Novel 1981 - Comstock Lode (v5.0) (38 page)

Tapley paused. “Want some coffee? I’m fixing to go on top and make some.”

“All right, but be careful up there. They might think you’re me.”

Tapley indicated the hat Trevallion wore. “I got to get me one of them hard hats.”

“You don’t get them, Tap, you make them. You just get a common felt hat and stiffen it with linseed oil. Takes a lot of work. Some favor resin. In fact, I do myself. Rub it into the hat again and again, and after a while it builds up. Better do it if you’re going to work underground. It will save a lot of raps on the skull.”

Tapley took his candle and started for the ladder. At the foot of the ladder he stopped, took his gun-belt from a peg driven into the wall, and slung it around his hips.

Trevallion spooned out the holes they had completed and stepped back, studying the layout. Then he loaded the holes, spit the fuses, and went back along the drift. He slung his gun-belt over a shoulder, not waiting to buckle it on, and scrambled up the ladder. The first shot boomed before he reached the end of the tunnel, snuffing out his light. As he could see the light at the end of the tunnel he did not bother to light it again.

Suddenly he paused. He was still well back inside the tunnel and he was, as he made a half-turn, facing toward the new ground he had bought from the Dutchman. There was nothing to attract him at the point, but he made a decision. He would hold off on his freshly begun shaft and start drifting into the Dutchman’s claim.

“Makes no sense,” Tapley said, “but it’s your claim.”

Trevallion shrugged. “In my time I’ve done a lot of things that made no sense. Call it a hunch.”

“Your money’s in the pot, son,” Tapley said. “Whatever you want. But if you’ll notice, that ground falls away over there, and you keep on going very far and you’ll be right out under the stars again.”

Trevallion smiled. “Maybe that’s the idea.”

He bathed himself as best he could, shaved, and putting on his dark suit, he went downtown. In his inside coat pocket he took the papers he must discuss with Margrita.

He glanced toward the bakery. He had scarcely been near the place since Melissa left. There had been no word from her except a card to Eilley Bowers. It was from San Francisco.

He took out his watch and glanced at it. The play was more than half over, so he directed his steps toward the theater. The street was crowded as usual.

A big ore wagon rumbled past, drawn by six head of mules. He had started across the street and suddenly he glimpsed the boots and legs of somebody on the other side of the wagon, waiting for it to pass. Turning sharply, he walked toward the head of the slow-moving wagon, then running,he ducked around ahead of the team and stopped.

A man stood in the center of the street with a drawn gun, staring wildly about.

“Looking for me?”

People had stopped, watching as the man turned, lifting his gun. “Yes, damn you!”

Trevallion’s side was toward him. He stood tall and alone, waiting.

Only seconds passed, yet it seemed like hours. With a kind of curious detachment, he saw the man’s gun coming up, he heard somebody yell, and there was a surge of people on the street, some rushing to see, some crowding to get out of the way. They were the smart ones.

The man’s back was to the light, his face in darkness. The gun was lifting. Trevallion drew and fired.

The man’s gun went off, the bullet striking the earth with an angry
splutt
only inches from his boot. Gun in hand he walked slowly toward the fallen man, watching but unworried. He knew where his bullet had gone.

People crowded around. Among them was Peel. He glanced at the body, then, with an odd smile, at Trevallion. “Bucking for my job?” he asked lightly.

“No, Farmer, but I think he was.”

Somebody turned the man over, and it was Kip Hauser. “I’ll be damned,” Peel said. “He always struck me as a sure thing man.”

“I believe he thought it was,” Trevallion said mildly. Then he walked on across the street and to the stage door.

They stopped him there. “I want to see Miss Redaway,” he said.

“So do a couple of hundred others,” the doorman said, grinning. “Sorry, but—”

“Let him in.” It was Jacob Teale. “Let him in any time he wants to come.”

The doorman shrugged and stepped back.

“Heard some shootin’,” Teale said. “What was it? Some drunk?”

“I don’t think he was drunk,” Trevallion said, “I think he was paid.”

“Want to wait here?” Teale asked. “She’ll be finishing up in just a few minutes.” He pointed. “Stand in the wings if you like.”

A
LBERT HESKETH RECEIVED the news over a late supper in the International. He was seated alone at his table when he heard the shots. He paused a moment in his chewing, then continued.

John Santley came into the dining room, and seeing him, crossed to his table. “I have the information you wanted, Mr. Hesketh,” he said. “The Sandusky is—”

“Please!” Hesketh’s voice was sharp. “Not here. I never talk business over food.” Then he added, “Just leave what you have and I’ll go over it.” He looked up. “You are late, Mr. Santley.”

“Yes, sir. There was a crowd in the street, sir. There’s been another killing, sir.”

“Yes?”

There was a hint of question in the tone and John Santley said, “It was a Kip Hauser, sir. He was one of Sam Brown’s crowd.”

“He killed someone?”

“No. Oh, no, sir! He was killed.
Two
shots, sir, fired so rapidly they sounded as one. They were all talking about it. Two bullets, one through the heart, one in the throat.”

“I see. The other man was arrested?”

“Oh, no, sir! It was self-defense, sir. A dozen men said Hauser had his gun drawn before the other man made a move.”

“I see.”

His face was utterly still, not a flicker of emotion. Inside he was seething. What a pack of fools! Couldn’t anybody do anything right?

“The other man was very calm, sir. He walked down the street and went into the theater.”

The theater? God
damn
him!

T
HE CURTAIN CAME down and the applause was deafening. Virginia City enjoyed its theater and liked the performers, but above all it liked a good time. Especially it appreciated the freshness of the Redaway Company costumes and the ease and naturalness of the players.

Margrita came offstage, flushed and lovely. She saw Trevallion at once and stopped abruptly. Then she walked toward him, both hands outstretched. “Val! How nice of you to come!”

“You’d better go back,” he said. “They are still applauding.”

“You’ll wait? I’ll only be a minute!”

She returned to the stage and the curtain went up. Four more curtain calls and then she came offstage.

“Val? Will you have supper with me? Mr. Manfred has some business to discuss, so he and Mr. Clyde will be with us for a few minutes, then we can talk. Is it all right?”

“Of course. I am afraid mine is business, too. At least,” he added, “part of it is business.”

“Can’t we skip that part? I want to know what you’ve been doing all these years.”

She went on into her dressing-room, and Val turned to see Teale approaching. “Are you going to be with her for supper?” Teale asked.

“I believe so. At least, I’ve been invited.”

“Good! I need some time and she will be safe with you.” He hesitated. “Who was it got killed out there tonight?”

“Kip Hauser.”

“Had it coming for a long time, but that’s a bothersome thing. Somehow he didn’t seem likely to end that way. I mean, he was careful, real careful. He was mean, but he wasn’t quarrelsome.”

“I think he was paid. I started across the street and all of a sudden I see somebody on the other side. It looked too quick to suit me, so I ran around the head of the team. You know there’s a grade right along there, and those heavy ore wagons move pretty slow.

“Hauser had a gun in his hand and seemed startled when I wasn’t there. He’d planned to have me at point blank range and surprised. The way it happened, I spoke to him and he turned, and
he
was surprised.”

“I reckon. Him an’ that crowd run roughshod over everybody while Sam Brown was alive. Now they’ve come on hard times.” He paused. “She know it yet?”

“No. It will be a shock. She’s not been raised the way we were, Jacob.”

“No, sir. Surely not. They still shoot each other now and again, but they do it all formal-like, with challenges, callin’ cards, and seconds and all.”

Teale turned away. “Hope she ain’t too upset by it. Women do take on, sometimes, although she seems a common-sense sort of person.”

He looked back at Trevallion. “She does beat all. The way she hired me, just seen me and hired me. I can’t figure it out.”

“I can, Jacob. She’s learned to read people and she saw that you were a good man, a trustworthy man, and one who would stand.” He paused again. “Jacob, I have a bad feeling about this. They tried to rob her in Frisco, I hear, and they tried to rob her on the way over. Whatever she’s got, somebody wants it mighty bad.”

“That’s my thinkin’.”

“You were on the stage, Jacob. Do you remember who was with you?”

“Ever’ one. Hesketh was there, and two strangers. I ain’t seen either of them since, which doesn’t mean they ain’t around.

“Mr. Trevallion, I wouldn’t tell this to anybody but you, but there was a man on that stage somebody wanted killed. The word come to me and the price. Now I was right down to bedrock and showin’ no color, but I don’t do that kind of work. If a man needs killin’ I ain’t one to balk at it, but I knowed—knew—nothin’ about Mr. Hesketh, and I knew a lot about the man who wanted him dead. That man was in San Francisco.

“Now I was ridin’ the top and somethin’ didn’t smell right about the whole affair, so I laid ready, and when that man showed up along the road, I cut loose. I wasn’t shootin’ at anything, just tryin’ to show whoever was there that they should pull in their necks. They done so.

“Later, a dead man was found up there but he was none of my killin’. He was a San Francisco man, sort of a runner for some of the Barb’ry Coast outfits. He’d been shot in the back.”

“You found him?”

“Well, I scouted around. There’d been two of them. One was a big man on a big horse. That man came back to Washoe.”

“Do you know who he was?”

“Mebbe I do an’ mebbe I don’t, but I asked a few folks, and it seems that San Francisco gent rode in here in an awful big hurry. To get where they were they had to ride out almost immediate. Whatever they were to do had to be done right away, whether it was rob Miss Redaway or kill somebody.”

“But one shot the other?”

“Uh-huh. The San Francisco man got shot. Now why was he killed? Did he jump the gun by gettin’ out into the road like he done? Was the other man mad because of that? Mebbe.

“But there’s another thought, too. Supposin’ that other man was killed because he knew who sent him to Washoe?

“Mr. Trevallion, I think Miss Redaway is in more trouble than she guesses, and I think whoever is after her or what she’s got isn’t one to stop at anything.

“The man who tried to hire me is dead, his place burned and him with it. Accident, they say. Mebbe.

“The man who carried word over here is dead. Shot apurpose.

“Somebody hires Kip Hauser to kill you, an’ anybody but you or me or somebody like us would’ve been killed.

“Seems to me there’s something mighty big at stake here, somethin’ bigger than we’d guess, and whoever’s on the other end will stop at nothing. Not nothing atall.”

Jacob Teale buttoned his coat. “Mr. Trevallion, I’m scared. I’m scared for the both of you.”

Chapter 44

T
HE DINING ROOM of the International was almost empty when they reached their table. Only a few late diners were scattered about the room, and none were seated close by.

Trevallion drew back Grita Redaway’s chair and seated her, then went around the table and sat down opposite her.

For the first time there was a moment when she could really look at him. He was, she realized, a very handsome man. Dark, perfectly poised, and very self-contained. Their conversation was at first in trivialities, as all such preliminary conversations are apt to be.

“You know,” he said suddenly, “you are a very lucky person, and you do not realize how lucky. Your father, or whoever it was who loaned that money those many years ago, used remarkable judgment.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“He loaned money to a man who was in financial trouble, a very shrewd man and an honest one. You will remember that you wanted him to reinvest the money for you, and he agreed if I would be partly responsible.”

“Well? What happened?”

“What happened is that you are very well-off. I won’t say wealthy, simply well-off.”

The waiter came, and they ordered, then he continued. “You helped to provide capital to a man who knew how to use it.

“Being possessed of capital and knowing what to do with it are not necessarily twins. This man was a shrewd, intelligent investor and he proceeded to go into the business of supplying tools, clothing, and food to miners. From that he bought land, began farming on a rather large scale, shipping wheat to Alaska and to China.

“He bought land for you, also, but a part of your capital he kept working with his. He had reverses from time to time, all of which he outlined to me and which I understand, knowing the country and the times, but what matters is that you now own a comfortable home in Monterey, a ranch in southern California, and a small piece of his produce and supply business.”

“I had no idea! You mean all the time I was growing up—”

“That little bit of money was growing, too. I might add, nobody knows this except the gentleman himself, you, and I.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed. I knew there was a little money there, but—”

“That little money has been in the hands of a very shrewd man for about fifteen years. The Sacramento River flooded out crops on two occasions, and a shipload of grain was lost at sea.”

Trevallion reached into his pocket. “This list,” he put a finger on it, “is your holdings. It looks quite impressive, but what you will understand is that the dollar value is not so great as it might appear. All of this,” he indicated the list, “is growing and should be improved or simply let alone. Ten years from now, if you hold all this, you will, indeed, be a wealthy woman.”