Working the Lode (25 page)

“What?” Zelnora gasped. “Joaquin! You sent your men to rob Mercy’s band?”

Even Cormack took a few steps toward Joaquin. “Explain, Valenzuela.”

Joaquin held his hands out, palms down. “Yes, I knew about it. That was before we became…
compañeros
, Bowmaker. But I did not authorize it.”

“You did nothing to stop it?” Erskine started for the bandit, this time actually drawing his pistol, but Cormack stepped between them. Erskine shouted around Cormack’s arm. “You knew that your men were planning on robbing—”

“Yes, and I did not participate. What is the big catastrophe? They told me they only robbed a few pious men of some jerked beef, then left.”

“Jerked beef?” Erskine said with slit eyes. “Jerked beef?” he repeated, more frenzied. “What are you talking about, jerked beef?”

Quartus stood lamely, eyes round, claret bottle in hand. “Jerked beef?” he echoed.

Erskine continued, “It was a hell of a lot more than jerked beef, you lunkhead! They killed three men and kidnapped Mercy Narrimore!”

A silent pall fell over the darkening glen. The only movement was Quartus’ hand slowly lowering the liquor bottle, and Erskine’s fingers tickling the pistol trigger, his eyes blazing hatred at Joaquin. Zelnora’s heart was falling. If this was true, Joaquin was an out-and-out liar, and Mercy…

Cormack broke the Mexican standoff. “Whoa, hold on, old hoss. Mercy? Kidnapped? What gave you this idea? Who told you?”

Erskine was so riled he even poked Cormack in the chest. “Some damned letter written by someone named Rogers, that’s who! He addressed it to Captain Sutter and buried it under a rock in the Sierra hoping Indians would find it, and find it they did! They brought it to Sutter, wearing the dead mens’ clothes, and I was one of the first to read it! Rogers said it was the work of Joaquin Valenzuela.”

Joaquin stepped out from behind the protection of Cormack, and Zelnora tensed. If Joaquin was indeed the same foul, savage fiend of even a couple months ago, this encounter could turn deadly, and she did not have her pocket pistol with her. She knew Brother Rogers. He, too, had been eager to get to the Colorado River to meet the overland party of which Mercy’s fiancé was a member.

“I tell the truth, Erskine.” Joaquin’s eyes brimmed with sincere empathy, but Zelnora was familiar with that false countenance in many men—Barton Sparks and Brannagh. “I take responsibility as far as those being my men, and I knew that Ward Brannagh was looking to hire men to stop the party from making it over the Sierra. Brannagh came to me first, and I told him I wouldn’t do it, so he went to my men directly. The goal was merely to rob them, so that they had no provisions and had to turn back, and this is the first I’ve heard of any murder—”

“Brannagh?”

It was unclear who uttered that name first—Zelnora herself, Erskine, Cormack, or Quartus. But all four of them suddenly crowded around Joaquin, revolvers forgotten, clamoring, “Brannagh?”

Quartus wouldn’t believe Joaquin that Brannagh would commit such a low-down crime. Zelnora sided with Cormack and Erskine when Erskine declared, “Damn—Brannagh! Doggone if he wouldn’t! You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to sit there with my mouth shut listening to him rail against the party who dared to leave the fold, while Sutter sat there drowning his sorrows, agreeing with everything he said! Everyone knew the only reason he cared about that party was the loss of the tithing and the workers to build his empire. That’s not to mention the two of you—ho, boy, was that ever a bee in his bonnet. You’ve never heard such agony being piled on—to hear tell it, Cormack, you’re as bad as this headless bandit here. Many were the times I wanted to draw the buckskin from my rifle, to have to listen to how you were thrown into Sing Sing for murdering ailing people, how you were a convicted escapee, the whole time ignoring the fact that I sat there, your fellow escapee, so why on earth would I turn against you and spread these stories—”

“Wait!” Zelnora shouted, shaking Erskine by the shoulders. “Sing Sing? Thrown there for murdering ailing people? What’s all this about?”

The robust color drained from Erskine’s face. “I, uh, I.”

“Yes,” said Quartus weakly. “Yet more murder? What’s going on around here? Is everyone turning into assassins manufactured in hell to convert highways into theaters of blood? Oh, my…”

Joaquin gently pulled apart Zelnora and Erskine. This mutual vendetta against Brannagh seemed to turn Erskine and Joaquin into instant
compañeros
. “Everyone calm down. We can discuss Sing Sing later, that’s not important right now. Our first step is obvious. We need to get to Three-Fingered Jack’s camp and convince him to tell us what really happened. Then we need to find your sweetheart, Erskine.”

Erskine seemed relieved to change the subject. “That’s why I came here—to get a posse to go find Mercy.”

* * * *

Joaquin’s thoughts had been turning more and more to love and not perfidy. In fact, later that evening when he snuck into Three-Fingered Jack’s camp—his own camp, really, but less and less did he consider it his own—he was dreaming about love. A thought crossed his mind that perhaps he was done with revenge. Perhaps his wife had called “Enough!” from beyond the grave. Perhaps she tried to convince him that not all North Americans were raping, murdering fiends.

The camp was relatively quiet, with just two vaqueros posted on high points, all animals securely hobbled, and a horse guard posted against theft by Digger Indians. Two men Joaquin identified as Garcia and Jack sat near the fire imbibing, but everyone else appeared to be flat on their backs farting and burping. Joaquin and Cormack had formulated what seemed like a good plan. After picketing their animals a safe distance away, Cormack and Erskine would accost and bind the two guards while Joaquin and Zelnora casually ambled to the campfire. Jack and Garcia would be taken by surprise and would never feel threatened by the appearance of a delectable woman. It was a bold move for Zelnora to make, but being short of men, they had to use their wits. It was a simple plan, one that he and Jack had used before on unsuspecting
compañeros
who trusted them.

“
Buenos noches
, Jack. Garcia.”

“Jefe!”
Only Jack got unsteadily to his feet, Garcia being crippled.

Zelnora trailing him, Joaquin strolled around the campfire, having already spied Jack’s knapsack. Joaquin stooped to unlatch the leather knapsack. Jack made a motion to grab for it but withdrew when he saw the pistol in Joaquin’s hand.

“Ward Brannagh has sent us to search for something he lost,” Joaquin explained casually. “I will return Miss Sparks safely to him once we have found this important item.” The knapsack was heavy enough, that was obvious, and Joaquin rifled through a few filthy items of clothing.

Jack spoke tremulously, a sheen of sweat already broken out on his forehead. “But why would I have anything belonging to Brannagh? He paid us to rob those missionaries, and all we got was some jerked—”

“And this white woman’s bracelet?” Joaquin handed it to Zelnora for inspection. She nodded that yes, this belonged to Mercy Narrimore.

“Oh, that? I have had that for many months. I can’t even recall where I found—”

Joaquin shook out a rumpled garment the brown shade of snuff. “And this very attractive garment?”

Placing the bracelet down her chemise between her breasts, Zelnora reached to inspect the coat. It was an odd-looking thing not often—if ever—seen in these parts, with the waist beginning a hand’s span from the throat, about a yard above its proper position, and the skirts sweeping straight to the ankles. “Yes, this could be Brother Rogers’, or I have seen Ezra Allen wear something similar,” she affirmed.

“That was just one of the jerked beef hombres!” Jack protested. “Since they had nothing worth stealing, and we were cold, we merely—”

“And this?” Joaquin tossed the knapsack to the dirt, brandished the heavy, giant gold nugget, and cocked his hammer. Zelnora did the same with her Colt’s as Cormack and Erskine sauntered up behind the two bandits, leveling their own pieces, pistols ready to speak the first word should Jack or Garcia make any untoward move.

“And now,” said Joaquin with authority, “you are going to take us to where Brannagh is holding Miss Narrimore.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Striking their spurs into their horses, rifles flung across the horns of their saddles, they headed across a few passes toward Tragedy Springs. As that was a new moniker for that deadly place, they had to rely on the dubious directions of Three-Fingered Jack and Garcia. They had taken Garcia along, as he was least likely to make a break down a valley and warn anyone about their nefarious plan. They had left the two vaquero guards bound in a ravine and forced Jack to tell Feliz they were going on a pleasant outing. Most of Joaquin’s band were too pickled to question Jack’s story, especially when they heard their
jefe
Joaquin repeating the story.

About noontime, they picked up the arduous pioneer road where men had labored rolling huge boulders, only building several feet a day according to Jack. Detritus such as pickle bottles, empty powder horns, and even pots and pans were dashed here and there on the road. Zelnora found a pair of shepherd’s plaid trousers she declared had belonged to Henderson Cox, one of the three murdered men.

Cormack proceeded with unease, crying “Yep!” to his animal, thinking only of Mercy and the Sing Sing conversation Joaquin had postponed until later. Cormack wasn’t sure which part of the story would cause Zelnora to loathe him more, but saving her closest friend from Brannagh’s clutches would dispose her more kindly toward him, so they had best accomplish that first.

The three Americans rode abreast up the good road. Erskine sniffed casually, as though he smelled a skunk. “Rains’ll start soon, this time of year.”

“Yes,” agreed Zelnora. “It’s the loveliest time of year in San Francisco, but the rains start around the end of October.”

Cormack shifted nervously. He felt Zelnora looking at him sideways, wondering,
why Sing Sing?
He believed he already knew her most mortifying secret, that Barton Sparks had abandoned her for having the gall to be barren. This had not dissuaded him in his unwavering love that had consistently grown, and he knew he wanted to start the new wine venture with her. With Joaquin, Quartus, Erskine, and, god willing, Mercy, they hardly needed a new child to make a family complete.

But this Sing Sing business…how would he explain it? Dr. Damian Smith had graduated from the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons, Dr. Damian Smith had entered Sing Sing, but it was Cormack Bowmaker of mountain fame who had broke from that place with his
compañero
, the Wall Street trader in bogus stocks—though now reformed, to be sure—who had once been known as Levi…Levi Block, was it? Levi Fogel? Cormack frowned, as he could no longer recall Erskine’s former name.

He was merely Aaron Erskine now, and he was saying something, a topic almost as asinine as the weather. “Zelnora…About Sing Sing.”

Ho, boy! Heaps of beaver to Erskine for just diving into it like that!

“Erskine, I don’t think Zelnora wants to—”

“No, that’s fine, Cormack,” Zelnora said evenly. “It sounds very intriguing, and now I’ve deduced that Sing Sing is not a Far Eastern city.”

Erskine cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll go ahead with the others. I just thought you could use my help, explaining to Zelnora the truth.”

“Yes,” Cormack said from the corner of his mouth. “Because selling stocks in companies that don’t exist makes you such a reliable source of information.” He was instantly sorry he’d uttered that, because Erskine was right. If she was to be his wife, Zelnora had every right to know, and since Brannagh had already spread the Sing Sing story around California, it was best she hear it from them. “Wait, Erskine. Don’t go ahead. It’s no tremendous doings, after all.” Around this bend, he could see they were nearing the end of the pioneer trail. He would have to talk fast. “I was tossed into Sing Sing in ‘35 for assisting a morbidly ill patient to die.”

Erskine was quick to add, “With dignity, and to alleviate the massive amounts of pain he was in.”