by Lily Reynard
As she turned and walked briskly away down the path that Walt had indicated, she felt the weight of the miners’ curious stares following her.
When Sarah arrived at the mining camp, which was located just a short walk away from the mine, she found that it looked well-organized, with tents clustered around a large central firepit equipped with a roasting spit and a cast-iron griddle. A large lidded Dutch oven set in the banked coals emitted savory odors.
She was just contemplating seating herself on one of the crude-looking stump stools placed around the firepit when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something moving in the trees just beyond the camp. Walt and Larkin, here already?
“Well, that was faster than I—” she began, her heart beating faster in anticipation of seeing Larkin again.
She stopped speaking in shock when the red-headed man she’d last seen being beaten up in the street in Twin Forks walked out of the trees. He was accompanied by five other men, all strangers and heavily armed.
Fergus Donovan froze in his tracks as he caught sight of her. They stared at each other in mutual shock for a long moment.
Then Fergus broke the impasse.
“Well, now, boys,” he said, drawing a big pistol as he stepped forward. A nasty smile stretched his lips, revealing brown and rotting teeth. “I was hopin’ to find us some o’ that gold that Evan was blathering about at the Hotel Bede last weekend. Looks like we found ourselves something even better.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Hey, Lark,” Walt greeted his friend.
“Walt?” Larkin straightened up and turned around. He looked surprised to see Walt coming down the mine’s main shaft. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you, Lark,” Walt said gravely.
He lowered his kerosene lantern and placed it carefully on the uneven floor of the square shaft.
Another lantern hung from a metal hook driven into one of the supporting timbers overhead. It cast a golden bubble of light that strained against the absolute darkness that filled the rest of the shaft.
Lark stood at a crude wooden table, picking through piles of ore samples and putting some of them in small canvas bags for testing later. The wooden case containing his assay kit stood against one of the table legs, waiting.
The faint, steady rhythm of picks against stones came drifting out of the depths of the mine, where their crew of miners was working one of the newer secondary shafts.
“What are you talking about?” Larkin demanded.
“Sarah,” Walt said simply.
Larkin was pretty good at keeping a poker face, but Walt had known him long enough that he saw the flicker of embarrassment before Larkin managed to smooth out his expression.
“What about her? You two not getting along?” His tone made it sound like a challenge.
“No, we’re getting along just fine. She’s a treasure, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Walt sighed. “She’s real worried that she did something to hurt your feelings.”
Larkin scoffed. “I told you—” he began, his tone defensive now.
“I know what you told me,” Walt interrupted. “But what did you tell her before you high-tailed it out of there? She thinks she did something wrong, and that’s why you left.”
“Dammit,” Larkin said. “That’s not what happened.”
“Well, then, you can tell her yourself. She’s waiting outside.” Walt wanted to laugh at his friend’s sudden discombobulation. “She wants to talk to you and clear the air.”
Larkin stiffened. "Clear the air? What the hell?” He swore again, more extensively this time.
Walt crossed his arms, sure now that he was right. Larkin had indeed taken a shine to Sarah, and predictably, it had spooked him like a steer in a thunderstorm.
When Larkin’s string of expletives finally trailed off, Walt asked mildly, “So, are you ready to emerge from this hole and talk to her?”
“I guess so.” Larkin’s dark brows drew together in a scowl. He let a bag containing an ore sample thump onto the table.
Walt bent to pick up his lantern and led the way out of the mine.
They emerged, blinking, into the bright sunlight and began heading down the narrow trail that led from the mine shack to the camp.
Then he heard the sound of unfamiliar voices…male voices… coming from the camp. Had some of the miners followed Sarah? Were they importuning her?
He instinctively loosened his pistol in his holster and quickened his stride. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Larkin had done the same with his gun, and he’d picked up his pace.
As they reached the camp, Walt and Larkin glanced at each other in silent communication, then stepped off the path and into the shelter of the trees to assess the situation.
What Walt saw chilled his blood. Five strangers and that claim-jumping cross-roader Fergus Donovan surrounded Sarah…and Fergus was aiming a big pistol right at her.
The red-headed scoundrel was leering as he said something to her in a voice too low for Walt to overhear.
A terrified look crossed her face, and she shrank back.
Rage surged through Walt’s veins. He didn’t get angry very often, but when he did, it was because he’d been pushed too far. And once he lost his temper, he always finished what he started.
He drew his own gun and strode out from the trees into the camp.
“Fergus Donovan, you gum-sucking claim jumper!” he roared.
Donovan visibly jumped at Walt’s sudden appearance, but he didn’t lower his gun.
Most of the men with Donovan whirled then shrank back, raising their hands.
One of them, though, lunged at Sarah, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a wolfish snarl and his arms outstretched to grab her.
Walt didn’t hesitate. His pistol swung up, he took quick aim, and he squeezed the trigger with icy precision. The big Colt fired and kicked against his grip.
And the man who’d been aiming to lay hands on Sarah stumbled. With a cry of pain, he collapsed onto the bare dirt surrounding the campfire. A dark stain spread rapidly out from the new hole in the right leg of his trousers.
Donovan froze, his face bleached in shock, sending his freckles into sudden prominence.
“Stop!” he shrieked, aiming at Sarah with both hands clenched around the handle of his gun. “Or I’m gonna shoot her—”
Another shot rang out from somewhere on Walt’s left. Lark.
Fergus screamed as his gun flew out of his hand.
Out of the corner of his eye, Walt saw Larkin step out into the open, his gun raised and held at the ready.
Donovan clutched at his suddenly bleeding face.
“You shot me!” He sounded oddly indignant.
Walt realized that Larkin’s bullet must’ve shattered on impact with Donovan's gun. The resulting fragments had shredded Donovan's shirt sleeves and furrowed deep gashes across his cheeks as well as notching the top of his left ear, which began bleeding copiously.
“Damn right I did,” Larkin growled. “Why the hell are you trespassin’ here, Donovan?”
“We heard you found gold here, and I thought that me and the boys here would take a little look-see,” Donovan said. “We didn’t mean no harm!”
“Liar!” Sarah exclaimed, her fists clenching in her skirts, just as Walt asked sarcastically, “No harm?” and Larkin scoffed loudly.
“You came carrying weapons onto our land and threatened Miss Hunter here,” Walt stated. “And now you’re telling me that you were fixing to claim-jump. And given your reputation in town, I don’t think the miner’s court or the sheriff would argue if we told them that we had to sent you to the bootyard to defend Miss Hunter and our claim.”
He deliberately aimed his gun to a spot just in front of Donovan's boot, and fired a second shot.
Donovan jumped and danced backward with a yelp. “Don’t shoot! Coming here was an honest mistake! We’re leaving!”
“Damn right you’re leavi
ng,” Larkin said, walking over to stand at Walt’s side. “And take your friends with you. If we ever see you on our land again, we’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Got that right,” said a familiar voice. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for you flushers, and I don’t believe in warning shots like my two friends here.”
Walt turned his head to see his friend and business partner, Jim Soo Fong, riding into the clearing, his reins in one hand and a shotgun held ready in his other hand.
“Jim!” he greeted. “Better late than never.”
“How’s your uncle doin', Jim?” Larkin asked, without taking his eyes off Donovan and his little gang.
The man that Walt had shot in the leg struggled to his feet with the help of couple of his friends. He stood on his good leg, his arms slung over the shoulders of his companions, his trousers now heavily stained with blood.
Jim sighed. “Six feet under. He didn’t make it. Funeral was three days ago, and I decided to ride home instead of waiting for the next train headed this way.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Walt replied with genuine sympathy.
Dr. Fong had had the reputation for treating every patient who arrived on his doorstep in Butte, regardless of their ability to pay. He had become a well-respected resident of that city, despite the general anti-Chinese sentiment among the miners.
Larkin added, “Your uncle was a good man, and a great doctor. But I gotta say, you arrived back here in the nick of time.”
Jim nodded. “I’m glad I did. Someone in town told me that they saw Fergus Donovan and a bunch of known claim jumpers riding out in this direction after talking about a motherlode of gold out here on the ranch. So I decided skip lunch at the Bede and head out after them.” He shook his head. “Evan Davies was apparently telling tall tales in town after one too many glasses of beer.”
Walt blew out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit.”
Evan was a decent man and a hard worker, but he loved telling stories to a rapt audience, especially after a whiskey or two.
He glared at Donovan. “What are you still doing here? Get off my land before I change my mind about not ventilating you.”
Donovan and his little gang skedaddled, dragging the injured man away.
As soon as they had retreated behind the row of tents, Sarah whirled and ran towards Larkin and Walt.
She reached Larkin first and flung her arms around him before rising up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you! I was so frightened when those awful men showed up!”
Larkin returned the embrace without hesitation and took his sweet time kissing her.
Jim’s dark brows shot upward in surprise, and he bent an inquiring glance at Walt.
Walt nodded, though he felt an unexpected pang. He knew that he should be happy at the sight.
He asked himself, Isn’t this what you wanted? To see Sarah and Lark getting along?
But a tiny, selfish part of him began wondering whether she might like Lark, with his reckless charm and bold ways, more than she liked serious, boring Walt.
And why wouldn’t she? Walt knew that Lark attracted the town’s good-time girls like a lamp attracted moths on a warm summer night.
Then Sarah turned to Walt, and he found himself with an armful of sweet woman, being kissed with the same enthusiasm she had shown Larkin.
“Thank you both for coming to my rescue,” she said, when they finally broke their kiss. “I’ve never been so frightened in my entire life. Those men—the things they said they wanted to do to me—”
She shuddered, and Walt was suddenly very sorry that he hadn’t ventilated Fergus Donovan when he had the chance.
Walt said, fixing Larkin with his glance, "I've found that we make a great team. We always have…and we always will."
He hoped that Larkin would hear his words in the spirit that they were intended—and get it through his thick skull that just because Walt was hankering for a wife didn't mean that he wanted to exile his best friend from his life.
Jim slid from the saddle of his mare. Walt had almost forgotten his presence while Sarah was in his arms, her lips soft and warm against his.
“So, this must be Miss Hunter, your mail-order bride?” he asked Walt.
Walt nodded and said to Sarah, “Sarah, this here is our business partner and engineer, Jim Soo Fong.”
Sarah looked Jim up and down, frowning slightly as she studied him.
Jim was about the same age as Walt and Larkin, and nearly as tall them too, with short black hair and an easy smile under his dusty cowboy hat.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hunter,” he said with a polite lift of his hat.
“Pardon me for asking, but you don’t dress like any of the other Chinese men I’ve seen. And your hair…” her voice trailed off.
Walt wondered where she might have seen other Chinese. Maybe in town, when Lark took her shopping? Certainly not in Missouri…
“I’m an American citizen, born on US soil,” Jim replied, politely but firmly. “So I dress like an American, and I’m not legally obliged to wear my hair in a queue to demonstrate my loyalty to the Emperor or Dowager Empress of China.”
“Oh, I had no idea…I didn’t mean to insult you. I beg your pardon,” Sarah said quickly.
Jim waved it off. “Nothing to apologize for. It’s just a question that I get asked a lot.”
He looked at Walt and Larkin. “Thanks for taking care of things here while I was gone.” He looked up at the sky, then winked at Walt. “If you leave now, I reckon you can make it to town before the dance starts.”
The dance! In all the excitement, Walt had nearly forgotten about weekly event at the church, organized by Emmaline Kottinger.
“What do you say, Sarah? Do you feel like taking a spin around the dance floor with me and about fifty other men?”
She smiled at him, her composure apparently restored. “Yes, on two conditions: you give me a chance to change into my nice dress, and—” Her gaze shifted to Larkin. “Since Mr. Fong has returned, will you come with us to the dance tonight?”
Chapter Nineteen
“You want me to come to Mrs. K’s dance?” Larkin looked startled at her request.
“Of course I want you to come!” Sarah assured him.
She still felt light-headed in the wake of the terrifying encounter with Fergus Donovan and his men, and her hands continued to tremble and her heart to race. The things they had threatened to do to her…she felt sick to her stomach even thinking about it. She could honestly say that she had never, ever been so frightened.
The sight of Walt and Larkin coming to her rescue had been the sweetest and most wonderful sight, and their kisses had been a balm to her ragged nerves.
“…if you want to, that is,” she added, belatedly.
Walt still had his arm around her waist, and she was glad of his quiet support, because her knees felt as if they’d turned to calf’s foot jelly.
“Well, now. There’s, uh, something I need to say.” Larkin cleared his throat and looked around the camp, as if seeking inspiration. “I know I behaved like a yellow-bellied coward the other day, and I want you to know that it was nothing you did. I’m, uh, very sorry for hurting your feelings.”
“Oh. My.” Sarah had not expected this. She gazed at him, studying his features, and read embarrassment and deep discomfort there. She added, “You have nothing to apologize for, but thank you for setting my mind at ease.”
“Good.” Larkin nodded. “I can see how happy Walt is around you, and I’m hoping that you’ll stay with him…with us.”
The worry that had felt like a crushing boulder on her chest for the past few days abruptly vanished. She smiled radiantly at him. “I do want to stay, but only if it won’t cause trouble.”
“No trouble. And I’d sure miss your fine chow if you left us.”
“So you’ll come to the dance with us?” Sarah asked eagerly.
He gave her a slow grin, his teeth showing white in the dark beard stubbl
e covering the lower half of his face. “I reckon I could be convinced.”
“Good,” Sarah said. “Because I was looking forward to dancing with you tonight.”
Walt stiffened. His arm tightened around her waist, and she wondered if she had said something wrong.
Isn’t this what he wanted? For Larkin to accept me?
She felt like a harbor pilot navigating unfamiliar waters, unsure of reefs hidden just below the sea’s shining surface.
