is it all right for you to tend to her?”

Cormack didn’t answer that. “I’ve given her goldenrod tea, and some fellow is coming from Stockton with oranges.”

“Oranges?” cried Quartus. “We can make juice!” Quartus had taken to swaggering around town wearing Plains Indian style leggings and a Scotch bonnet. He claimed it was the new frontier style.

Zelnora soothed him. “Yes, yes, juice. Now, Cormack. If Antonia dies, will Valenzuela rescind his agreement? He hasn’t even shown us what he believes to be the best claim yet. Maybe he’s waiting to see if you can cure her.”

Cormack frowned. “That wasn’t the agreement. That’s why I say tomorrow, we strike out at once onto the Stanislaus and stake our own damned claim. These bandits, they’re no account anyways you lay your sight.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Quartus warbled. “Can I gamble?”

They had reached an open space where a Spaniard had spread out his serape, put lighted candles at each corner, and poured into the center his stock of gold.

“First you want juice, now you want to gamble,” said Cormack. “These highfalutin duds are going to your head.”

Quartus frowned. “Duds be dogged. I help you mine the gold, I should be allowed to gamble it.”

“That’s true, Cormack,” Zelnora agreed. As Cormack poured some nuggets from a hollow deer horn into Quartus’ palm, she continued, “When we passed by northwest of here, I noticed plenty of slate rock with auriferous quartz veins. It looked exceedingly rich.”

Cormack crinkled his dazzling celestine eyes at her, and she knew everything would be all right. Valenzuela could not stop them from staking their own claim, as long as they didn’t jump one belonging to his men. Or…could he? It was best to remain in his good books for now.

They leaned against a liquor barrel as Quartus gambled away his loot at three-card monte.

“Last night,” Cormack told Zelnora, “a man named Cave bet with this gambler, Mason, that he could induce a lounging Digger to attempt to rob Mason.”

Zelnora nodded. “Just to have an excuse to kill the Indian.”

“Right. Cave pulled the native aside, told him Mason had a large sum of money hidden, told him where to find it, and if he’d rob Mason he could have half of it. He gave the Indian an unloaded pistol, so the native reluctantly entered Mason’s house, coming out without touching a thing. Mason was watching for him and gut-shot him dead on sight. Crossed the great divide.”

Zelnora grimaced. “There’s talk, too, of taxing ‘foreigners’ such as Spaniards on their gold haul. Seems to me that’ll drive away the only people who aren’t out-and-out lunkheads about mining gold.
Oh!
”

“You’re right that we aren’t lunkheads.”

An amused voice came directly behind Zelnora’s shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Twirling about, she faced Valenzuela, or Joaquin, as she had caught herself terming him a few times. He smiled in that ingratiating manner where one could never tell if he was in a pleasant or foul mood. Cormack’s smile, however, was sincere when he clasped the brigand’s hand and acknowledged, “Valenzuela.”

Joaquin nodded back. “Bowmaker.” The monte players on the ground had stilled their motions at the sight of Joaquin and were now, slow as mud so as not to be detected, gathering up their winnings or walking away from their losses before Joaquin could wave a revolver at them. Unlike other towns where he attended functions incognito, coming and going in disguise at will, in Sonoran Camp he was widely known.

“How is Antonia?”

Joaquin seemed relaxed, his handsome, well-boned face underneath the slouch hat open and cordial. “She appears better thanks to the tea. She sat up in bed this morning. When are those oranges arriving?”

Cormack said, “Day after tomorrow. Can we strike out now for the site and make it by sundown?”

“Not by sundown—we’ll leave tomorrow at daybreak. But I just heard tell they’ve taken forty pounds in five days out of this particular mine.”

Zelnora touched the bandit’s bicep. “Joaquin. Aren’t those some of your men?”

Joaquin turned slowly and looked over his shoulder. Three-Fingered Jack and Feliz loitered nearby, Feliz with a lady in black velvet under his arm. Zelnora knew her to be an Italian who sang and accompanied herself on the piano. For his part, Jack pointed his pistol toward a platform where Ethiopian serenaders were about to hand him their daily take.

Joaquin nodded, and Zelnora thought she detected a modicum of disgust as he marched to his men, his serape billowing.

Quartus wandered over, holding out his empty palms. “I lost ten dollars’ worth of gold! I could have sworn I knew where the Queen of Hearts was.”

Zelnora put her arm around him. “It’s all right, dear. Tomorrow, Señor Valenzuela is going to show us where our new mine is.”

Quartus frowned. “Why are they arguing? I’ll bet you ten dollars they’re arguing about that raid.”

“What raid?”

Quartus puffed up with the importance of his information. “Well. I heard them earlier coming out of a grog shop. Those two fellows wanted to go on a raid tonight and murder and rob some people, but Joaquin said no.”

Sure enough, Jack and Feliz were gesturing at Joaquin with revulsion as they stormed away, and Joaquin made an obscene hand motion as they exchanged farewells in Spanish. The only words Zelnora could make out were
bastardo
and
idiota
. Perhaps that was their affectionate manner of saying goodbye to one another. Joaquin marched back over.

“Why,
buenos tardes
,
hermano
,” Quartus said tremulously, fairly bowing in his obeisance.

“Trouble?” Cormack asked, indicating with his chin the departing forms of Joaquin’s
compañeros
.

Joaquin looked down at Cormack’s boots. “No,” he said slowly, and then tossed his head. “They wanted me to come with them on a small…how do you say it? Short journey?”

“Excursion!” Quartus said helpfully.

“Yes, a short excursion. I told them I cannot, as I will be journeying with you tomorrow.” Looking to Zelnora, he continued, “I shall stop by your cabin tonight and give you more information.”

Tipping his slouch hat to them, Joaquin sauntered back down the main street, bystanders and gamblers scattering as they saw him come.

Quartus sighed. “What a romantic life he must lead.”

Cormack frowned down at him. “Quartus. ‘Romantic’ is hardly the word. Come, let’s set our sights on some chickens for dinner.”

And the trio struck off in the opposite direction.

“Daring and adventurous?”

“Ah, all right. I’ll give you that.”

“Courageous and bold? Ooh, ooh, look at that toreador!”

Chapter Nineteen

“Valenzuela. You can assure us we’re not jumping any of your mens’ claims?” asked Cormack.

“Yes,” added Zelnora, leaning forward from her spot sitting between Cormack’s spread thighs. The cook fire still crackled, but no one wanted to sit too close to it. Even after sundown, the shimmering air was hot enough to bake one’s skin. “I fear it would be dangerous, crossing some of those men. They aren’t overly savory.”

“Besides that,” Cormack felt compelled to insert, “this child isn’t too comfortable claim-jumping another man’s property. It’s just not seemly.”

While Valenzuela had been showing signs of humanity since Cormack had doctored his daughter, Cormack was still convinced he’d not hesitate to betray or even murder the first henchman who gave him hell. Cormack had been a mountain man for a decade, and Valenzuela a bandit for only two years, both steeped in their traditions. Perhaps murder formed your current personality more decisively than skinning beavers. Cormack had already ceased to skin beavers and wrestle with grizzlies. But he’d not be surprised if Valenzuela shot the next tortilla seller who wandered their way.

Valenzuela reposed on the dried grass. He had even divested himself of his multihued serape and was clad in an expensive
gente de razón
white cotton shirt with gold buttons. “We’ll not replace anyone if we can avoid it, but the richest stretch of river so far is claimed by one of my men, a greaser from Hermosillo. He’s going to Stockton tomorrow for provisions,” the bandit said ambiguously.

“We’ll just prospect the neighborhood.” Zelnora ventured, “I’ve heard there are several other Joaquins in California, and you are blam—get credit for all of their actions.”

Valenzuela grinned, removing his slouch hat and running his fingers through his thick, lustrous hair. He wore many silver and gold rings of Spanish workmanship, stolen from corpses, no doubt. Not that Cormack was above all of that. He’d been known to loot a man missing his topknot. In the mountains, there was no excuse not to take what otherwise would’ve gone to waste. “There are a few other Joaquins,” he admitted. “I don’t mind taking credit for their actions. It adds to the…
glamor y mística
.”

“Glamour and mystique,” both Cormack and Zelnora echoed at once.

Quartus repeated with shining eyes, “Glamour and mystique!”

Zelnora stood, taking their tin plates to a nearby barrel for washing. “Quartus,” she called. “Can you be a dear and get more water from the creek?”

Bouncing to his feet, Quartus slung the bucket onto his arm and toddled off, his ankles collapsing every few steps under the weight of the enormous California spurs he’d taken to wearing. Past the creek and down the ridge, the Sonoran campfires were strung out along the road to Stockton, close enough to light the way for any traveler entering the camp.

Valenzuela lit his pipe and stood. “Don’t you think you should give him at least a small pistol?” he asked, also heading toward the creek bed. “How idiotic can he be, with a tiny peashooter that wouldn’t scare anyone?”

Cormack felt shamed, as he’d been considering obtaining a larger caliber revolver for Zelnora. Her pocket pistol, while ladylike, wasn’t of much assistance against robbers with Colts. “I still think it’s best to leave him unarmed,” he called after the departing desperado. “He’ll just wind up shooting the rocks, or the bottles of liquor off a bar.”

Once Valenzuela was out of sight, Cormack came up behind Zelnora as she stood under a giant aromatic redwood. The one-room canvas-roofed cabin Valenzuela had loaned them had been hewn from these trees. In this town of roughnecks and hard cases, a man and woman sharing a cabin didn’t disconcert anyone, although by necessity Cormack had built Quartus his own little lean-to where he could watch the stars with his students’ telescope.

Cupping her breasts in his hands as she rinsed a plate, Cormack nibbled on the side of her throat. Her eyes slid shut, and the plate dropped into the water barrel. “Once we’ve worked out this claim, we’ll go back to our new house in San Francisco. Too many folks have been swarming these mountains. A child can’t even turn around without some greaser or keskydee squatting on your territory. It’ll be cold doings soon, snow on the ground, and everyone’ll pile back to the settlements, so if we get there before them—”

Zelnora stood stock-still. “What house in San Francisco?”

Cormack smiled secretively. He whispered into her ear, “The lot Erskine bid on for me in San Francisco. I received a note from him that he won the auction.”

“What about Brannagh? Did he not drive your price up with his outlandish bids?”

It was true, Brannagh had done so, although Erskine had been pretending to bid on the lot on behalf of Captain Sutter. To change the subject, Cormack yanked down her chemise and exposed her full, bouncing breasts to the warm evening air. He pinched her nipples, causing her to cradle her head back into the pit of his throat and nearly purr like a large cat. “I sent the house drawings down to Erskine with the messenger. Four bedrooms,” he bragged. “The artisans should be able to throw it up in about a month.”