The Seekers

by F. M. Parker

  “Who will begin the bidding at one thousand?” said the Chinaman.

  A hand rose.

  “I have a bid,” said the auctioneer. “Do I have one for eleven hundred?”

  “Fifteen hundred,” a second man called.

  The bidding went swiftly. The girl sold for thirty-three hundred dollars. The purchaser, a big, burly white man, climbed upon the stage and took the girl by the arm in a possessive manner. With Quan Ing leading, the white man took the girl out through a door on the side of the stage.

  Errin looked at Ke. The Chinaman nodded with the barest of movement of his head and climbed to his feet. Errin followed slowly after the tong fighter through some curtains on the side of the room. Ke waited for him out of sight of the men in the auction room.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Errin asked.

  “In case someone saw us, he would think I was merely guiding you to the auction. Now we shall hurry to our true destination?”

  You lie, Errin thought. You wanted me to know what was in store for Chun should you take her from Levi.

  The two men walked along Market Street for a few minutes and then veered right onto Dupont Street. Shortly they came to a two-story building occupying half a square block. A sign, extending out over the sidewalk from the building, read Chinese Foods, Scom Lip, Proprietor.

  The structure was surrounded by buildings of like age and character. All were badly in need of paint. Errin had heard the exteriors of Chinese-owned buildings were deliberately left in a run-down condition so that the white people of the city would not become jealous of the foreigner’s growing wealth. A bell tinkled as Ke and Errin entered the door.

  A young Chinaman was behind a counter that ran nearly across the room. A second Chinaman seated at a table on the right near the wall, sprang to his feet as Ke and Errin entered. He was dressed in black clothing similar to Ke’s. A clerk and a hatchetman, Errin judged. Behind them was a series of shelving extending rearward into the dark recesses of the building. Every square inch of the shelves was chock-full of a wide variety of drygoods and foodstuffs.

  “Hello, Ke,” the hatchetman said.

  Ke nodded a return greeting and continued along one of the aisles between the shelving and out a door in the rear. The new room was very deep. Four men were at desks and transferring numbers from sheets of paper onto abacus boards and recording sums in ledgers. Beyond them three men were unpacking mining tools from large wooden crates and repackaging various portions of the contents into heavy burlap bags of a size a man could carry.

  “Honorable Scom Lip outfits our newly arriving countrymen for their journey into the mountains to search for gold,” Ke explained and gestured at the burlap sacks.

  Two men in the customary black clothing of the tong sat at a table near a door and played dominoes. They immediately came to their feet when they saw Ke.

  More tong fighters, thought Errin. By the way they had acted toward Ke, he must be their superior, probably a lieutenant of Scom Lip. But why so many guards?

  He followed Ke through the door and into a room splendidly decorated with long silk drapes on the walls. Thick mohair carpets covered the floor. The finest wooden furniture, delicately and ornately carved was arranged in a most pleasing pattern.

  A middle-aged Chinaman, thick chested and with a deep scar across his right cheek, rose from an overstuffed chair. He wore a richly embroidered black silk Mandarin pants and blouse. His step was strong and elastic as he came forward.

  “Welcome, Mr. Scanlan, I am Scom Lip,” the man said. He watched Errin with quick, alert eyes sunk deeply under a broad forehead.

  “Hello, Scom Lip,” Errin replied. He measured the leader of the most vicious tong in San Francisco. The man stood half a head shorter than Errin. Yet there was something about him that made him appear a big man. Errin decided he was a fighting leader. The scar must be a souvenir of some tong battle.

  “Please be seated.” Scom lip indicated a chair. “Ke, have some hot tea brought for Mr. Scanlan.”

  Ke hesitated, frowning, glancing at Errin.

  “I know, Ke, Mr. Scanlan will be armed. But he and I have no arguments. This is a business discussion. Now see to the tea. And bring something sweet. Have Ging serve us.”

  “Yes, Honorable sir.”

  “What do you want to talk to me about?” Errin asked.

  Lip reseated himself. His eyes swung to again fix on Errin. “You and your friend Mr. Coffin came to my attention a few days past and I’ve been watching the growth of your business. It is unique, this contracting of skilled workmen and I think it would be very profitable.”

  “We’re making an honest living.”

  “Part of your workmen are black. Does their color create a problem for you?”

  “Only a little. They’re good workers and earn their pay.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  Ke came into the room with a hurried step. He glanced at Errin and Scom Lip. Satisfied with the situation, he backed away against the wall and became motionless.

  A young, very beautiful Chinese girl came into view with a whisper of felt slippers. She carried a tray holding a pot of tea, two small cups, and a plate of rice cookies which she placed on a low table before the men.

  “This is Ging Ti,” Lip said, inclining his head at the girl. “She has only recently arrived in San Francisco from Canton. She came on the same ship as Chun Quang. You know Chun, don’t you?”

  Errin kept his eyes upon the girl. She had been tense before, but now at the mentioning of Chun, she started, almost spilling the tea that she was pouring.

  “Yes,” Errin replied, glad the real reason for him being here was out in the open. “And I imagine you have known of her whereabouts since she bought food in Portsmouth Square,” he countered.

  Lip smiled, the scar pulling his face into a menacing scowl. “Exactly so. And since then, I’ve been wondering what to do with the knowledge. I would judge that she is no longer a virgin and thus she would only have value as a whore. That is not much as compared to her worth before you took her. In fact, Mr. Scanlan, there are some associates of mine who believe her head should be severed from her body as a warning to other young women who may think of running away instead of honoring their contracts.”

  Errin took the cup of tea Ging handed to him. “Chun had no contract to break,” he said. “She was on the waterfront in Canton when a buyer of girls was loading several aboard ship to bring to California. Some of the girls tried to run away. Those girls were caught, but the man also caught Chun and forced her aboard the ship too.”

  For a moment Scom Lip silently considered what Errin had said. “That may be true. However she would then owe me for passage to California since I am the actual owner of the ship that brought her to America. That is the same as a contract.”

  “That’s not the same at all for she was forced to come here. But I don’t want to fight with you so I’ll pay for her passage.”

  Errin wouldn’t allow Lip to kill Chun without a fight. He was deep within this tong chiefs stronghold and the man could but raise his hand and the hatchetman, Ke, would try to kill Errin. Still Errin thought Scorn Lip would appreciate bravery and not attack after inviting him to come.

  “Would you fight me?” The scar on the Chinaman’s face turned red with a rush of blood. Then a thin smile stretched his mouth. “Your suggestion to pay would be one solution, or I could forget her passage fee and give her to you.”

  So this is only partly about Chun. Scom Lip was after something more valuable. “What do you want from me?” Errin asked. He must be very wary for the tong chief would prove to be a trickster, and a deadly foe.

  “You have shown skill at contracting employment for workmen. I want you to put some of my countrymen to work for wages, two hundred, three hundred if possible. These are men who have failed to find golden riches in the mountains and now want to return to China. They need to earn the passage money.”

  “I don’t think that would be possible. Ju
st a few hours ago, I saw a group of your people cursed and hit by a mob of white men afraid of losing their jobs to Chinamen.”

  “I know my people are not liked by the white workers of the city. However if anybody can find them employment, that person is you.”

  “Simply trying to do that could hurt my business.”

  “They will work for a dollar a day,” Scom Lip pressed on. “You could get a dollar and a half a day. Thus one-half dollar for each man would be yours. You could earn much money in a short time. When someone questioned you about why you worked Chinamen, you could tell them they worked only long enough to earn the passage to leave America and go home to China. Please do not reject my request until you have given it full thought.”

  Lip was asking too much. White businessmen would be afraid to employ the Chinamen even if they believed the foreigners would shortly leave California, yet Errin dared not flatly refuse the tong leader. Chun’s life might then be forfeit, for no matter how diligently Levi and he guarded her, she could still be killed.

  “Maybe there is some type of work that your people could do and the white men would not cause trouble because of it. I’ll think on it.”

  “I knew we could reach an understanding. If we succeed, Chun may stay with you without fear of harm from any Chinaman.” Scom Lip pointed at Ging. “In addition, I will give you pretty Ging. Until then I shall keep her pure for you.”

  Errin saw that the girl seemed to understand Lip’s words. She peered at Errin from under her bowed head. She didn’t appear displeased at the proposition.

  “You’re generous,” Errin said. Ging was indeed beautiful. He would accept her if it came to that. Or maybe he would win the lovely Celeste. He laughed behind his face. His sights were high for a highwayman. But a troubling thought worried him, for Scom Lip to give such a valuable property, he must intend to take a major portion of the dollar-a-day wage remaining to each Chinaman after Errin took his cut. Even that would not pay for the girl. Scom Lip was after something even more important to him. At the moment, Errin could not fathom what that was.

  “Have another rice cake and some more tea, Mr. Scanlan,” Scom Lip said and smiled his crooked smile.

  “I must go,” Errin said and climbed to his feet.

  “There is one more thing that I wish to say, something of importance to you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone else searches for Chun. A white man named Mattoon.”

  “Brol Mattoon, the banker?”

  “A banker among other things. It was his men who were guarding the girls when Chun escaped. Because of her, he has lost face. He is powerful on the waterfront, and has many men to obey his orders. Should he find the girl, he would surely kill her, and your friend Mr. Coffin. And even you, Mr. Scanlan, for hiding her. Watch carefully for him.”

  Chapter 23

  Celeste clenched her teeth as the wheels of the surrey struck a rut in the road and pain rose in her wounded chest. She lay upon a thick pallet of blankets on the floor of the vehicle. Though it was mounted on leaf springs, it still bounced and jarred on the primitive dirt way.

  “Can you see the hacienda yet?” she said to Ignacio who drove the surrey.

  “Yes, senorita, it is not more than three miles ahead. We shall soon be there.”

  “That’s good.” She smelled the dust stirred up from the surface of the road by the rolling wheels. She felt the gritty particles of earth settling upon her. But the discomfort was easy to bear for the dust that fell upon her was soil of her own land. That was a very pleasant thought.

  She looked from under the canvas top of the surrey and up at Errin. He was watching her from the back of his horse.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  “I think that might be a fib.”

  “Maybe a little one,” Celeste smiled at him.

  Celeste, Errin and Ignacio were traveling across the San Joaquin Valley. Celeste, on the third day after the duel, prepared to go to her rancho. She insisted that in the dry air of Mount Mocho, she would heal more rapidly than in damp, foggy San Francisco. Errin had agreed and, finding great pleasure in her presence, quickly volunteered to accompany her and Ignacio. Taking a surrey and a pair of trotters and Levi’s saddle mount, they caught a steamboat up river to a farmer’s cooperative grain landing some thirty miles downstream from Sacramento. There Ignacio and he had unloaded the surrey and horses from the boat and the overland portion of the journey began.

  Errin looked ahead from the back of his horse to where dense clouds of dust moved under the burning sun. Within the thick dust, men drove mules pulling land levelers, harrows and plows. The hazy forms of the men and their animals and machines seemed to be only particles of the floating dust.

  “Ignacio, stop,” Celeste called when the surrey drew abreast of the men nearest the road.

  Ignacio pulled the horses to a halt. “What is it that you need, senorita?” he asked.

  “I want to speak to the men.”

  Errin dismounted and came to the side of the vehicle. “Do you want help to get down?” he said.

  “No. The men must see that I’m not badly hurt and can still fight to hold the rancho.“

  She stood erect on the ground and lifted her arm. She waved to the men, hiding the pain that came from the torn flesh of her wound.

  Two men who had been working a land leveler, had stopped and come out of the dust. They shouted their greeting to Celeste. Men at the other machines heard the calls and halted. They saw Celeste and added their happy voices to the welcome. Celeste laughed as the voices rolled across the valley bottom.

  “There, see, Errin, they feel better and so do I,” Celeste said in a pleased voice. “I have thousands of acres suited for growing wheat. But I need many more men to help prepare the land and plant the seed. Wheat can be the salvation of my rancho. “

  She climbed gingerly back into the surrey and lay down. “Take me home, Ignacio.”

  “With pleasure, senorita.”

  They journeyed on under the blazing sun. Celeste watched the newly spun dust rise up from the surrey, and from the scrapers and other machines. The brownish clouds represented gold for it meant she could grow wheat. She did not mind the heat at all.

  Errin glanced backward at the toiling men. He had the answer to finding work for Scom Lip’s Chinamen. He would bring them far away from San Francisco to this inland valley. Here there were tens of thousands of acres of land to be prepared for fanning. With no angry white men to cause trouble.

  The surrey and lone rider left the valley bottom and climbed the road winding up the side of Mount Mocho. With the sun nearly to its zenith, they entered the courtyard of the hacienda.

  The wives of the vaqueros rushed to greet Celeste and help her from the carriage. Errin drew back from the bevy of chattering women and looked around.

  The hacienda was huge with thick adobe walls and a veranda extending the entire length of the front. Tall cottonwoods and oaks shaded the house. Errin knew the structure must contain many rooms. There were outbuildings and a blacksmith shop and a stone and log corral, and down the slope were several small residences. A ditch running with water led to a garden. He turned back and saw Celeste’s happy face. Being home in such a place was a perfect reason to be happy.

  When the noisy welcome had quieted, Celeste slipped away from the women. She breathed deeply of the warm, sweet wind of the mountain. It had been right to come here. Soon she would be completely healed.

  She turned to Errin standing off to the side and watching her. She felt her heart do a little tattoo of beats against her ribs as their eyes met. How natural it was for him to be here.

  “Errin, this is my home. Please treat it as if it was yours. Let us wash away the dust and then have something to eat.”

  “I am hungry.”

  “Ignacio will show you to the men’s bath house. Come into the hacienda when you are finished.”

  “I won�
�t be long,” Errin said.

  “Come this way, senor,” Ignacio said.

  Errin removed his pack from where it was tied behind the saddle on his horse and followed after Ignacio into the hacienda. He noted the worn concave shape of the threshold stone. How many feet, bare and booted had trod upon the stone?

  Ignacio led along a high ceiling passageway that stretched away into the interior of the house. Errin felt the coolness of the structure and smelled the odor of the earth with which it was built.

  Ignacio stopped and pointed ahead. “At the end of the hall and just outside is the bath house. There are several tubs. The water in all of them will be fresh. It is the duty of the bigger boys to see to that. After you have finished bathing, follow your nose to the kitchen. The dining room is next to it.”

  Errin bathed quickly and was soon seated with Celeste alone at a table in the big dining room. He ate with high relish, but slowly, savoring his food, concentrating upon the flavor. The food was spicy, aromatic, and delicious.

  Celeste ate slowly matching Errin’s leisurely pace, and slyly watching him. She did not understand his obvious delight in the simple food that had been served to him.

  Errin looked at Celeste sitting so peaceably in her home. As she ate, her expression frequently changed, flashing across her face like rainbows with each new thought. Her eyes touching his from time to time were almost as pleasant as kisses. He knew how painful her wound must be, and yet she gave no sign of it. There was a splendor in her, in the union of gentleness, will, and courage. He could not get enough of her.

  A brilliance came into Celeste’s face, a brash sparkling light. She smiled mischievously at him. Had she again read his desires. If so, she did not seem to mind them.