Searching for Silverheels (15 page)

“I figure Eli Weldon stuck around for the same reason most of the other men did, to protect his claim. Leaving a claim unwatched or unworked for even a few days was inviting claim jumpers. With news of the sickness, claim jumpers were no doubt circling like vultures. If a man didn't show up to work his sluice in the morning, it would have been taken over by lunchtime.”

“But they would have to give it back once the owner got better and came back to it, right?”

“Possession, as they say, is nine-tenths of the law, girl. And the other tenth, a sheriff or district court, didn't come to Buckskin Joe till much later. The only way to get a claim back was to shoot the claim jumper, provided he didn't manage to shoot you first. So to men like Eli Weldon, the only reason to risk smallpox was to protect a claim that was producing or to steal one from the dead or dying. It was a dangerous gamble. Every man on that list of yours is one who took it and lost.

“There were a few who contracted smallpox at the very beginning who never had a chance to flee, but there are too many men on that list for it to simply be ignorance. Some of them must have figured they could cheat death. They stocked up on elixirs from snake-oil salesmen and thought they'd be protected.

“Now Eli Weldon had been a fur trapper, a mountain man, and a gambler all his life. He was a natural born risk taker,
but he wasn't a fool. Fools didn't survive in the mountains, and he'd been there for years. What's more, he'd sired two or three strapping young sons with the Pawnee wife he'd won in that card game years ago. And having a woman of his own and a few little boys had domesticated him. He liked the comfort of civilization, and he'd decided to strike it rich, build a mansion in Denver for his family, and retire to a life of luxury like a proper gentleman.

“He couldn't do that if someone got at his claim, though, so he sent his wife and sons to safety and kept his stepdaughter with him to administer the herbal cures of Prairie Rose, should he get sick. And little Sefa was a good obedient child who did as she was told without a thought for herself. She was tearful as she said good-bye to her mother and brothers, the only people in the world who loved her.”

“Why didn't she go with them? I mean, if Prairie Rose loved her, she would have insisted that Sefa go with her to safety too.”

“Because wives must do as their husbands demand,” Josie said.

“Sefa could have run away,” I said.

“Sefa was a good obedient child that did as she was told. Just like you.”

I shook my head. “I don't believe even a stepfather would have been that cruel, and if it meant risking her own life, I don't believe the girl would have stayed,” I said. “Why would she?”

“Why will Frank's fool sister stay with that no-good Robert?” Josie countered.

I frowned. I wanted to say that was different, but I knew Josie would demand to know how it was different, and I didn't have an answer.

“Maybe you're right. Maybe Sefa needed another reason to stay.” She thought a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I know—she, too, had fallen victim to the handsome, swaggering Buck Wilson. She harbored a secret love for him, like every other woman in town. And Buck, never one to leave a woman uncharmed, gave her just enough encouragement for her silly, romantic imagination to carry her away. So she stayed to be near him, maybe even to save his life with her mother's cures when the smallpox hit.”

“But she didn't save him. No one did. He's in the graveyard,” I said.

“Best laid plans, Pearl. That graveyard is full of their failures. Sefa Weldon stayed to save her beloved and her stepfather, but when both were lost, she turned her attention to the rest of the camp to save who she could. Silverheels probably never cured a single man. She just took the credit for it.”

“Then why would she have stayed?”

Josie gave a little laugh. “Remember those claim jumpers, circling like vultures?”

“That's ridiculous! How could a dancer have been a claim jumper?”

“She was a
beloved
dancer, Pearl. Who better for a dying
miner to give his gold to? Who better to ask to send his money off to his family? She didn't need to set finger on a shovel. She just smiled and batted her lashes, and raked in the gold. But she had competition in Buck. Not that any of the miners fell in love with him, but they trusted him, thought he was an honest, upstanding man. He'd generously helped more than one of them whenever they needed it, so he knew where everyone's strikes were, and what was producing. All he had to do was wait.

“I wonder if Silverheels and Wilson were working together or against each other. Perhaps you are right and they were sweethearts. Perhaps they joined forces, though it's hard to imagine two such slippery and greedy grifters having a true partnership. More likely, they were competing. Maybe they even had a wager, as you and I do, to see who could take the most. Buck Wilson probably thought he had an edge over the dancer, because he had that cow-eyed Indian girl in love with him, ready to protect him with her medicines. All he had to do was smile at Sefa and she would do anything he asked.”

“No,” I said. “Buck and Silverheels were in love. True love. He wouldn't have led Sefa on, not even for life-saving medicine. Maybe that's why he died. He gave the medicine meant for him to Silverheels to keep her safe. He sacrificed his life to save her.”

“I'll grant there was probably a mutual attraction between Buck and Silverheels. To someone like Buck, Silverheels would have been the ultimate conquest. There's no victory
sweeter to a con man than to con another con. No doubt she saw the same in him.

“That's why they both stayed. To get the gold before the other could. To outdo each other, maybe even to win each other. If you want to call that true love, Pearl, be my guest.”

I shook my head. Josie's story was full of flaws. If Sefa Weldon had had the cure, why did both Eli and Buck die? And where would Prairie Rose Weldon have gotten the cure to give it to her daughter in the winter, when there were no plants to be gathered? And I had learned in school that Indian tribes had been destroyed by smallpox epidemics. Indians had no resistance to it and died by the hundreds, so how could Prairie Rose have had a cure for it from the plants of the forest? I was getting ready to drill Josie with these questions, when I heard a train whistle far off across the park.

The lunch train! I'd lost track of the time with Josie, leaving my mother alone to prepare at the café, and the lunch train was approaching. I jumped up from my seat.

“I have to go. Thank you for the tea and pie,” I said, and I hurried to the door. I pulled on my shoes and ran back to the café, expecting my mother to be cross with me for being gone so long. But when I told her where I had been, she smiled.

“That was very neighborly, Pearl. I think Mrs. Gilbert is a very lonely woman, but too proud to admit it. You've done a very kind thing.”

That was all the time we had for conversation before the train rolled in and the rush began.

Mother was right, I had been neighborly. And to my surprise, I had even enjoyed talking to Josie, even though I was sure she was wrong. I liked the challenge of trying to outwit her in the storytelling, even if it was all made up. Eventually, I would find the solid proof to prove her wrong. At the very least, I knew someone in Park County knew Buck's true character, since someone was still cleaning up his grave. And if that someone was Silverheels herself, I could prove it all.

In the meantime, I would let Josie tell her story and make up her characters like Prairie Rose and Sefa Weldon. I could tell she wanted me to see myself in the girl. Sefa was well-mannered and obedient, and was sweet on a handsome fella with a glamorous smile. All things that Josie had criticized in me. I didn't care. The more she made up to make Silverheels and Buck look bad, the more she would be proven wrong when I found the truth.

I smiled to myself at the thought. I had never gotten much pleasure out of an argument before. Then again, I had hardly ever argued with anyone before. Not sweet, well-mannered, obedient me. Is this the way Josie felt when she was arguing for her cause? A little shiver went through me at the thought that I was turning into Josie, just a little bit, but to my surprise, it wasn't an unpleasant realization. I was going to enjoy the shock on Josie's face when I defeated her. When she discovered that I was not the obedient ninny she thought I was, after all.

W
hen we had cleaned up the lunch mess, Mother announced that she was going to the butcher shop. I was surprised. The Schmidts usually delivered our meat.

“Don't we already have pork chops and chicken?”

“I just feel like doing something different. And I want to have a word with Mrs. Schmidt about the picnic,” Mother said, taking off her apron and tidying her hair.

I didn't like the sound of that, and I certainly didn't want any part of it. I wanted to do things that would please George, not upset him. Fortunately, Mother was still pleased with me for being neighborly with Josie that morning, so she didn't insist. Instead, she asked me to go to the post office to pick up our mail.

This was a task I was happy to do. The post office was in the back corner of Crawford's Mercantile, so I might run into George while I was there. Plus, this was my chance to continue my search for someone who knew Buck Wilson. If anyone named Wilson had ever lived in or around Como, the postmistress, Mrs. Abernathy would know and would be
happy to tell me about them. Knowing everyone's name and address was her job; knowing their business, and sharing it, was her favorite pastime.

The store was a long narrow building, with a counter and shelves lining one wall and the post office in a small booth in the opposite back corner. The floor in between was filled with various shelves, barrels, crates, and racks of goods. Mr. Crawford was behind the counter, stacking cans of beans on the shelf. Mrs. Crawford was near the door, talking to Mrs. Johnson. She gave me a suspicious look and stopped talking when I entered. I gave her a polite smile and walked to the back corner. Once I was past them, Mrs. Crawford resumed her conversation in a whisper, so I knew they were gossiping.

“Good afternoon, Pearl,” said Mrs. Abernathy cheerfully, handing me our mail—a single bill and a copy of the
Fairplay Flume
, the weekly paper that carried all the local news.

I thanked her, then posed my question. “Mrs. Abernathy, I was up at Buckskin Joe a few days back—”

“With that handsome city fella. I know.” She winked and smiled at me. Mrs. Abernathy was an older lady whose children were all grown up, and when she winked, the wrinkles of her face bunched up until it looked like she had no eyes at all.

“Yes, with Frank,” I said, relieved that George wasn't within hearing. “And when we went over to the cemetery, we saw that the grave of a Buck Wilson had been tended recently.”

“So now you're wondering if Silverheels receives her mail here?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you know any Wilsons around here. Any friends or relatives who might go up there and tend the grave.”

She shook her head. “No Wilsons get their mail here. There's a Wilson family over in Leadville, or used to be. Then again, Wilson is a pretty common name.”

I nodded and thanked her, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but not quite managing it. I turned to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Abernathy said.

I turned back.

She tapped her chin. “It just occurred to me. Mrs. Engel's maiden name was Wilson. And she's been in Park County a good long while.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy,” I said. A new lead, and one I could follow up on! Mrs. Engel's millinery shop was just across the street. I turned, meaning to go directly there, when George came through the front door.

“Hello, Pearl. Where are you headed?” he asked.

Funny, but now that he was here, I couldn't quite recall. In fact, I didn't want to go anywhere at all.

“Nowhere, really,” I said.

“Do you have to get back to work?”

“No, I have the afternoon off.” I gave him a little smile and hoped he would take it as an invitation for an invitation.

“Well, then maybe we could go for a walk along the creek,” he suggested.

“I'd like that. Very much.” I couldn't think of anything more romantic than a walk along the creek. Maybe my first kiss wouldn't be at the kissing booth after all. Maybe it would be a perfect, romantic kiss, amid wildflowers and sunshine and twittering birds. Maybe it would be today.

George held the door for me and we stepped out of the store. Just outside, he slipped his arm around my waist. I liked the feel of it there, strong and protective. I liked being out on the street, too, where everyone could see handsome George Crawford claiming me as his own.

The moment was ruined a few seconds later when I looked up and saw Josie Gilbert stumping up the street toward us, a scowl on her face. George saw her too, and the arm around my waist tightened. Her eyes were on the ground in front of her, and for a moment, I hoped she might not see us and we could just go the other direction. My hope was shattered when George spoke, plenty loud enough for Josie to hear.

“Well, look who's here. The kaiser's handmaiden.”

Shocked by his words, I pulled away, but his hand at my side held me firm. I looked up at his face. His beautiful smile had slipped into a sneer as he looked at Josie.

Josie didn't acknowledge his words, not exactly. She looked up at him, then at me, and her eyebrows raised.

“Come on, George. Let's just go for that walk,” I said.

“What's your rush, Pearl?” George said. We were still standing in front of the mercantile's front door, and now Josie had come to a stop right in front of us.

“Get out of the way, boy. I need to get my mail,” Josie said.