Novel 1981 - Comstock Lode (v5.0) (13 page)

The bakery was becoming more and more of a meeting place, and he moved back to Melissa’s table. She was rarely there, for she now had three bakers working shifts around the clock.

Trevallion, his Winchester under his arm, walked the street from end to end, looking for Waggoner.

There was no sign of him.

Instead, he met Crockett. “When are you going to work for me, Trevallion?”

“When you offer me a share of the mine instead of wages.”

Crockett’s smile vanished. “A share? You’ve got to be crazy!”

“Why? You think the ore is there but you don’t know how to get it out. I do. So why shouldn’t I have a share?”

He walked away up the street, but when Crockett called after him, he did not stop.

At the next saloon he saw Ol’ Virginny, and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Buy me a drink?” Virginny suggested. “I spent my last or was rolled for it.”

Trevallion stepped to the bar. “Two whiskeys.” As the glasses were filled, Trevallion turned to face Virginny. “Tell me something, have you worked in the Solomon?”

“Don’t need to.” Virginny picked up his glass and his hand trembled. “They’ve got nothing in sight. An’ maybe,” he paused and looked at Trevallion out of wise old eyes, “they aren’t lookin’ too hard!”

He downed his liquor. “The way I see, that ground there should be ore, rich ore. Well, there isn’t. They’re getting out enough rock to mill, but when all’s said an’ done, it’s mighty poor stuff.”

“Crockett believes in it.”

“He does that. What he needs,” Virginny glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes, “is a good mining man.”

“Crockett run the mine himself?”

“Well, sort of. He’s too good-natured to hold the men to their jobs, so he leaves that to Al Hesketh, who’s a hard man.”

“This Hesketh? Is he a mining man?”

Ol’ Virginny shrugged. “Some might call him that, but I would not. But he’s canny, canny.”

“What’s that mean?”

Ol’ Virginny downed another drink. “Like I said, maybe they ain’t lookin’ too hard. If a strike comes at the right time, when the price of the stock is down, a man who knows that strike is coming can do himself proud, mighty proud.”

“Has Hesketh been buying stock?”

“All I said was, he’s canny. What he does I don’t know, but there’s no Solomon stock been bought for some time. Folks figure she’s played out an’ the stock’s way down.”

“But they are shipping ore?”

“Some, low-grade stuff. Crockett’s workin’ eight, maybe ten men. Varies some with the quittin’ that goes on. Miners in a boom camp are a restless lot.

“Anyway, if Crockett is payin’ those miners, payin’ Hesketh and buyin’ powder an’ such, he’s not makin’ ends meet. Or that would be my guess.”

Trevallion bought another drink for Ol’ Virginny. They talked mines and mining, then Ol’ Virginny began to ramble on about the Comstock. “I ain’t no gee—no geologist,” he said, “but this here’s a mighty broken, twisted country. That lode, she doesn’t always lie where you figger, an’ sometimes you strike a rich pocket and then she plays out, with a big ‘horse’ or block of no-good ground thrust up betwixt that ore body and one next to it. Folks strike that horse of no-pay ground and they think she’s played out, sometimes it is.

“Often as not there’s more lies beyond, which they never find. That Solomon now—they started runnin’ a drift, tunnel, whatever you want to call it, and all of a sudden they quit. Decided they were wasting money, an’ maybe they were. Anyway, they quit and took off on another tangent.”

“What do you think?”

“I think they should’ve kept on the way they were goin’, but who am I to say? They were on the ground, takin’ samples all along. They know what they were wantin’ to do.”

Taking the bottle, they went to one of the few tables and seated themselves. Ol’ Virginny was in a mellow but talkative mood. “I worked in Grass Valley when you was there,” he said, “and folks from Rich Bar have spoke of you. They tell me you’re a top man with a single-jack. Like to work with you sometime.”

He gestured at the busy mountainside. “You watch. Come winter they’ll disappear. Most of ’em. They’ll just take out for Californy an’ try to beat the winter over the mountains. You have any cash you hang to it, sure as shootin’ come the first cold spell you can buy cheap. I seen it before.

“You an’ me, Trev, we got to take us a walk. Show you a thing or two about this here layout.” He gestured widely at the hillside. “Them Grosch boys, they knowed! But ol’ Pancake, he knows nothing! Nothing atall!

“You mind what I say. Come spring the moneyboys from Frisco will be comin’ in, buyin’ everything in sight. That Ralston, he already knows a good bit, and he’s a mighty shrewd man. You take my word for it and buy with ever’ dime you can get before winter shuts down.”

“What about you?”

Virginny shot him a shrewd look from under his brows. “Never you mind about me. I done taken steps, but it’ll do me no good. Drink it up, that’s what I’ll do. Young man like you, you should have a wife, youngsters. You should build you a home.”

When night came he rode up the canyon, as if returning to his original claim near the Sugarloaf, and circling back, he camped in some low willows near the Carson River. At an hour before daybreak and without breakfast, he mounted and headed back for his claim near Pipe Spring.

For a week he worked hard and, making a few small discoveries, he located a claim about a mile northwest of Pipe Spring. He made the discoveries while scouting around to see if there had been any visitors. He found no tracks but those of animals, and even they were few. Saturday morning when he started to make coffee he found a thin coating of ice in the bucket.

The week just ending had been his best by far, with several neat little pockets of alluvial gold found in natural riffles and a clean-up on the bedrock of a trench he had dug along an old streambed.

The gold found here was of better quality than that found in Gold Canyon and would run about sixteen dollars to the ounce. Yet he was not deceived. Well as he had done, he knew he had found only pockets, and the chances of any major discovery were nil.

Yet he persisted through another week, working from daylight to dark. By the end of the second week since his return, the water had almost ceased to run, and there was no chance of working further. At that, only the fact that the mountains lifted abruptly around had given him as much water as he had, and most of the intermittent streams had long ceased to flow.

Saddling the black mule and taking what gold he had, he avoided the route by which he had come into the area and rode east to Lebo Spring, then cut across to the head of Eldorado Canyon.

About an hour after starting, he paused to water the mule at some springs beneath a steep bluff, then after a brief rest started on down the canyon. There was a settlement of miners along there somewhere, but he had never visited the place. When he found it, there were but three shacks and a somewhat larger structure that doubled as a store and saloon.

Leaving the mule at the hitching rail he went into the saloon.

A bald-headed man with a red fringe of hair glanced around at him. “Howdy! We got whiskey and we got some cold beer.”

“I’ll have the beer. How do you keep it cold?”

The man chuckled. “Got me a lil ol’ cave back yonder, and the air that comes out o’ there is cold, and I mean really cold! I set my beer in the opening, and you couldn’t want it better.”

“Are you Trevallion?”

He looked around at the speaker. He was a slim, handsome young man with a wave in his hair and a quick, friendly smile. “I’m Eldorado Johnny,” the speaker said.

“Heard of you. Yes, I’m Trevallion.”

“Hear you’re mighty good with a gun.”

Trevallion looked at him coolly. “When I have to be.”

Johnny laughed. “So am I good,” he said. “I’m probably the best there is. That’s why I am going into Virginia City. I want to see that Farmer Peel, Langford Peel. Is he as good as they say?”

“He’s always been good enough.”

“I wonder if he’s as good as me?”

Trevallion was irritated. Yet Johnny was nothing if not charming. There was something warm and friendly about him one could scarcely avoid liking. “Leave him alone,” he advised.

“He’s good, is he?”

“He’s very good, and he minds his own business and doesn’t go hunting trouble.” And then he added, “The only trouble-hunters I ever knew were young.”

“Yeah? I wonder why that is?”

“Because they don’t live long enough to get old.”

Eldorado Johnny laughed. “Well, maybe you’re right. But don’t you ever wonder if you’re better than him? Or me?”

Trevallion finished his beer and then he said, “No, I don’t wonder about it. I just don’t give a damn. If a man needed killing, I’d kill him. I’ve never seen the Farmer be anything but a gentleman.”

“Tell him I’m coming up to see him.”

“I’ll do no such thing. You bring your own message, Johnny, but when you do, buy yourself whatever you want to be buried in.”

He put down his glass and went to the door. He stepped into the saddle and looked back at Johnny, who had walked to the edge of the porch. Trevallion lifted a hand and Johnny replied, then he walked back inside.

For a moment he was silent, then he looked across the bar at the bald man. “He’s got it all, hasn’t he? Damn him, he’s so sure! I wish—”

“He’s been through it, Johnny. He’s been up the river and over the mountain. He’s the kind you leave alone, Johnny.”

Chapter 14

A
BITTER WIND was blowing off Sun Mountain when he dismounted at the bakery. He led his mule to the stable, and then, bowing his head against the wind, he went around to the front door of the bakery.

Melissa was there with Vern Kelby and two other men. She got up quickly. “Trevallion! Of all people! Sit down and I’ll get a cup!”

“Come far?” Kelby asked.

“Eldorado,” he said.

Melissa put a cup of hot coffee before him and began fixing a plate. The bakery smelled good, and it was warm and snug.

“Many pulling out?” he asked.

Kelby nodded. “Here and there. We catch them coming and going here, but nobody in his right mind would spend a winter here.”

“Weather doesn’t interfere with mining. Not when you’re underground.”

“But a man has to come up once in a while. The placer miners are pulling out, most of them.” Kelby turned his head to look at him. “How about you?”

“I’ll stay.”

“You must do all right.” There was a question there and Trevallion did not like it. “I understand yours is a placer operation.”

“It’s hard work.”

Even in his brief absence, the town had grown. More buildings, and at least two of them for business. The others were residences, if such they could be called. As he looked up the street, watching the men struggling against the hard-blowing wind, he decided he did not like Kelby, but it was probably prejudice. Actually, he knew nothing about the man, one way or the other.

“Are you staying?” he asked then.

Kelby hesitated. “I am not certain.” He glanced up at Melissa as she returned with a plate of food for Trevallion. “Melissa certainly does not wish to leave.”

“Leave? This is all I have! This is my business, my life, really. I am independent for the first time in my life.”

Kelby smiled. “Independence may not always be the best thing. Especially,” he added, “for a woman.”

“A woman can be independent as well as a man,” Trevallion said. “Gives her a choice. A woman alone, with nobody, and with no income can have a bleak future. I would say Melissa has done well here, and with the coming of spring she will do better, much better.”

“You believe this place will boom?” Kelby was skeptical.

“I do.”

Kelby gestured up the street toward Lyman Jones’s hotel, a canvas and frame structure where an old sluice-box doubled for a bar and whiskey was served in tin cups and drawn from a barrel. “Lyman’s staying, and so are some others, but the smart ones are getting out. I’ve been advising Melissa to sell out and go back to California. With what she has she could open a business out there.”

“You don’t understand, Vern,” Melissa protested. “I am doing well here because there are a lot of men and very little to eat but bacon and beans. Down there baked goods is no novelty.”

“With what this would bring you,” he said, “we could—”

“‘We’?” Trevallion said.

“Well, I’d be glad to help her get started. With a little capital one can do a lot.”

Trevallion put down his knife and fork and took up the coffeepot and refilled the cup. “Mr. Kelby,” he said, “Melissa has a going business in a boom mining camp. If she stays with it, she can become rich. Operating a business up here is quite simple, and down there in California it is quite otherwise.

“True, she is barely going to make expenses this winter, but she will be on the ground when the crowds come in next spring. She has worked hard, very hard, to build this business. She built the business not for what she has done but for what she will do.”

“That’s what I have been telling him,” Melissa said.

“But the winter will be hard for a woman,” Kelby protested. “I am only thinking of her.”

“Of course,” Trevallion said.

“After we are married I shall be helping her with the business,” Kelby said. “I am sure with a bit of assistance in the management she can do much better.”

Melissa flushed. “Now, Vern, we had not decided anything of the kind,” she protested.

“I think—” Trevallion started to say, when Kelby interrupted.

His irritation was obvious. “Look,” he said, “I realize you are a friend of Melissa’s but that doesn’t give you reason to run her life. She will do what she wishes. When you finish your coffee, I would suggest you leave.”

Trevallion put down his cup. His face showed nothing. “Melissa,” he spoke quietly, “suppose you tell him.”

“Vern,” she said hastily, “you don’t understand! Trevallion is my partner. He put up some of the money to get me started, he and Jim Ledbetter. Without them I would have had no business.”

He flushed angrily. “You did not tell me!”