Magnificent Passage (4 page)

She smiled up at him. “You'll be my first customer.”

He grinned, gave her a baleful, appraising look, and shook his head. “Sorry, Red, maybe next time.”

“You sure, handsome?” She twisted a slim finger in the fringe of his buckskin shirt.

“Business before pleasure,” he told her. He stuffed a greenback into her cleavage.

She ran a hand seductively along the inside of his thigh.

A little reluctantly, he pulled away. “I'll be back,” he promised.

She licked red lips, then turned away from him, smiling over her shoulder. Her blue eyes deepened in a disappointed pout.

With a teasing smile, he gave her shapely bottom a smack and sent her away, more than a little regretfully. She looked like she'd make a fiery bed partner—just the kind he liked. He wondered where she came from. Women were still at a premium out West, even her kind. She looked too young to have been in business long—but then, this was tough country. Men—and women—were forced to grow up fast.

He shook his head at life's cruel little jests and padded back to his table in the center of the room.

“Looks like we're gonna have to cut the game short, gentlemen.” Still standing, he threw his hand in, then waited for his partner, James Long, to finish playing his cards. Tall, lean, and fine-featured, James appeared almost boyish at times. He was quick to grin and always looked to the bright side of life.

“What's up?” James scooted his chair closer to the table. His black eyes sparkled mischievously as he turned over his final card.

Langley smiled to himself—ace of diamonds. You could always count on James when the chips were down. And that went for more than just poker.

James grinned, raked in his winnings, then spoke to the other men at the table: two miners straight from the hardrock diggings up north, a Texas cowhand looking to change his luck, and a merchant who made more money than the lot of them, but was easy pickings at the table.

“Better luck next time, boys,” James said. The men grumbled but made no move to stop him collecting his due.

“Governor Ashton says we're needed urgently,” Langley said. “ 'Bout time we headed home anyway.”

James unwound his lanky frame and stood up, careful to brush a telltale piece of lint from his black custom-tailored suit.

Langley picked up his well-worn broad-brimmed hat resting on the edge of the table and moved toward the front door, James close behind.

“Hey, Langley, where in hell you think you're goin'? You an' me got a score to settle!” From a table near the back of the saloon, Bull Miller's voice, thick with whiskey, rang across the bar.

Langley stiffened. Miller always was a fool. Now it appeared cheap liquor had dissolved the last of the man's common sense.

“I've got no fight with you, Bull,” Langley said as he turned to face the big, bearded man.

“The hell you say! You cost me a damn good job!” Miller's face reddened; he clenched his fist and shook it, then noisily shoved aside two rickety wooden chairs blocking his path.

Langley bristled, his muscles tensing instinctively. He didn't want a fight with the brawny ex-guard, but he wouldn't run from one either. “You shouldn't have gotten drunk, Miller. That gold shipment was your responsibility.”

James Long allowed himself an amused smile as he surveyed first his tall muscular partner, then the giant Bull Miller, then the dark oak mirrors and fancy leaded glass behind the bar. Though the men were unevenly matched in weight, James had no doubt about the outcome. Miller was
far from the first man, the Gold Nugget far from the first saloon, to suffer his friend's wrath.

“This could get expensive, Hawk,” he whispered, using the Indian name his friend preferred. Stepping back, he moved from between the two men.

Miller spat a stream of tobacco, missing the spittoon beneath the bar. Enraged, the giant man thundered across the room toward his opponent. A ham-sized fist whistled through the air. Hawk ducked easily, then drove a fist to Miller's middle, doubling him over. Miller sucked in a breath, bellowed in fury, and came up swinging. Tables were pushed aside to make room for the two men, and the crowd formed a surging, shouting circle around them. Bets were laid down, and several smaller fights broke out. The din of screaming, jostling men was deafening.

Hawk circled his opponent warily. As the man swung wildly, unable to aim his blow, Hawk stepped aside and delivered a powerful punch to Miller's jaw, sending the bearded giant sprawling atop two wooden chairs, which splintered beneath his weight. With a heavy thud, he crashed to the floor.

Hawk shook his bruised knuckles and glowered at the man at his feet. Groaning and wincing with pain, Bull raised his massive head, tried to push himself up, faltered, then sank into unconsciousness.

James grinned broadly. Being sober and more agile had given his partner an edge. Hawk brushed off his buckskin shirt and breeches, though they didn't need it, and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. His moccasin-clad feet padded silently back across the barroom floor.

“Here.” James gave him the dusty hat, and Hawk pulled it low—its usual place on his forehead. He glanced at the unconscious ex-guard.

“He'll be all right,” he said to no one in particular. Then he added, “We'd better get started for Sacramento City.” For the first time, he grinned. White teeth contrasted with his sun-browned skin. “I'd hate like hell to have to fight him when he's sober.”

James chuckled out loud. “You have a point there, but as hard as you hit him, we'll be halfway to Sacramento before he wakes up.” He turned serious. “What do you think the governor wants with us this time?”

Hawk clapped his friend on the back. “Hard to tell. Guess we'll find out when we get there.” He left a gold coin on the bar for the broken chairs, winked promisingly at the redhead, and pushed through the swinging double doors.

He swung into the saddle of his big bay stallion; his friend mounted his black, and they threaded their way through the busy streets of Mokelumne Hill. Chinese laborers, Mexican
vaqueros,
reed-and-rabbitskin-clad Indians, buggies, and heavily laden buckboards all conspired to block their way.

The pair headed toward Sacramento City. Though it was late in the day, by pressing hard they could make Jackson by nightfall.

The ride was easy, but the heat of the day made it uncomfortable. Merchants were clanking their heavy iron shutters closed by the time the horses plodded up the narrow, dusty streets of Jackson at the end of the day. A small, dark-skinned Mexican youth raced up beside the horses, his head barely reaching Hawk's stirrup.

“Mister, Chapo see to your horses,” he told Hawk. “Work cheap. Take good care.”

They rounded a corner and reined up in front of the National Hotel, the small boy still jogging beside them.

Hawk flipped him a coin. “Take 'em 'round back and make sure they each get a can of oats.” The boy nodded happily, grabbed both sets of reins, and headed toward the rear of the hotel.

The National was a three-story structure with wide porches off the bottom and second stories. It had been known as the Louisiana House before the Civil War. Northern sentiments dictated the name change. Hawk followed James into the cool interior.

“James! And Hawk! 'Bout time you two showed your faces 'round these parts.” Letty Neal stepped from behind the counter.

Hawk bent and scooped the short, broad-hipped woman into a bear hug. “Good to see you, Letty.” Both men had known Letty for some time. Hawk liked staying at the National. Letty ran the place with an iron hand, and both the food and her company were well worth the stop.

James removed his hat and leaned over to plant a chaste kiss on the old woman's cheek. “Got a couple rooms for us, Letty?”

“Always got a room for you boys. Where ya headin' this time?”

“Home. Governor wants to see us,” Hawk answered.

“Well, you both look tired,” she said. “Plannin' on turnin' in early, or can I buy you a drink?” She glanced at Hawk. “Laurel's been askin' after you.”

Hawk smiled. “Think I'll take you up on that drink.”

“Me too.” James winked at Letty. “Think Sarah might be a bit thirsty tonight?”

Letty grinned. “You boys got some kinda appetite. Let's get that drink.”

Hawk followed the two into the bar.

The drink and dinner satisfied part of Hawk's appetite; the rest Laurel took care of up in his room. Relaxed at last, he closed his eyes and drifted off. Thoughts of the governor's urgent message troubled his sleep.

“Travis . . . James. Come in, come in.” Governor Ashton welcomed them expansively, guiding them into his dark, walnut-paneled, book-lined study. Shaking hands, he indicated two deep, red leather chairs.

“I trust your journey was not overly tiring,” he said, seating himself behind a massive carved mahogany desk.

“No more than usual for this time of year,” James responded formally.

“And you, Travis; you're looking well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hawk replied.

“I'll come directly to the point, gentlemen.” A bigboned, graying man who exuded power and authority, the governor had eyes that missed little and betrayed even less, but today he seemed anxious and distracted.

“I've called you here on an errand of utmost importance—to myself and my family.” He was conscientious in his duties to the point of obsession, but he rarely spoke of family.

Hawk watched the governor's gray eyes curiously. They reflected determination, yet a bit of hesitancy. It wasn't like him.

“I assume neither of you has met my daughter,” the governor said, shuffling the papers lying on his desk. He glanced around the room as if to hide his embarrassment.

“No, sir,” James responded for both.

“Well, I'm certain you've at least read stories of her many escapades.”

Hawk smiled and noticed James did the same. Julia Ashton had made the headlines of every social column in every newspaper in the West. She was glamorous and daring, and her exploits made great copy. Hawk distinctly remembered an incident a little over a year ago when Miss Ashton reportedly threw off most of her clothes and ended up in a fountain in the garden of the Sanford estate. The papers had spared no detail of the event, much to the governor's chagrin.

Rumor had it she'd slept with half the dandies in Sacramento, though she was still little more than a child. Julia Ashton was whispered about, written about, and snickered about. But she was a woman desired by every man she met. The governor rarely mentioned her. In fact, she'd been a constant source of embarrassment to him ever since he took office.

“I see that you have,” the governor confirmed. He drummed his fingers against the leather pad on the top of the desk. “After her last fiasco, I sent her East, to a Boston finishing school. Since she stayed out of trouble in Boston, I allowed her to spend the summer with my brother and his daughter in the Dakota Territory. I presumed, quite wrongly, that in that wilderness there would be little chance for her to get into trouble. However . . . she has become involved with a young cavalry officer from Fort
Laramie. I'm certain it's just a whim of hers, as usual, but she claims she's in love and wants to marry the man. Of course I cannot allow it.”

“Maybe she really is in love,” said James.

Hawk wondered if this could possibly be the “matter of utmost importance” the governor spoke of in his wire.

“Julia is extremely spoiled,” the governor said. “I'm afraid I've indulged her far too often. She's willful, selfish.... She's never loved anyone except herself, and even if she really were in love, what kind of life would she have? She's always been pampered and cared for. She couldn't survive as a frontier wife. No, I must save her from herself. And that, gentlemen, is why you are here.”

“But Governor Ashton, what could we possibly have to do with all this?” Hawk spoke for the first time.

“You, my friends, are going to bring the little darling home.”

“What!” Hawk exclaimed.

“But Governor—” James protested.

“I'll make it well worth your while. I guarantee by the time you return to Sacramento City, she'll have forgotten the boy's name and be ready for the social season.” He smiled. “A few long weeks on horseback, or a crowded stage, should make her more than ready for the luxuries of her home.”

“But Governor,” Hawk began, rising from his chair to glower at the man across the desk, “we're not nursemaids. We can't drag a female child across a thousand miles of hostile country against her will. It's just not our line of work.”