by Lucy Evanson
The miner’s eyes fluttered open and he let out a soft groan as one hand gently rose up to grab Sam’s shirt collar. The other diggers moved in closer and Sam could hear the breath of the boss just behind him.
The injured man’s grip tightened on Sam’s shirt, and his eyes fully opened. “Get him,” he said, and Sam realized too late that the man’s other fist was whipping up toward his face. The punch landed square on Sam’s cheek, knocking him backwards into the dirt as his shirt ripped free of the man’s grasp. Before he could get to his feet on his own, the three other men had grabbed him and roughly pulled him up.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sam said, wrestling with them. He slipped one arm free and shot his hand out flat against the fat miner’s face, pushing hard and sending him tripping back onto his behind in the dirt.
The others grabbed his arms as the boss stepped forward. “You know what to do,” he said, then turned and walked toward Sam’s carriage.
The fat miner clumsily got to his feet and stepped directly behind Sam, hooking his arms around Sam’s elbows and pinning him tight against his chest. “Boy, you shouldn’t have done that,” he said, the smell of whiskey thick on his breath.
“You all are making some kind of mistake,” Sam growled. “Either you let me go now or you’re going to have hell to pay, I promise you.”
The shorter miner stepped up and slapped him hard across the face; the sharp crack of his hand on Sam’s cheek was followed by a burst of laughter from the taller one.
“That’s how you’re going to hit him?” he said, pushing the short one out of the way. “You a woman or what?” Almost before he’d finished speaking, he had punched Sam twice in the gut, doubling him over and stealing his breath away. The digger grabbed Sam by the hair and pulled his head back up. “You see, this is how you do it.”
He let go of Sam’s hair and threw a quick jab that connected just to the side of Sam’s nose, then another uppercut that landed squarely in the middle of his chest.
“See that? You gotta punch like a man,” the miner said, turning back to the short one.
It felt like Sam was drowning, and he had to fight for the smallest breath. He could taste blood on his lips. Sam glanced down and saw that miner behind him was standing with his feet spread wide, no doubt trying to make himself as steady as possible. Perfect. Sam shot his foot up and back as fast as he could, catching the digger right between the legs with the sharp heel of his boot.
The squeaky, whiskey-scented groan that the digger let out almost made Sam feel sorry for him. Almost. The man’s grip loosened and he slowly fell to his knees, grasping himself and turning to his side in the dirt. He looked like he was about to vomit.
Sam turned to find the others rushing back to him; the tall miner arrived just in time to catch Sam’s elbow in the eye, which sent him spinning to the ground; the little one shoved him and Sam stumbled backwards, tripping over the one he had just kicked.
He scrambled to his feet as he heard Racer snort close behind him. My club. Sam turned and sprinted to the runabout.
The seat was empty.
“You looking for this?”
The boss came around from the back of the carriage with Sam’s club in his hand. He held it at arm’s length and looked it up and down like it was some unknown artifact. “Yeah, I heard you were pretty good with this thing.” He swung it in the air, testing its balance as he walked over toward Sam. “Now let’s see how good I am.”
His swing was too high, though it would have taken Sam’s head off if he’d connected. Sam ducked under the club as it shot past his head and then leaped up, his body twisting like an uncoiled spring as he swung for the digger’s jaw. There was a snapping sound as the miner stumbled backwards toward the others.
“You son of a bitch,” he growled. He raised a hand and dug around in his mouth, then pulled out a tooth and stared at it as a torrent of bloody spit poured onto the ground. “I’d say you were going to pay for that, if we weren’t going to beat you to death already.”
The threat sounded almost funny. There he was, blood dribbling down his chin while one of his companions tended to a hurt eye and another was still on the ground suffering from dislocated family jewels. Only the short one had escaped unscathed so far. Still, it was no joke. The boss leaped forward again, swinging the club as if it were an ax and Sam were the tree.
Sam tried to leap backwards, but the miner’s aim had improved, and he caught Sam in the ribcage. The pain was sudden and sharp, unlike anything he had felt before, and he stumbled backwards again, crashing into the side of the runabout. He threw one hand up to the carriage to help steady himself. It even hurt to breathe. Sam threw a glance up and down the road, but there was nobody else in sight. He was on his own.
The other diggers had been hanging back, but now that they saw Sam was hurt, they surged forward like scavengers getting ready to feast on an injured animal. Sam could see their eyes flare, almost lusting after violence as they circled around.
The boss raised the club high overhead and brought it flying down; Sam hurled himself to the side as the club made splinters of the carriage side rail. With a squeak, the boss freed the club from the wood and whipped it toward Sam again.
He was too fast for Sam this time. The club twisted in his grasp as he swung, turning the edge away, but the flat side slammed into Sam’s temple. He crumpled to the ground. Everything had gone blurry and he could feel something warm running down his cheek. Sam clumsily swiped a hand across his face and pulled back a palm full of blood.
“Boy, you got him good!” the short miner yelled. As Sam struggled to get to his knees, the digger jumped in front of him and gave him a boot in the stomach, sending Sam flat onto his back in the dirt.
The boss held the club high and studied it. “Not bad for a redskin toy,” he said, tossing it down, where it landed on Sam’s chest.
“Just take what you want and go,” Sam croaked. He tried to get back to his feet but a sheet of pain covered him. He’d never had a broken rib before, but he was pretty sure he did now, and even if he were to make it to his feet, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t stay upright. He felt his insides churning and fought to keep from throwing up.
“You got nothing we want,” the fat one said, limping forward and still clutching himself between the legs. “We’re just here to teach you a lesson. This is what happens when you go after the wrong woman.” He swung his arms as he gave Sam another kick in the side, like a chubby toddler kicking a dog. The pain streaked through Sam and took his breath away.
“Carter sent you?” Sam said. He could taste blood in his mouth now. “Doesn’t that son of a bitch do anything himself?”
The boss approached again. He towered over Sam, blocking out the sun. “That’s nothing you need to worry about. Matter of fact, you don’t need to worry about anything ever again.”
“Go to hell.”
The boss snorted, and one side of his mouth drew back. “You’re the one who’s going to hell. It’s a sin to covet another man’s wife,” he said. “Don’t you know the Bible?” The digger raised his foot high, and Sam had time to notice a hole in the worn sole, about the size of a penny, before the boot came rushing down to him. Then, as if a great blackness had opened up beneath him, Sam felt himself slipping away into the dark.
Chapter 13
He woke in bed, much to his surprise. Before he even opened his eyes, he could feel the scratchy wool blanket pulled up to his neck and the familiar lumps of his own bed. Well, I’m still breathing. That’s some good news right there. I’m just not sure how I got here.
There had been a lot of confusing things happening. There were some men…diggers, who had attacked him. That much he remembered pretty clearly. After that, things got hazy and jumbled. He remembered a lot of shouting and screaming when he’d arrived at the farm in the back of Doc Sullivan’s wagon, which had annoyed him because he really only wanted to sleep. He remembered Racer nudging him, the horse’s breath hot and moist as Sam lay
in the dust, unable to get up. He could clearly see a digger with a red handkerchief, digging around in his mouth with his filthy hand and pulling out a tooth shiny with blood. He had gone after the wrong woman, they had said. He remembered hands, lots of hands, lifting him into the bed of a wagon and somebody cradling his head. He remembered opening his eyes while on the bumpy ride to Taylor Farm. The clear blue sky looked like it had turned red, until he blinked several times and cleared the blood away.
He had left the farm in the morning, but it was much later now—he couldn’t be sure what time it was, of course, but it was already dark when he opened his eyes for more than a brief moment. The cabin was quiet aside from the crackle of a fire, and he turned to see Kate stirring a pot suspended over the flames. The effort to move even so little wrenched a groan out of him, and her head whipped around to look at him.
“Sam, did I wake you?”
“No,” he said. “What time is it?”
“It’s already late. Almost nine.” She poured a glass of water for him and approached the bed. “Are you thirsty?”
“Parched.” Reaching out for the glass, he realized that just about every bit of him was sore, but the cool water was just what he needed. He drained the entire glass before returning it to her.
“Do you know what happened to you? Do you remember how you got here?”
“Bits and pieces,” he said. “I was coming back from town and there were some diggers that I thought needed some help. Turns out they didn’t.”
“Miners did this to you?”
“Yeah, there were four of them,” he said. “And they got hold of my club. Speaking of that—”
“It’s over there,” Kate said, pointing to where the club was hanging on a hook on the wall. “John Tilton brought it back when he found you. Do you have any idea why they attacked you?”
Sam studied her face as if deciding what to tell her.
“No, I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’d never seen any of them before.”
“But they didn’t rob you or try to steal Racer or anything. Why would they just attack you out of the blue like that?”
“I couldn’t say for certain,” he said, and his eyes dropped down to the floor.
“They didn’t say anything?”
“Kate, just let it go,” Sam said. “It’s over. They were probably friends of the guys who messed with you. They were just looking for revenge.”
“But what did they say?” she pressed on. “I can’t imagine that they would just come after you without even a word about it.”
Again, he studied her for a long moment.
“They didn’t say anything,” he said. “I got down from the carriage and they jumped me immediately. If they said anything, I didn’t hear it.”
Kate’s shoulders slumped. “What is the world coming to?” she asked quietly. She went to table and brought one of the chairs to the bedside. “Well, I’m just so relieved that you’re going to be all right. The doctor said you could have died.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said. “But they banged me up pretty good, I have to admit.” He grimaced as he shifted his weight in bed, and his eyes closed for a moment, as if he were fighting with himself to keep from crying out in pain.
While his eyes were closed, Kate took the chance to really look at him up close. His face was bruised and scratched, and there was a heck of a goose egg on the side of his head. A nasty cut was visible on his forehead before crossing his hairline and disappearing among the thick black strands. She felt the urge to take him in her arms and cradle him, but the thought flew away when he opened his eyes and caught her staring at him.
“Do you think you could eat a little stew?” she asked.
“You cooked for me?”
“Good Lord, no. You’ve been through enough,” she said, forcing a smile. “Mary made it; I was just warming it up.”
“Well, in that case, yeah, I’ll have some,” he said, grinning at her.
Kate practically leaped up from the chair and crossed to the fire, swinging the pot out over the hearth so that she could ladle some stew into a bowl. Steam rose as she scooped out hunks of beef and potato, looking for the smallest pieces that would be easiest for him to eat.
As she brought him the bowl, Sam pulled himself up so that he was sitting more upright in bed, leaning against the headboard. The pain from his ribs almost made him go cross-eyed, but he was able to contain everything but the faintest groan as he settled in place.
“Smells terrific,” he said, taking the stew and lowering his face to the bowl.
“You go ahead and eat,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”
“Thanks, Kate. I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s the least I could do,” she said. She sat down again and leaned heavily against the chair back. “I just wish that I could do more. I wish I could have stopped all this somehow, that I could have helped you, like…like you helped me.” Her voice crumbled at the end, and she suddenly felt too warm.
“Kate,” he said simply, and reached for her hand. Even his knuckles were swollen; instead of squeezing his hand, she simply laid hers on top and they sat like that quietly for a while.
After a few minutes she stood up and brought the chair back to the table. “I’m going to let you eat your dinner now,” she said. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, I should be fine.”
“Okay. I’ll be back to check on you first thing in the morning. Get some rest.”
“I will,” he said. “Good night, Kate.” His smile almost glowed in the dim light of the cabin, and Kate was surprised to feel a sharp pang shoot through her at that moment. As much as he’d been hurt, as much as he had been put through, it pained her as well to see him in this shape. He looked almost like another man lying there, scraped and scuffed. Only his smile was the same. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her before Sam could see the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
She was lost in thought, barely watching where she was going as she made the short walk down the hill. Her father had told her that justice would be done eventually, but Kate wasn’t so certain. There had been no witnesses, and she wondered just what Sheriff Tanner would say if she went to him and asked him to round up four diggers who seemed like the sort of men who would get into fights for no discernible reason. It would be like asking him to find four particular grains of sand on the seashore.
The house was quiet when she entered. The staff was huddled in the kitchen; her father and brothers were in the parlor. None of them were speaking, apparently all lost in their own thoughts. She said good night and went up to her room alone.
After changing into her nightshirt, she lay in bed and watched the faint flicker of the light inside Sam’s cabin, extinguishing her own lamp so that her eyes would become adjusted to the darkness. Though she fought to stay awake and keep an eye on Sam, she finally fell asleep just after she realized exactly who would be able to find the men responsible.
If there was one person who knew miners, it was Edward. Surely he can help.
~
The sun was high overhead when she finally awoke. Kate could hear birds chirping and she felt the warm caress of a breeze across her face as she opened her eyes; the intense sunlight poured into her room, spilling onto the rug and brightening the colors. Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.
Kate stretched, enjoying the comfort of her bed, before she rolled over and caught sight of Sam’s cabin. She shot bolt upright in bed and immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over her. While Sam was recovering and the men who had done this were still out there running around free, she had been sleeping like she hadn’t a care in the world. She silently cursed herself and got dressed as quickly as she could.
By the time she got downstairs, her brothers had already finished breakfast and were talking quietly while her father was drinking his habitual second cup of coffee.
“Has anyone been up to see Sam?” Kate’s voice came out a bit more unhing
ed than she’d intended.
“He’s fine, Katie,” Thomas said. “Becky was already up there to bring him breakfast, in fact.”
Kate’s heart slowed a bit. “Okay, that’s good,” she said. She sat down and reached for a thick slice of Mary’s freshly baked bread, slathering it with a blanket of marmalade. “I need to go talk to Edward right away. Jake, will you drive me?”
“Sure thing,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll go get the carriage ready.”
She ate quickly, washing down her breakfast with a cup of tea, and by the time she heard the runabout arrive in front of the house, Kate was ready to leave. She took two steps from the porch, out into the bright day, and then stopped. The side rail of the carriage was a splintered, shattered mess.
“My God, what did they do to him?” she asked as her hand flew to her mouth.
“He’s a strong man, Kate,” Jake said quietly. “He’s going to be okay. Are you ready?”
“Just a minute,” she said to Jake. “I forgot something.” She quickly went back into the house and began to rummage in the front closet. A minute later she had found what she was looking for and was seated next to Jake in the runabout, Sam’s red silk parasol over her like a shield.
Her brother drove carefully but rapidly, and Kate had plenty of things to think about as they went. She would have ordinarily enjoyed the ride, considering the beautiful weather and the green rolling hills that surrounded them, but today it was merely something to endure before she could find some answers. She barely spoke to Jake as they rolled along, though he apparently understood that it was nothing personal. As he slowed the carriage to a stop outside Edward’s offices, he turned to her and laid his hand on her forearm.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” he said. “And don’t worry too much, Katie.” He jumped down to the street and jogged around to help her down. “I’m sure Ed will be able to help find out who did this.”
