Cold Gold Page 7

  Stowed under the cot he found a pack harness and a sheet of canvas and nearby, a moldy smelling sack of hay. There were no tools, nothing of use. Randolph sat on the edge of the cot, making himself relax. He still needed to rest, to think. He could not let haste hamper his efforts, not when he was almost free. He reached into his bag and pulled out some bread and cheese, which he munched on with relish. The effort of making his way through the mine shaft had made him hungry, and the time it took for him to eat gave his eyes further time in which to adjust. He took a long pull on the water bottle John Woo had provided him with and then stood up. It was time to get to work.

  Sure now of what he must do, he grabbed the rifle and used the barrel of it to prod around the meagre gaps in the boards until he found one that gave just a little bit. Forcing the point of the barrel into that weakness, he twisted it so he could put his weight on it. The boards were stubborn, ignoring his grunting efforts until, with a creak and then a crack that nearly deafened him, they gave way. Randolph pulled at the broken and splintered boards, throwing strips of wood behind him, careless of where they landed.

  Sunlight streamed into the gloomy space. He squinted through the gap he’d made and saw a jagged line of snow covered peaks. He recognised the shape of some of them and knew he was on the western face of Pine Mountain. He took up the rifle, using first the barrel then the butt to work steadily at the hole until it was big enough for him to step through. He stowed the rifle butt first into his bag and then shoved the lamp in beside it. Even though he didn’t want the added weight, he scooped up the canvas cover as well. When he finally stepped free from his prison, he found himself on a wide, windswept ledge. Piles of dry droppings indicated where horses or mules had been tethered.

  “Mules,” Randolph muttered. “Whatever they were moving, they probably used mules.”

  There was only one way to go now. Down. But how long a trail would it be? He could not tell, but decided to leave immediately and make the most of the daylight and the warmth in the sun. Judging from its height in the sky, it must be just after noon. He walked out onto the narrow trail and, as he rounded the shoulder of the mountain, stepped carefully until he knew what the track was like. It hugged the rugged rock face to his left, but on his right he looked over the tops of pine and spruce. Apart from the trees and some rough scrub, there was nothing between him and the valley floor at least three thousand feet below.

  He drew back and took a breath. Having survived a brutal attack and been nursed back to health by a caring stranger, he had no wish to be as ungrateful as to miss his footing. He’d surely finish up dead where no one, other than scavenging crows and coyotes, would likely find him. He stopped occasionally to hunker down and look across the valley for signs of life, but there were none.

  He heard no birds, no distant sounds of life. His only companion was the constant whine of the wind as it wrapped around the peaks and sighed between the trees. The trail dropped steadily downwards. Each step took him closer to Cold Creek, closer to solving his problems and closer to returning to Serena. His thoughts occupied him so deeply, he paid little attention to where his feet carried him. Then he found himself on a rocky outcrop over a deep ravine and came to an abrupt stop.

  Three massive tree trunks spanned the gap. Wooden planks were fixed across them to make a bridge of sorts. There was no handrail of any description and Randolph tried to envision crossing it in a high wind or driving rain. He had to step back and squelch a sudden attack of vertigo. He kept his eyes closed for a moment until the feeling passed, then he scanned the bridge again. A scattering of animal tracks disturbed the snow and he looked at them closely, thinking the paw prints might be wolves. But one print was clear. A mountain lion had crossed the bridge. He peered ahead, but saw nothing that looked dangerous.

  The sun slowly dropped behind the mountains and it would soon be dark. He could waste no time, so stepped onto the bridge with all the confidence he could muster and walked steadily across it, sighing with relief as he jumped off the other side. There were signs that pack trains had halted here, probably while they waited for another train to pass.

  He was much lower down the mountain now, moving steadily between the trees rather than looking down on them. But dusk was falling and it would soon be night. He had to find somewhere to rest while he could still see. Moving off the trail he clambered over some fallen timber then ducked beneath the lowest branches of a spruce tree. The branches gave good cover. Looking around, he decided the timber provided enough of a screen for him to chance making a fire. He did not want to be seen, to have the news of his miraculous recovery reach King’s ears before he and Montgomery had a chance to plan King’s arrest.

  The refuge couldn’t have been better. He reached into his bag and took out dry kindling and matches. There were enough broken branches and twigs around that he could keep a fire burning for a few hours. He stoked the fire as much as he dared, then rolled himself into the canvas and settled down on a bed of pine needles. Just as he closed his eyes, a long plaintive howl rode the night air. It was joined by another, then another.

  Randolph shuddered. Wolves. How close were they? Were they hunting?

  He reached for the rifle, fed the fire again and closed his eyes.

  ~*~*~*~

  By morning the fire was dead and his hands and feet were stiff with cold. He hadn’t expected to sleep, but between the physical exertion of exiting the mine and the fresh air, he must have been more tired than he thought. He slowly emerged from beneath the tree and stretched carefully. His muscles objected and he was glad that he had pushed himself to exercise while still in the mine, or it could have been far worse.

  A noise behind him made him duck down, but when he glanced over his shoulder he saw nothing more dangerous than a winter-white rabbit. It moved past him without haste and he waited until it disappeared before shaking out the canvas and folding it up.

  He kicked out the remains of his fire and then made his way back to the trail. He paused before stepping out of his cover and closed his eyes. His sharp ears caught nothing more than the soft breeze and the mournful sound of a train whistle.

  That whistle must mean he was close to Cold Creek. He set out again with renewed purpose, striding down the trail with no hesitation for it was now wider and more level. Soon it widened out even more, and Randolph decided to move back into the shelter of the trees. He stepped over fallen branches and pushed his way through low bushes until he could see that the track stopped at the edge of a creek.

  He took his time scanning the site. A little upstream, a rough wooden framework housed a rusted hunk of metal. He carefully made his way towards it and realized he was looking at an abandoned mobile ore crusher.

  “Well, well, well,” he muttered. “So that’s how they did it. Smuggle the ore out of the mine by the back door, process it here out of sight, and then move it on to Yreka by road.”

  He scouted around the site, hoping to find any evidence he could pass on to Montgomery but found nothing more incriminating than a couple of empty bean cans and a beer bottle.

  He again looked upstream, then down, but saw no way of crossing the creek. His feet crunched on the gravel as he walked to the ice-feathered water’s edge. Poking the ice with the toe of his boot, he hastily pulled his foot back when he heard the crack of the ice giving way. Not knowing how deep the water beneath might be, it was far too dangerous to risk walking on it. His only option was to follow the creek downstream and see where it took him.

  The sun spilled over the eastern peaks and ridges and the temperature rose as Randolph picked his way between dogwoods, aspen and willow. Even though the branches were bare, they gave him some cover. He stopped at regular intervals to catch his breath and get his bearings before following the curve of the creek and, as he rounded the bend, he dropped down to his knees for cover.

  The creek he’d been following was a tributary of Cold Creek and from his vantage point he could see the station and the rooftops in town. He needed to con
tact Montgomery in Yreka as soon as he could, but would again have to exercise patience. He heard the slow huffing of a locomotive and watched it edge out of the roundhouse and halt at the station, then reverse up the branch line to pick up the cars from the mine head. He squinted into the sunlight as the morning brightened.

  He had two choices. He could risk being seen by getting onto the train at the mine head, or hobo his way onto it. For that he would have to climb the trestle under the line where it crossed Cold Creek but would have to wait until nightfall again.

  Randolph made his decision and settled his back against a nest of scrub brush and rocks. He tucked his hands under the edges of his coat, dropped his chin on his chest, and waited.

  Chapter Ten

  “We have a problem.” Maggie pushed her way inside as soon as Serena opened the door. “The church committee has refused to allow us to use their hall. Someone informed them we were intending to stage a burlesque show, and they won’t condone that.”

  Serena’s eyes widened in dismay. “But who would do such a thing?” she asked. “Only you, me and Lorelei knew...”

  “And Hetty and whoever is helping her make your costume,” Maggie added. “I suspect, if she used Dollie’s girls to help her as she said she would, it was one of them. Silly girls probably told their tricks what they were working on.”

  “So what can we do now?”

  “Something you won’t like.” Maggie looked grim. “Our only option is to ask Douglas King if we can use the stage at his club.”

  “There’s a stage there?”

  Maggie nodded. “It’s not used very often. King thought to bring in vaudeville acts, but Cold Creek’s not big enough for any good performers to want to come here. The stage isn’t very big, but that really doesn’t matter. Just think of the size audience that could be accommodated. You’d make more money for sure.”

  “The last thing I want to do is ask that man for anything,” Serena muttered. She crossed her arms, shuddering at the prospect. King would no doubt be delighted, but what price might he try to exact? The thought sent quivers of alarm riding up and down her spine. She had refused to have dinner with him at the club, fearing for her reputation. Now she faced the unthinkable prospect of asking him if she could perform there. But, after everything her new-found friends had done for her, she knew she had no choice. “I’ll go and see him.”

  “I’m sorry, Serena.” Maggie’s eyes showed concern. “If there was any other way...”

  “I know, don’t worry.” Serena smiled and gave her an impulsive hug.

  She put on her rubber boots and overcoat and speared a pin through her hat to secure it to the top the chignon twisted at the back of her head. She picked up her purse. “I’ll be along to see you as soon as I can. Will you be at the house or the bakery?”

  “Come to the house, it’ll be more private.”

  Serena nodded. They walked downstairs in silence and parted company at the front door. This morning the goods on display in the stores she passed held no interest for her, and she would have walked right by the sheriff’s office without noticing Sheriff Johnson had he not interrupted her thoughts.

  “Have you a minute to spare, Lady Buxton?” he asked quietly.

  “Why, yes, of course.” Serena stepped into his office and waited while he shut the door. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wondered how things are coming along for you,” Johnson said in a friendly tone. “I heard that Frank Harris was not especially helpful to you. If you need any financial help, you know you only have to ask. I keep a small stash of bucks on hand for contingencies, usually the cost of a ticket to get someone out of town.”

  The sheriff’s kind tone took her by surprise. For a moment Serena contemplated sharing her woes with him, but then she shook her head.

  “I do have some skills,” she told him. “I intend making use of them in order to support myself until Randolph returns.”

  “You really believe he will come back?”

  “Oh, yes.” Serena nodded her head. “I know it.”

  “That’s what Lorelei Sutton thought and Eddie was found dead anyway.” The sheriff regarded her with concern in his sharp, blue eyes.

  Serena bit her lip to stop it quivering. “I believe Randolph’s disappearance has something to do with the mine and not the gold fever that consumed Eddie Sutton.”

  “So you have been asking questions?” Johnson cocked a wiry eyebrow.

  “No, only listened to what I have been told. Everyone here seems to have such interesting histories. Does that include you, Sheriff Johnson?”

  He laughed at that. “I could tell you a tale or two, but won’t hold you up. Can I walk you anywhere?”

  “I’m going to the mine office to see Mr. King.”

  Sheriff Johnson straightened up. “Then I’ll step around the corner with you and see that you arrive safely.”

  The sheriff, no longer spry, walked with a rolling gait more suited to that of a sailor. Serena slowed her pace to match his and, at the mine office door, he raised his hat to her and smiled. She passed through the doorway but stopped, sensing a shadow in her peripheral vision. A shiver of sudden fear took hold of her. Alarmed, she looked around but could see no one. She found a bell on the counter, picked it up and rang it.

  King came from a back office, his eyes narrowed with frustration and a frown on his face. If he was annoyed at being disturbed, he quickly hid it on seeing her.

  Serena swallowed her apprehension and forced a smile for him. “Should I perhaps come back later?”

  “No, not at all.” He invited her into his office. “What can I do for you?”

  Serena twisted her fingers together. Now that she was here, she wished she could bite out her tongue rather than ask the question that would almost choke her.

  “You undoubtedly know that Mr. Harris refused me funds,” she began, “and that without Randolph I am hard pressed to support myself.”

  “I did hear something of the sort, but I really don’t pay attention to gossip.”

  Serena didn’t like the bland look on his face but continued anyway. “I do have one skill that would enable me to earn some money, but for that I need a stage.”

  “I’m intrigued.” King purred. “Please tell me more.”

  His comment was innocent enough, but she didn’t believe for one moment that he did not know her intentions. Could he have influenced the church committee to refuse Maggie’s request for a booking? She wouldn’t put it past him in the least. She gritted her teeth.

  “I can sing.”

  “Fascinating. So how will my stage help you?”

  Serena clenched her fist. King was playing with her, enjoying her discomfort. How she would like to wipe the smug grin from his face.

  “Although I have not yet seen it, both Mrs. O’Connor and Mrs. Sutton assure me it is the only venue in town suitable for the kind of performance we intend to stage.”

  “They are right.” King sat back in his chair, now smiling broadly.

  “Then I would like to arrange a booking with you. We thought a Saturday night performance would be best and were thinking of March 30, if that would be agreeable to you?”

  “I believe I can accommodate you for that evening.” King stroked his chin and then sent a calculating look her way. “And what do you propose my percentage to be?”

  “Ten percent.”

  King’s laugh held no humour. “I’m a reasonable man, Serena, but not that reasonable. I still have to pay my staff and if my patrons are watching you they are not upstairs gambling or visiting my upstairs girls. Fifty-fifty.”

  “Eighty-twenty.”

  “Not good enough, my dear. Try again.”

  Serena caught her breath and clenched her jaw. “Seventy-thirty.”

  “You bargain like a horse-trader.” The calculating look on King’s face disappeared to be replaced with a broad, self-satisfied grin. “I like that. It’s a deal, Serena, and I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you perfo
rm for free. Keep the take, all of it. But if the audience likes you, and I don’t know why they wouldn’t, your second performance will be on my terms.” His eyes hardened like obsidian when he noticed Serena shudder. “Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” Serena ground out, knowing she was out of options. “But there are a few things I must specify.” She almost quavered under the fierce light she saw in his eyes, but took a deep breath and continued. “For the night of my performance I insist that Maggie O’Connor takes care of the entrance fees. We will be responsible for all the staging, paying all the stage hands and performers, but I understand you may have someone who knows about the stage lights?”

  King laughed. “You have been a busy little bee, Serena. No doubt your, ah, lady friends have made use of their contacts. But will you pay my man, too?”

  “Of course.” Serena inclined her head as graciously as she could.

  King nodded with satisfaction. “Perhaps you’ll join me for a little light lunch, just to seal the deal before you return to the hotel?”

  She shook her head, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to eat a morsel of food. “I have things to do.”

  The grin had not left King’s face. “I’m sure you do. Fittings perhaps? Maybe a flounced skirt? I must say I can’t wait to see you in that.”

  A flush of anger rose up Serena’s neck and stained her cheeks, but she kept her tongue between her teeth and turned on her heel. If he intended to humiliate her, he was well on the way to succeeding. His mocking laughter followed her out into the street and Serena could barely hold back tears of anger.

  Lorelei had been right. A penniless woman alone in a frontier town was in a terribly vulnerable position. She hurried down the sidewalk, paying no attention to the people she brushed past or the catcalls that drifted her way. News of her performance was already making the rounds and, rather than hold her head high, she more than anything wanted to hide herself away. She almost ran to the boarding house and the refuge of Maggie’s parlor.