Sky’s curiosity lifted his brow. “Bogus gold? What’s that all about?”
“You ain’t heard that story, yet?” Jed motioned at Fraser with the point of his knife. “Tell ‘im, Fraser.”
Fraser twisted his mug in a circle. “Louise came to see me a couple months back. Right after the last time you came through for supplies.”
“Louise? The Nez Perce woman who brings garden produce to town to sell?”
“That’s the one.” Fraser nodded.
Sky sawed at his meat, waiting for Fraser to continue.
“Well, she brought me the gold that Chang had paid them the last time they sold to him. He’d taken small pebbles and dipped them in gold. They were only worth a fraction of their promised value. She, Jane, and Running Fawn, nearly got arrested last time they were down to Lewiston when someone there discovered the deception, but they managed to convince the authorities that they themselves had been duped. Anyhow, Louise came to me. Wanted me to go and confront Chang about it.” He stabbed a piece of rawhide-meat and stuffed it into his cheek irritably.
Sky leaned back in his chair, amazed at Chang’s gall.
He knew Lee Chang. His character was questionable at best and downright despicable at worst. He dealt in opium and women and offered no mercy when it came time to pay up for either. But this was the first he’d heard of the man being a cheat.
Max, a minor seated next to Jason, grunted. “Don’t see why she didn’t confront him herself.”
Fraser looked up. “You know Chang—he’s got his thumb on just about every individual in the county. The women are afraid that if Chang gives the say-so, all the other Chinese in the area will boycott their business. They would certainly be out of business if he did that to them.”
“Hmmph,” Jed growled, “that there Chinese is one man this here town could do ‘thout. He shorly is a cussed buzzard, that’n.”
Fraser huffed his agreement. “And do you know,” he leaned forward and pierced Sky with a look, “when I confronted him, the man had the nerve to admit to the whole thing!”
“Does he plan to make it right?”
Fraser wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chewing the food for a moment before he spoke. “Nope. He said he paid them and they accepted payment and that he hoped they would be a bit smarter next time.” He glanced around the table, knife and fork held vertically by his plate in suspended animation, then shrugged. “The man showed no remorse whatsoever. I don’t know what else I can do.” He stared back at his plate and continued to hack at the black slab that passed as a piece of meat.
“Leastwise you tried. Best you watch your back, though,” Jed added. “That Chang, he don’t cotton to no one gettin’ all up in his business.”
Jason gave a low snort from the other side of the table, and Sky looked down to the shadows at the end. His cousin shoveled another mouthful of food, then belched. Seeming to notice that everyone’s eyes were on him, he spoke. “This town would be better off if we got rid of all the Chinks. I tell you, I’ve never met a respectable Celestial. Not one. Always sneakin’ and spyin’. Lazy cusses, too.” He swiped his greasy mouth on his shoulder, the stain there proof that he did so often.
Max made no sound but nodded emphatically as he shoved a huge forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“This town wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the Chinese, Jason.” Sky kept his voice nonchalant. He picked up his glass and took a drink of water, his eyes fixed on his burly cousin over the rim.
Jason snorted again. “You always were too partial to them Celestials, Sky. If you had any sense, you’d realize the type of scum they really are.”
Sky changed the subject. “How have you been, Jason? Haven’t seen you for awhile.” His tone was friendly, but Jason glared at him.
“You been pinin’ away for information on your beloved cousin?” he asked, expression caustic.
Sky, accustomed to his cousin’s recent foul moods, shrugged and turned back to his food, praying silently that one day his relationship with Jason would be restored.
Jed’s gaze bounced between them as he squirmed in his seat. After a minute, he fixed Sky with a pointed look. “That news about Chang…well, that ain’t the only news you missed hearin’ about. You need to get to town more often.”
The venomous glare Jason sent Jed piqued Sky’s interest. “Oh yeah?” He cautiously tried a bite of potatoes. Not too bad this time. Maybe he could smother the meat with them.
Jed’s twinkling eyes remained fixed on Jason, and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth as silence filled the room.
Sky looked to his cantankerous cousin, one eyebrow raised in question. Several of the men shifted uneasily. Everyone seemed to know what Jed was referring to except him.
Jason waved away his unspoken question with a flip of his hand.
“Aw! Ain’t you gonna tell ol’ Sky here about yer plans?”
Jason ignored Jed and scooped another bite into his mouth.
Sky turned his questioning eyes on Jed, continuing to eat calmly.
Jed spoke around a mouthful of meat. “Your cousin is soon gonna be married. Or so he’s been tellin’ it.”
Sky’s fork stopped halfway up from his plate and he blinked in surprise. What woman in her right mind would marry Jason?
Jason growled, throwing his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Jed, you wouldn’t know a secret if it bit you!” He turned belligerent eyes on Sky. “That’s right. I’ve got a mail-order bride coming in on tomorrow’s stage to Greer’s Ferry. I’m going to have me a pretty little wife to cook for me...and keep me warm at night.” He jabbed his elbow into Max’s ribs, a dissolute leer spreading on his face.
Sky set his fork down quietly. Pushing away from the table, he stood and walked over to the blackened coffee pot near the fire. Pouring himself a cup, his movements deliberate and casual, he contemplated the situation. His heart went out to the poor girl. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so surprised.
“You got a picture of this woman?” He hooked a thumb through his belt loop, watching Jason through the steam drifting up from his mug as he took a sip of coffee.
Jason gave his habitual snort. “Like I’d show it to you. Pretty little thing, though. And young, too. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.” The lewd grin was back before he stuffed a large piece of meat into his cheek.
“Well, let me be the first to offer you my congratulations.” Sky lifted his coffee mug in a toast. “To the happy groom.” No one in the room responded; he hadn’t expected them to. Turning back he gazed into the fire. A log dropped, shooting a cascade of orange sparks upwards. The silence in the room hovered palpably; only the crackling of the fire and the clatter of silverware disturbed the stillness.
Lord, what should I do? I wouldn’t give a dog I liked to Jason. You know I care for him, but... Sky tried to think of a solution. Nothing came to mind.
Weariness weighted his eyes and, remembering he still had to travel home tonight, he set his cup down.
Turning to Jed, he placed a hand on his stomach and grinned. “Best hog swill I’ve had in a long time, Jed.”
Jed grunted, waving his fork in dismissal.
To Fraser, he said, “Been a pleasure, Fraser. See you again soon.”
Fraser regarded him with a friendly smile as he wiped the corners of his mouth with long, slender fingers. “Sky, always good doing business with you.” Sky nodded and Fraser’s eyes held Sky’s for a moment, questioning what he was going to do about Jason’s situation, before he turned back to his food.
“Good night, gentlemen,” Sky said to the rest of the men at the table. The leather of his hat felt smooth against his fingers as he removed it from the peg by the door and pushed it back onto his head, exiting onto the now-darkened street.
The muffled sound his boots made in the soft dust of the roadbed didn’t carry far into the cricket-serenaded night. At the rail in front of Fraser’s Mercantile he untied his mule. Leading it furth
er down the street toward the livery, he studied the starry sky. Jason getting married. Unshakable heaviness settled on his shoulders.
“Get a grip, Jordan,” he grumbled and forced himself to focus on the road ahead as he resettled his hat. There was nothing he could do for the poor woman. And maybe she’d be good for Jason.
With renewed determination to let the matter go, he retrieved his stallion, mounted up, and cantered out of town, leading the mule behind.
2
Lewiston, Idaho Territory
August 1885
In the shadow cast by the telegraph office a man stood with his head bent low over a telegram. He leaned one shoulder into the building as a sardonic smile twisted his lips and he read the message again.
It’s in the back room STOP Come at your convenience STOP Have men in place STOP
L C
Pierce City
He rubbed his hand across his chin, still staring at the paper before him. His first two fingers paused on his chin, and he tapped it slowly twice as he thought. The news was good, but so many plans still had to be made. He peered both up and down the street. Although it teemed with traffic, no one looked his way, so he slipped back around the corner and into the telegraph office.
The operator was just heading out the door. Startled, he pulled his round spectacles to his eyes by the rim. “Oh, hello again—” one side of the paunchy little man’s mouth tilted up nervously, his eyes darting across the room to a board with several wanted posters pinned to it— “did you forget something?”
“I need to reply to this message.” He made sure his tone and face emanated calm.
The operator quickly returned to his side of the counter and took up a pen. With a shaking hand, he dipped it into the inkwell before him and waited expectantly.
The man dictated, “Coming by stage to Pierce City. STOP. Wait for my arrival.” He glanced at his watch. 11:59 a.m. As the operator reached to send the message, the man leaned across the counter and gripped his shoulder. Jumping, the operator turned toward him with a frightened expression, but he only said, “Wait,” and paced across the room to peruse the wanted posters.
Slowly the second hand ticked around until the time read 12:05 p.m. He nodded at the operator, who was now sweating profusely. “I will wait until you have sent the message.”
With shaking fingers, the operator tapped out the message to Pierce City. Once the message had been sent, he allowed his face to soften. He even thanked the operator politely for his help and patience.
Mopping his sweat-covered brow with a white handkerchief, the operator smiled his relief and nodded, face calming.
The man turned toward the door and took two long strides. Then, suddenly changing his course of direction and not bothering to use the gate, he placed his hand on the counter and, in one smooth motion, leaped across it to the side where the now gaping, slack-jawed operator sat. Grabbing the trembling telegrapher by his collar, he dragged him into a small room he could see at the back of the office, pressed the trembling man against the wall, forearm to his throat, and pulled a knife from his sheath under his jacket.
He turned the blade, watching as the light glanced off it and made pleasant patterns on the operator’s plump face. “Be a shame if somethin’ were to happen to your missus,” he murmured.
The little man clutched at the arm pressed to his neck and nodded vigorously.
“Funny thing about those wanted posters. They seem to pop up all over the place. A man can’t get any peace.”
This time the telegrapher shook his head. “I have never seen you, I swear.”
Chuckling, he pressed the tip of his blade to the soft skin under his captive’s eye. The man scrunched his eyes tight.
He grinned. As though that will protect them from my blade.
“P-Please. I won’t say a w-word.”
He let the knife point bite the flesh just enough to draw blood. “See that you don’t. I’ve seen your missus, and it would sure be a shame if somethin’ were to happen to such a pretty little thing, if you catch my meanin’.” With one last surge of pressure, he pushed away from the shuddering man. “And take the poster down. It’s an awful likeness. Makes me look as though I’m some unkempt hooligan.”
The operator nodded and, as the man turned to leave, he heard him slide down to the floor. He smirked and sheathed his blade.
Moments later he stepped out onto the boardwalk. Smoothing the front of his coat and squinting into the sunshine, he walked up the street toward the stage that waited for boarding passengers. Tipping his hat, he smiled at a woman with a young child in tow.
Pierce City
12:03 p.m.
Lee Chang lumbered up the street toward the telegraph office. Opening the door, he eased himself into the small, dusty room. The office had been shut down several years ago, when the population had dwindled to the point that there were no longer enough people in town to warrant its use, though the telegraph was still operational. An occasional message came through, though, and if someone who could read Morse code happened to be passing by on the street to hear it, sometimes it even got to the person for whom it was meant.
On this day, however, Lee knew a message would be coming through and didn’t want to chance someone walking by on the street and hearing the clatter of the code. Especially not David Fraser, who understood Morse code.
Leaning out the door, he scanned the street to be sure no one was near. Finally satisfied he was alone, he eased the door shut. He had just turned toward the desk in the darkened corner of the room when the telegraph began to click and tap out its message. He scrambled for a pencil and paper.
Lewiston
12:15 p.m.
Brooke placed both hands beside her on the seat to help keep her balance as the stage careened around corners and over bumps, heading toward Greer’s Ferry. She tried to ignore the chatter coming from the man opposite her. Brushing a stray curl of hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear, she peered out the window at the passing scenery and tried to swallow the lump of nervousness in her throat.
Wondering what the man she was to marry would be like, she wished again that Uncle Jackson had not sent her away. I could have gone to work and helped support him. Even living with Uncle Jackson was preferable to being married to a man like the ones she’d seen yesterday.
But his cutting words still rang in her ears. “You good-for-nothing little tramp. I should have sent you off the moment I became your guardian.” His laugh had been cruel as he continued, “At least I’m getting fifty dollars for the trouble you’ve been! Congratulations on your upcoming marriage, my dear.” She shuddered, giving herself a little shake to dispel his face from her memory, and forced her mind back to the present.
Besides the minister, who traveled with her to perform the marriage ceremony at the trail’s end, two other passengers had gotten on the stage. One, a burly mountain man who resembled how she’d always imagined a mountain man would look—with a long, tangled gray beard. It evidenced the fact that often when he spit tobacco juice, he didn’t really spit at all but merely let the juice dribble out the corner of his mouth…a most disgusting phenomenon Brooke had witnessed more than once on the trip. When he’d hauled his considerable girth onto the stage, he’d grunted a greeting, let his eyes rove over her form, and then slouched in his seat with his muddied boots stretched out as far in front of him as they would go. Giving Brooke another appreciative look, he’d rested his head against the side of the coach and fallen fast asleep. His snores would have been enough to harry a hen laying eggs, but any hens in the vicinity had probably already been disturbed by the second personality who’d joined them on the stage.
This man had not been quiet for more than five consecutive seconds since his foot first touched the floor of the stage. His blond, frizzy hair poked from his head in unruly abandon, giving him a rather wild look. He wore a pair of round spectacles that invariably slipped down his nose, and he constantly pushed them back up. He would cease to ex
pound on one topic and Brooke would sigh in relief, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything more to say on the subject, when he would begin anew. As annoying as she found the talkative man across from her, Brooke did find that she learned a lot about the area that they drove through.
“There are really some fascinatin’ rock formations in this area.” He gestured out the window with fingers so heavily laden with gaudy gold rings that Brooke wondered how his slender hand supported the weight. “Take that one down there across the river…do you see it?” Even before Brooke nodded he continued, “The Ant and the Yellow Jacket.”
Brooke regarded him quizzically.
He pushed his round spectacles up on his nose with a bony forefinger. “Yep, the Nez Perce say that the ants and the yellow jackets lived peaceably together until one day their chiefs got into an argument. The yellow jacket— of course the Indians just call them ‘Ant’ and ‘Yellow Jacket,’ like that was their names or somethin’.” He chuckled. “Anyway, the yellow jacket chief, he had found this piece of dried salmon and was eating it on a rock. The ant chief comes along and he is hungry, see? So he gets jealous of the yellow jacket and starts hollerin’ at him that he should have asked permission to eat on that rock. The yellow jacket responds, ‘I don’t have to ask your permission for anythin’,’ and they raise up on their back legs and start fightin’. Well, the old coyote, who the Nez Perce believe is very wise, comes along. He sees the piece of salmon and those two a-whalin’ on each other. He’s across the river, so he hollers at them, ‘Hey, you two, quit your fightin’!’ but they pay no attention. So the magic coyote turned them into those rocks you see over there just like that—” He snapped his fingers. “The coyote crossed the river and ate the salmon, and to this day the ants and the yellow jackets are feudin’ among themselves.
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