Margaret Brownley (9 page)

“Why should there be?”

“You’ve hardly spoken a word all afternoon. That alone suggests something’s afoot.”

“The baby isn’t due till the end of the month.” Anxious for some time alone, she sounded more confident than she felt. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, now.” He put another log on the fire and donned his fur coat. He hesitated at the door and after a backwards glance left the cabin.

After he was gone, she decided that some fresh air might perk up her spirits. It was still light outside and, judging by the quiet, the street deserted. She decided if she hurried, she could sneak some fresh air before the men began their usual nighttime fracas. She opened the door a crack. Seeing no one in sight she stepped outside.

The sky was gray with clouds, but for now, at least, the rain had stopped. The air had turned colder but it felt invigorating against her skin, and smelled as fresh as a field of daisies. She walked over to the wood railing and inhaled.

Without warning a man ran out of the cabin across the way, followed by another. Before she had a chance to rush back into the house, a fistfight was in full swing directly in front of Mr. St. John’s cabin.

Men spilled onto the street like an army of ants. In a blink of an eye, a fair-sized crowd had gathered around the battling duo. Amid the shouts and hand clapping, the spectators were forced to jump back on occasion to avoid being splashed by mud.

Libby was so startled by the suddenness of the fight she stood motionless in the shadows of the porch.

One of the miners, a man with a red beard and red curly hair, pointed in her direction. “Look over there!”

It took Libby a moment to realize she was the object of his interest. The boisterous shouts and curses faded as the startled men turned to gape at her.

“A woman!” someone exclaimed, and this was enough to gain the attention of even the two mud covered opponents. The battling foes stopped in midswing and joined the others to stare at Libby in wide-eyed astonishment.

“Well, I’ll be!” said one, rubbing his battered cheek.

“Come on, men!” slurred the red-bearded man. “After her!”

Libby fled inside and slammed the door shut. Heart pounding she reached for the rusty metal bolt with trembling hands. After a frantic but futile attempt to slide it into the wooden hinge, she spun around in search of something to prop in front of the door.

Stomach clenched, she stumbled across the room just as the door flew open. 

The roughest, meanest and scruffiest men pushed inside. Impaled by their drunken stares, she felt like a piece of meat up for grabs. Anger replaced some if not all of her fear.

“Well, well, what have we got here?” This was from a barrel-shaped man with a ragged beard. “Logan’s been holding out on us.”

“I’ll say,” said a rail-thin man who hiccupped and took a swig from a half-filled whiskey bottle.

With more defiance than confidence, she held her ground. “Don’t you come any closer.”

One man laughed. “Will you listen to that? The little lady is telling us what to do.”

His mocking tone made her blood boil and she forgot her fear completely. Fists planted firmly at her waist, she glared at them. “This is private property. You have no right to force your way in here.”

The man who seemed to be the leader looked momentarily taken aback. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to stand up to them. “Well, now, would you listen to that? The woman is a stranger to these parts and she’s telling us what our rights are.”

A short man with a skinny mustache was the first to notice Libby’s ungainly shape. “Will you look at this? Logan’s going to have himself a family and he didn’t even think to tell his friends.”

Another man spoke. “It seems to me that St. John’s been mighty unneighborly, wouldn’t you say, boys? Keeping such a pretty little thing to hisself.”

A chorus of agreement rose and the men moved closer. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and unwashed bodies filled the room, seeming to take the very oxygen out of the air. Libby had trouble breathing and the faces began to blur.

“I say we teach Logan a lesson,” someone slurred, taking a swallow from a flask.

“I say it would serve him right!”

An evil smile crossed the barrel’s face. “Maybe it would at that.”

Libby’s brave façade suddenly deserted her. Backed up to the wall, she had no hope of escape. She grabbed a length of rawhide that hung from a nail. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, and when the men laughed at her, she flung out every unflattering name she could think of. “You bullying, no-good…” She whipped the rawhide through the air, catching one man on the cheek.

“Ouch!” The injured man jumped back, hand on his face.

Libby lashed the narrow strap back and forth and for a time the men stared at her incredulously.

“Watch it!” yelled one grizzly man, ducking low to avoid a leathery blow.

“Come on, men. We can’t let her get away with this!”

Shouting out a warning, she sliced the air in one direction and back in the next.

But there were too many of them to keep at bay for long. Soon, one man ducked beneath her swinging arm and reached out to grab her.

“Don’t touch me, you…”

An angry voice ripped through the room. It took a moment for Libby to recognize the voice as belonging to Mr. St. John.

“I said release her at once!” he repeated. Not only was his voice impressive, but he towered over the tallest man by at least three inches. Clearly intimidated by him, the miners backed away from her.

St. John’s face was as dark as a thundercloud, his voice twice as menacing. “What’s the matter with you men? Have you forgotten how to behave in front of a woman? Now suppose you apologize to Mrs. Summerfield. All of you.” He glanced at each of their faces before he settled his full attention on the barrel shaped man closest to Libby. “Let’s start with you, Choo-Choo.”

Choo-Choo stared at his feet. “I apologize, ma’am.”

“Big Sam?”

The hands of the dark-skinned man played nervously with the felt hat. “Never meant you no harm, ma’am.”

“Next.”

Logan saw to it that every last man apologized. “Now, get out of here, all of you, and don’t let me catch you here again.”

One by one, the men left, feet shuffling as they filed silently out the door.

Shaken, Libby glared after them. “I’m not staying in this town another minute!” she shouted. “Not with those…Those barbarians!”

Mr. St. John looked grim. “They wouldn’t have hurt you. They were just having fun.”

“Fun!” Libby fumed. “They have a very strange idea what constitutes fun. And furthermore…”

St. John patted her shoulder. “Don’t go getting yourself all riled up. They won’t bother you anymore. If you’re worried, keep the door locked when I’m gone. All you have to do is slip the bolt into the catch.”

She gave him a thunderous look and pushed his hand away. “I tried to, but it wouldn’t budge.”

He examined the bolt; poured bear grease on it, and worked it back and forth until it moved freely. “Try this.”

He stepped away from the door so she could try the bolt herself. When it slipped into place at her touch, he nodded in satisfaction.

Feeling suddenly weary, she laid her forehead against the cool hard wood. “How did you know to come back?”
“Someone told me he saw a bunch of men stampeding my house. As soon as I finished playing the hand, I came home.”

She spun around to face him. “You played your hand first?”

He seemed confused by her reaction. “What did you expect me to do, Mrs. Summerfield? I was winning.”

Libby could barely contain her anger. “I could have been killed!”

He rolled his eyes. “Must you always think the worst? I told you, they meant you no harm.”

May I remind you that one of them shot me the other night?”
“And I told you it was an accident.”

“Dead is dead whether by accident or otherwise!”

“I don’t know what you’re all worked up about. You had everything under control with your whip.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I swear I don’t know why they call it a delicate condition.” He laughed louder until the cabin rang with the unexpected sound of his merriment. “We should all be as delicate.”

Seeing nothing amusing about the situation, Libby folded her arms across her chest and glared at him in heaving silence.

“You’d better get some rest,” he said, pointing to her middle. “We don’t want to stir things up.”

She dropped her arms to her side. “You aren’t going to leave me alone, again, are you?  I mean, now that they know I’m here….”

“If you want me to stay and play nursemaid just say so.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid,” she snapped.

He looked relieved.  “Good, because I’ve got a game to finish.” With that he walked out the door.

*****

The following morning Logan announced his plans over breakfast. That morning he returned from fishing to find breakfast waiting for him. The coffee was strong, just the way he liked it, and the flapjacks surprisingly light. “I’m going up to the diggings to try out my new rocker.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

He almost choked on a piece of bacon.”The diggings is no place for a woman.” He took a gulp of coffee.

She gave him a determined look. “This town is no place for a woman.”

“You’ll be perfectly safe here. Now that the rain has stopped everyone will take off for the diggings.”

“I’m not staying here by myself.”

He scratched his head. “All that exercise might stir things up.”

“Some fresh air will do me good,” she insisted. “I mean it, Mr. St. John. I’m not staying in this cabin alone.”

He weighed his options. The rain had stopped for the time being. But this was only the start of the rainy season. Besides, it was almost cold enough to snow. Already the upper peaks of the Sierras were covered in ten feet of it.

He needed gold and he needed it now. It cost him dearly to miss the winter trapping season. If his leg improved, he could make back some but not all of the money this coming spring. Beaver still had their prime coats in early spring, but as soon as the weather warmed and animals lost their thick fur, the colors began to fade and the pelts lost their market value.

Not wanting to argue he stood and tossed her a fur coat that was far too big for her. “You can come with me on the condition that you speak only when you have something important to say. And…” he added with emphasis. “You do exactly as you’re told.”

He allowed her no opportunity to argue as he grabbed his saddle and lugged it outside

While she made one last trip to the outhouse he attached a travois to the back of his horse.  He then tied his gold rocker and picnic basket to the wooden frame.

She waddled toward him and he frowned. This was a bad idea but he said nothing as he helped her onto his saddle.

“It’s a lovely horse,” she said, patting the animal’s neck. “Does it have a name?”

“I call him Jim Bridger. Named him after the best mountain man that’s ever walked the face of the earth.”

“Well, Jim Bridger, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He studied her thoughtfully. “Are you sure this isn’t going to stir things up?”

Sighing, she shook her head in exasperation. “Not unless you intend to race the horse.”

“Let me know if you feel anything.” He slipped his foot into the stirrup and heaved himself onto the saddle behind her.

*****

Libby felt plenty, but nothing that she wished to share with him. She felt his hard chest against her quivering back, his warm moist breath sending tremors along her nape.

But when he wrapped his arms around her to gather the reins, she felt more than anything safe and secure.

Hoping he didn’t hear her thumping heart she forced herself to concentrate on the scenery.

She had never been to the gold-mining field. Jeffrey had insisted he go alone.

She was totally amazed at the crowds that dotted the mining area. Men were lined up along both banks of the swift-running river. Most had metal pans, but some used Indian baskets, old hats, skillets, and even blankets to pan for gold.

The air reverberated with the rattling sounds of rock against metal and the grating rhythm of gold-mining cradles.

Farther up, men were waist deep in water. “They’re constructing a dam,” Mr. St. John explained, his voice soft in her ear.

“What are those men over there doing?” Libby asked, pointing to the men entrenched in a hole, their heads barely above ground. If it weren’t for the picks moving up and down, she might not have noticed them.

“They’re working their way down to the bedrock,” he explained.

The miners stopped to stare as they passed by. The men rubbed their eyes and craned their necks as if they didn’t believe what they saw.

“Are my eyes deceiving me or was that a woman?” one male voice called out. Another cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “I think I died and went to heaven.”