Crimson Palace (13 page)

She nearly overturned her chair as she clumsily got to her feet. Suddenly the room seemed overwhelmingly warm. After several awkward attempts, she managed to get into her overcoat and out the door without making a total fool of herself.

Her cabin had never felt so lonely as in the days that followed, nor the claim so remote. She was filled with a depression that no amount of work could relieve. The effort it took to force herself out of bed each morning was nearly overwhelming. It was only with an almost superhuman effort that she was able to push aside her lethargy and spend several hours a day working on her claim.

Unfortunately, the weather didn’t help. The air was icy cold, the sky heavy with snow laden clouds.

Most miners sensibly postponed working on their claims until warmer weather returned. But Shinonn felt driven. Any amount of discomfort was better than sitting alone in her cabin as the hours crawled by.

She kept her pot bellied stove blazing with manzanita branches, a bush in plenty supply that burned with extreme heat. When her hands and feet became completely numb from the relentless chill of the stream, she trudged inside the shack and warmed herself, returning to her work as soon as the feeling returned to her extremities. Back and fourth she went, returning to the cabin to warm herself, only to begin the cycle again.

She occupied the evening hours by building a sluice box. The cradle she had been using did a fair job, but a sluice box would enable her to increase her productivity two or even threefold.

Having seen many variations of the miner’s tool, she had a fairly good idea of what she wanted to incorporate in her design. The box was one foot deep, one foot wide, and eight feet long. Running shortways, for nearly the entire length of the box, were half-inch high slats, which would catch the heavy gold as she sluiced water over the dirt she had shoveled into it. It took several evenings of work to construct the device, but when she had finished, she was satisfied with the results.

Early the next morning she managed to drag the apparatus down to the river. It took nearly an hour of digging into the nearly frozen earth before she felt she had enough gravel to give it a fair trial. She allowed the swiftly running water to course through the box, washing the earth down its length. With her shovel she stirred and mashed at the muddy mess of earth and rocks, loosening nuggets which might be held tightly in clots of dirt. Then, after the water had done its work, she pulled the end board out of its slats and let the sluice drain off.

Looking into the bottom of the box, she spotted several fairly decent sized nuggets. She smiled in spite of her depression. Yes, there was something magical about the sight of gold glimmering in the weak, winter sunlight. For just a moment her spirits rose as she gathered the nuggets from the bottom of the box. But as she stood, fingering the golden pellets, she felt the depression return. Even the magic of the heavy, smooth, gold pebbles failed. Sighing heavily, she folded them into her kerchief and tucked them into her pocket.

She turned absently away from the black gravel which lay in the bottom of the sluice box. Normally she would have already had her pan at the ready and been working to extract the last bit of gold from the box before she rinsed it out and began the job again. But today her heart just wasn’t in it.

For whatever the reason, be it the gloomy weather, or a let down after the pleasant Christmas party, or the knowledge that Lincoln Bradley was so near yet so far from her grasp, Shinonn could not lift her spirits. Her lonely existence had become unbearable. The thought of one more lonely evening in her cabin brought tears to her eyes.

I’ve got to get away for awhile. A few hours is all I need, then I’ll be fine again. I’ll go into town for a little fun and I’ll be just like new again. All I need is to hear someone else’s voice but my own, to hear some singing and laughing.

Just making the decision to leave her lonely claim for a few hours brought a smile to her lips as she set a pot of water on the stove to boil for a wash. She brought in bucket after bucket of water and heated them, pouring the hot water into her wash tub. Cooking the boiling water to a bearable temperature, she removed her clothes and lowered herself into the steaming water.

Using a dipper, she poured water over her head and gave herself a most welcome shampoo. Her dark, curly hair seemed to spring to life as she vigorously scrubbed it. She hadn’t felt this good in ages!

After her bath she dressed in her warmest clothes and prepared to leave for town. Suddenly she remembered that it was New Year’s day. A day for new beginnings. A day for starting life afresh.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the year when her life would finally begin to make some sense.

As she picked her way along the river her emotions seemed to be going in opposite directions. First she was happy with the prospect of a new year, a new beginning, but then the happiness disappeared into a cloud of gloom as she realistically appraised her life - the soul deadening hours of loneliness of each day.

The actual labor the claim demanded would have been enough to discourage most people, but Shinonn handled the work with her usual acceptance. No, she could handle the back breaking drudgery of the prospector’s life. What was becoming more and more intolerable was the cursing sense of isolation.

And yet, what could she expect from the future? Where did she go from here?

As she entered Downieville she sensed an air of festivity. Although her last trip to town had been on Christmas day, a most festive occasion, today, again a holiday, the town seemed different - more raucous

- wilder. The laughter spilling out of the saloons had a rough edge to it. The music was louder. As she passed by one dance hall she heard the voices of two Mexican dancers raised in anger.

lthough she couldn’t understand the words they were saying, there was no mistaking the anger in the women’s voices.

Continuing down the street, Shinonn finally did something she would never have thought herself capable of, she turned and walked into a saloon just as if she did it every day of her life. To her dying day she would never know what made her do it. It was as if someone else had taken over her body and marched it through the swinging doors against her will.

The noise was deafening. Someone was pounding loudly on a tinny piano, accompanying a drunken quartet. If there was a tune somewhere in the midst of the caterwauling Shinonn could not locate it. But nobody appeared to mind. In fact, nobody paid much attention to the musically impaired group.

Customers shouted orders for drinks over the voices of the singers. Three bartenders busily poured beer into pitchers and handed them out to grasping hands.

Before Shinonn had taken more than a couple of steps into the room, she realized she had made a serious blunder. The drunken crowd was obviously out of control. What had sounded like a jovial good time from the street was in reality more like a drunken brawl.

Deciding a hasty retreat was called for, she quickly turned toward the swinging doors, only to find herself bouncing off the ample belly of a big, burly, whisky smelling man. Before she had a chance to excuse herself and make a quick get away, the man grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her further into the room, propelling her into the midst of the most unruly group of all.

"So you think you’re big enough to drink with the men, do you sonny?" the big man bellowed. "Hey boys, the drinks are on my friend here," he shouted over the noise. "You’ve got money on you, don’t you, boy? I wouldn’t want to think you was going to renege on buying me and my friends a drink."

"Sure, mister, sure. Let me get a couple of pitchers of beer. I was just leaving, but I’d be pleased to buy you and your friends a round."

"Leaving? Why we wouldn’t hear of it, would we boys? Nothing doing. You’re going to stay right here with us and help us drink all this beer."

He grabbed a full pitcher of beer and shoved it at Shinonn.

"Now drink it, sonny boy. Drink all of it."

"No," she felt the panic rise in her. Other than the half mug of whiskeyed punch she’d had at the Christmas party, she had never so much as tasted alcohol. Her morbid fear of it overwhelmed her as she tried to pull away from the hands of the drunk. Unfortunately, the man’s firm hold on her prevented an easy escape.

"Drink it, I said," the bully stretched an arm across her chest, pinning her to him while he tried to pour the amber liquid down her throat with his other hand. As she squirmed frantically to free herself from his grasp, his hand slipped until his fingers found themselves covering something that was totally unexpected.

In a flash of astonishment he realized that his hand was not grasping a young man’s chest, but rather the rounded softness of a woman’s breast.

She never knew whether the roar that rose from his throat was one of anger or desire as he threw the pitcher aside and, with his free hand, pulled her coat from her. He ripped her shirt open, exposing her breasts. For the briefest moment all was quiet. Every eye in the room seemed riveted on the unexpected sight.

Shinonn stood frozen in terror, instinctively crossing her arms, trying to cover her nakedness. Raw fear gripped her as she stared in horror at the crowd of drunken men.

Suddenly they were a mob, pulling at her with their rough, grasping hands, shouting obscenities as they grabbed at her, pushing their drinking buddies aside angrily in a frantic effort to grasp the girl.

The torn shirt was quickly pulled completely off as she struggled in vein. Panic enveloped her as she saw filthy, hairy hands pulling at the belt of her pants. Her throat strained in endless screams, yet no one heard, or if they did, no one cared.

She was barely aware of the first gun report. All she knew was that something seemed to break the intensity of the attack. And then she heard the crack of a second shot. She stood shivering in shock as her attackers moved away from her, mumbling angrily under their breaths.

"All right, little lady, put your overcoat on and let’s you and me get out of here." The words, though softly spoken, were full of fierce determination.

Shinonn immediately recognized the voice. Lincoln stood in the corner of the room, smoke rising lazily from his pistol.

She obeyed his commands, not questioning if he might be rescuing her from the angry mob for her safety or if he simply wanted the pleasure of ravishing her all to himself. Perhaps it was because he was someone she remembered from her childhood, but somehow she felt he was her protector. Keeping her eyes on the surly men who surrounded her, she reached down for her coat and quickly covered her naked torso with it, pulling it together with both hands.

"Sorry to spoil your fun, gentlemen, but I can’t abide outright rape," he explained as he reached out for Shinonn’s hand and pulled her toward the door. "When you’ve sobered up, I expect you’ll be glad I stopped you when I did."

"We’d better make some quick tracks out of town, miss," Lincoln said as they ran from the saloon.

"Most of those men have been on a drunk since last night and I don’t figure they’ll take too kindly to having their sport interrupted. Why the hell you had to choose that particular saloon I’ll never know.

They’re the wildest bunch in town.

"Here’s my hose," he said as he threw her atop the chestnut stallion. With one fluid motion he swung up behind her, grabbed the reins and they were flying down the road, across the bridge and heading up the twisting road toward Sierra City before Shinonn knew what was happening.

At Shinonn’s directions they stopped briefly at her claim, where she was able to grab a few clothes, some provisions and her two horses. She was on her way out of the door before she even thought to take along the gold she had worked so hard for. In just a few moments they were back on the road, racing away from the danger behind them.

It wasn’t until much later that she was to ask herself where the greater danger lay. Had she left it behind, or brought it with her?

Chapter 9

Dusk was falling as they made their way up the mountain. The twisting road was deceptively peaceful in the purple shades of twilight. Far below them in the darkness of the ravine they could hear the steady roar of the Yuba River. Other than the rushing water, the sloughing of the wind in the pine trees and the rhythmic clopping of their horses' hooves, they ere enveloped in a blanket of peaceful silence. Neither spoke as they endeavored to put as many miles as possible between themselves and the angry mob they had left behind.

Snow lay banked beside the road, reminding them that although they could travel safely at the moment, another storm might arrive at any time, making travel impossible. The patches of snow became larger and more frequent the further up the mountain they traveled.

Lincoln finally broke the silence.

"I’m taking you to a place I have just outside of Sierra City that I won in a poker game a couple of years ago. Luckily it was far enough out of town that it was one of the few buildings to survive the avalanche of

‘52. We can hole up there for awhile. You’ll be safe there."

"For how long? I can’t stay in hiding forever."

"I’m not suggesting you do, but if you’re smart, you’ll let that bunch cool off a bit before you stick you head in Downieville again. At least let them get over their New Year’s hangovers," he suggested dryly.

Darkness had completely settled over the mountains by the time they reached the cabin.

"I’ll get a fire going before you freeze to death."

By now it was so dark Shinonn could barely make out the outlines of the small building. She suddenly found herself trembling uncontrollably as she stood outside the door. Was it the cold, or was she afraid to go into the darkened cabin with Lincoln? What did she really know about him? Actually, he was little more than a stranger when you came right down to it. The stark reality of being totally alone with the Lincoln Bradley of her dreams was suddenly overwhelming.

Though it was too dark to see into the cabin, she could hear him as he worked beside the fireplace, crumpling papers, stacking wood, striking a match along the rough stone hearth. Suddenly the flame caught on the dry papers and light flared, illuminating his crouched form, silhouetting his profile. As though mesmerized, she was drawn into the room. She stood silently just inside the door, gazing at the man who had rescued her.