HisBootsUnderHerBed (5 page)

“Why did they do that?”

“Maybe because my cousin kicked their asses out of his saloon.”

“You mean he fired Rory?”

“Her and her drunken father. Clock’s ticking, Fraser.”

“Did Rory leave me a note?”

“Does this look like a post office? Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

Garth headed for the telegraph office. The day he’d arrived, he’d wired Clay his whereabouts. Clay had wired him back and told him that their brother Colt was on the way to California, and had married a woman in New Mexico.

Garth couldn’t help grinning as he moved on to the livery. The gal must be some woman, to convince his brother to marry. Colt had always been as much of a free spirit as Garth was.

They’d had some great times together, and Garth realized how much he missed his brother. In addition to which, he sure would like to meet his new sister-in-law. Maybe he should head back to Clay’s and wait for their arrival before continuing on.

But it would be stupid to turn back after coming this far. He’d made it up to Sacramento before, and had turned back to help Clay build a house, then sat out the winter with him and Becky.

With the fifty bucks he won last night, this might be the time to get himself set up at the mine, before the cold weather moved in.

At the livery, he paid for boarding his horse Boots, then sat down on a bale of hay to chart his course. He reached into his shirt pocket for the map he’d drawn…but it was missing. He always kept the map in that pocket; the sheriff had probably taken it.

Fortunately he had put his poker winnings in the toes of his boots along with his other money, but the few dollars he had kept in his pocket were missing.

He cursed in disgust. The damn sheriff had cleaned him out. It’s a wonder the sonofabitch hadn’t stolen his Colt, too.

Well he’d drawn that map from memory, and he could do it again. If that crooked sheriff and his cronies had any intention of jumping that claim, he wasn’t going to let them get away with it. No claim jumpers were going to cheat him out of Uncle Henry’s mine!

Garth saddled Boots and rode out of Buckman.

T
he battered sign on the town’s outskirts read
HOPE
. The stage pulled up in front of a store and the driver jumped down from the box and opened the door. “This is your stop, folks.”

“But we want to go to Tierra de Esperanza,” Rory said, struggling with the Spanish words.

“Yeah, Land of Hope,” the driver said. “This is it. Years ago, folks around these parts dropped all those Mex words and settled on just Hope.”

A young boy in the gown of an altar boy ran up and handed the driver a sealed parcel. “Buenos días, Señor Charlie.”

“Same to you, Pedro.” The driver tossed it up to the man in the box, who shoved it into a canvas bag on the floor.

“¿Ha llegado el correo de hoy?” the boy asked.

“No, Pedro. No mail today.” The driver reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a peppermint stick. “But I’ve got this for you.”

“Gracias, Señor Charlie,” he exclaimed with a wide smile. Then he ran back toward a Catholic mission surrounded by a pink stucco wall at the end of the road.

“The assayer’s office closed up ’bout ten years ago.” The driver pointed to the mission. “You best see Father Chavez. He’ll probably know about claims; he keeps all the town records. Good luck, folks.”

He climbed back up on the box and the stagecoach rumbled off, leaving Rory and Paddy in the middle of the road.

Rory’s gaze swept the town. After three days of being bounced and rocked in hot, dusty stagecoaches, they had finally reached their destination in the heart of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Most of the buildings were dilapidated. Caught by a gust of wind, the broken chain that dangled from a sign marked
HOTEL
, lashed the air like a whip. Rory’s gaze halted on a decent appearing structure with a wooden sign that read
TIENDA
in big, bold letters with
GENERAL Y COMESTIBLE
painted directly under. Lower and in smaller print, the words
General
and
Vegetable
identified the store in English.

What had Pop gotten them into this time? She had no heart for this latest venture. Why couldn’t he have let Garth keep the map? Recalling Garth’s excitement and enthusiasm over it, she felt guilty. It had meant so much to him because his uncle had sent it to him. What they had done was as bad as stealing a Christmas gift from a child.

Sighing, she picked up her carpetbag and headed for the mission. She smiled and nodded when several children who were playing in the dust and mud of the street looked at them with curiosity. They got up and raced ahead of the new arrivals toward the mission.

As Rory walked up the street, she could feel the curious stares from people who were sitting on rickety chairs and porch stoops. Most appeared to be Mexican, with a few Anglo faces among them. They whispered among themselves, but none came forward to greet them.

Upon hearing the sound of voices and strum of a guitar, Paddy’s eyes suddenly sparked with pleasure and he paused in front of the building marked
CANTINA
.

“Darlin’,” he said, with a grin as Irish as a field of shamrocks, “I’ve a fierce thirst from the trip. You go on an’ I’ll just slip in here to ease the parch of it.”

“I’m thirsty too, Pop, and you’re coming with me. I’m sure the kind father will offer us a cool glass of water to quench our thirsts.”

“You’ve the mercy of yer Grandmother Finn, Rorleen Catherine O’Grady. Black-hearted witch that she was,” he grumbled.

“Pop, shame on you. Mum always told me not to speak evil of the dead. And she always said what a good and kindly Christian woman Grandmother was.”

“Aye, that she did,” Paddy said, with the hint of moistness in his eyes. “Your sainted mother would not speak an evil word about anyone.” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Even one as undeserving as Chloe Finn.”

“Then I think you should follow Mum’s example.” She marched ahead, ignoring the continuous grumbling from her father who followed behind.

The children had carried the word to the aging priest, who was waiting to greet them when they reached the mission.

“Welcome, my children,” Father Chavez said. “Come in and rest yourselves.”

Father Chavez was a short man with a thick crop of pure white hair and a smile as wide as the Missouri River. Despite his advanced age, he was neither stooped nor slow of step, and from his greeting, he had a better grasp of the English tongue than did Paddy.

“May I offer you a cooling drink to refresh yourselves?”

“That’s very kind of you, Father,” Rory said.

The priest’s brown eyes were warm with friendliness and curiosity. “What brings you to Tierra de Esperanza?”

Before Rory could answer, a woman carried in a tray with a pitcher, glasses, and a small plate of cookies.

“Gracias, Elena. ¿Quiere ir con nosotros?”

With a shy smile, she shook her head and hurried from the room.

“Forgive me. I hope you are not offended. My sister Elena is very shy and declined my offer to join us.”

“You mean you are brother and sister by birth?” Rory asked.

“Sí, Señorita O’Grady. Elena was just a young girl when my mother came here to be my housekeeper. When our mother died, Elena remained and took over those responsibilities. What is your purpose for coming here to our town, Señorita O’Grady?”

Rory took the map from her purse. They had invested time and money in this venture, and in fear her father would wager the map in a card game, she had taken it from him to make certain of its safekeeping.

“We want to know if this claim has been filed.”

Father Chavez stretched the map out on the table and studied it intently. “Where did you get this, Señor O’Grady?”

“From a friend,” Paddy spoke up quickly.

Rory would have preferred he tell the priest how he got it, but since she considered Garth a friend, she decided to hold her tongue.

“These are very old markings on the map. Gold mining in that area has become nonexistent.”

“Why is that, Father?” Rory asked.

“The Indians either killed the miners or drove them out. When the Indians moved on, the bandidos arrived. Many have made their homes in these mountains. The few miners up there failed to get enough out of their mines to make the risk they were taking worthwhile. They moved on to—how do you say it?—greener pastures.”

“So you’re saying there’s no longer any mining in the particular area of this map.”

“None on that mountain that I know of, Señorita O’Grady.”

“The driver of the stage said that you keep the records since the assayer moved out. Would you be able to tell us if anybody has filed a claim on this particular site?”

“I know of no one who has done so, señorita.”

“Not even in the past ten years? How can you be sure?”

“Because the last man who intended to file in that area died before he could do so.”

“Then we’ll be doing it, Father,” Paddy said.

“I advise you against such a venture, Mr. O’Grady.”

“I’m not one to slight the wishes of a holy father, but Paddy O’Grady is not one to run from a fight, Father Chavez.”

“Very well—if I can’t persuade you.” Chavez went to a cabinet and withdrew a large metal box and began to page through the yellowed records.

“The owner of the claim filed nearest that area has not been seen or heard from since he left here fifteen years ago.”

“Maybe we should reconsider this, Pop,” Rory said.

“Me mind’s made up, Daughter. But I don’t want you to come along if there’s a chance of you getting hurt.”

“We’ve been through this before, Pop. I won’t let you go alone.”

The priest extracted a yellow form from the metal file box, sat down at the table, and dipped the nib of the pen into an inkwell. “Your full names, Señor?” he asked.

“Patrick Michael and Rorleen Catherine O’Grady,” Paddy said.

“Do you wish both names as owners on the claim?”

Rory smiled. “One for all, and all for one, Father Chavez.”

When they finished their business, she asked, “Do you think the general store has the equipment to get us started?”

“There’s no doubt of it,” the priest replied. “Señor Hastings, the storekeeper, was left with a large stock of mining supplies when the miners stopped coming. No doubt he would welcome the opportunity to sell it cheaply to get some return of his money.

“The mountain is very rocky. Are you a skilled rider, Señorita O’Grady?”

Rory shook her head. “Not in the least.”

“Then I suggest you buy a donkey or a mule to ride, and a burro for your supplies. I’m sure Pablo Hernandez can be of help. He raises donkeys and burros. His business, too, has slowed in the past years, and he is having difficulty finding graze to keep them fed.”

Mr. Hastings, the storekeeper, was very helpful in recommending what they would need, and he stocked them with a coffeepot, a cast-iron skillet and pot, cooking spoons and a chopping knife, tin plates and cups, and knives, forks, and spoons.

To that he added an ax for chopping firewood, a pickax for mining, shovels for digging, buckets for toting water, canteens, a couple of lanterns and a box of candles, matches and a flint, and a rifle and box of cartridges.

Then there were pillows, blankets, the necessary toilet articles, towels and washcloths, and soap.

Then came the food staples: coffee, flour and baking powder for making sourdough bread or biscuits, onions, beans, carrots, dried peaches and apples, a peck and a half of potatoes, and the necessary condiments of sugar, molasses, cinnamon, and salt and pepper.

“That should last you for a good month, Miz O’Grady,” Hastings said.

“What are we having for meat, Mr. Hastings?” Rory asked.

“There’s plenty of game and fish in the mountains, ma’am.”

“Neither my father nor I are hunters or fishermen, sir.”

“Ma’am, if I understand you right, you and your father cannot ride a horse, you don’t camp out, don’t hunt or fish, and you don’t know anything about gold mining. Gold mining is hard, backbreaking, and dangerous work. Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my father’s idea, Mr. Hastings. Not mine.”

Shaking his head, Hastings added hardtack, dried beef, bacon, and chicken jerky to the purchases.

By the time they paid for their supplies, their grubstake had been exhausted.

“I’ll pack your purchases into my wagon and bring them up to the mission,” Hastings said.

“Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

“Miss O’Grady, I sincerely hope you strike it rich,” he said.

“I think I’ll stop off for a bit of a nip,” Paddy said as they passed the cantina.

“Don’t be too long, Pop. Father Chavez has invited us to dinner.”

Paddy entered the cantina, and to his delight the saloon was empty except for the bartender. “Amigo,” Paddy said, and he slipped an arm around the old man’s shoulders. “I’m going off for a time and will be needing some whiskey.”

The old man stepped behind the bar and put a shot glass down in front of Paddy and filled it.

“No, amigo, ’tis a full bottle I’m seeking,” Paddy said. “But as long as it’s poured, I’ll have me a nip.” He downed the drink, then grinned. “But ’tis an unopened bottle I’m wanting.”

The old man looked perplexed, so Paddy pointed to a sealed bottle among the others on the shelf behind the bar. “Like that one.”

“Oh, sí, señor,” the bartender nodded in understanding. He handed the bottle of tequila to him.

Struggling to conceal his impatience, Paddy said, “No, I want whiskey, my friend.”

The old man threw his hands up and nodded. “Oh, sí, señor, whisky.” He reached under the bar and pulled out a sealed pint bottle. “
Whisky
!”

“Aye, that’s close enough. And a fine man you are, indeed.” He held up his hand and counted off his fingers. “’Tis five of them I’m wanting.”

“Cinco!” the old man said excitedly. He opened a cabinet and placed five bottles of whiskey on the bar.

“That’s me man,” Paddy said, pleased. He dug out the money he’d held back from Rory and laid it on the bar as the man wrapped the bottles in a woven straw pouch. After the bartender extracted the cost, several coins remained.

Paddy’s wide grin carried to his eyes. “Well, me friend, there’s enough for us to have another wee nip. Will you do me the pleasure of joining me, amigo?”

Grinning, the old man poured them each a drink.

Paddy raised his glass. “May you be in Heaven ten minutes before the devil knows you’re dead.”

The two old men clinked their glasses together and downed their drinks, then Paddy tipped his hat and picked up the pouch. “Good day, me friend.”

He cocked his derby at a jaunty angle and ambled out the door whistling.

That night they stayed in a room at the mission that Father Chavez kept for the use of travelers, and early the following morning he made another attempt to persuade Rory to remain there.

“It is no place for a woman, my child. The bandidos are very bad and ruthless.”

“I can’t let him go alone, Father. Pop depends on me.”

“And you cannot convince him to abandon this search?”

“I’ve tried, Father, but you can see for yourself; he’s a very stubborn man.”

They climbed on the two mules, Father Chavez stood at the gate of the mission and watched sadly as they departed.

“Vaya con Dios, hijos mios,” he murmured, and made the sign of the cross.