Summers, True

by Poppy

  "So that's it." The deep voice was relieved.

  He sidled out and stood in front of her, a tall man with a bushy beard, dressed in his clean best with his boots shined. Four other men followed him sheepishly and lined up to stare down at her.

  "We're sorry, ma'am, but he was enjoying the ginger-bread, and there was some real cow's milk, and we just got to teasing him, I guess."

  "About Chinese being white men?"

  A younger man with a thin, intellectual face under his fair beard colored a little. His voice was that of an educated man. "It didn't really happen on this bridge, ma'am. We were just stretching a good story."

  "I'd like to hear it." Then sharply, "Since it's a story you felt you could tell a young boy."

  "It's not that." The young man realized the explanation was being left to him. "These Digger Indians around here, well, they're not as sharp as the Indians back over the mountains."

  "I've heard that."

  "So they got to arguing whether Chinese were white men, and they know white men can't swim. So they saw a couple of Chinese crossing a bridge like that over there, and they went up to them, and I guess they found out Chinese can't swim."

  "So the Indians decided they were white," Poppy concluded crisply.

  "It's not really funny, ma'am. We were just telling it."

  Andy straightened up, looking unnaturally white. "It sounded funny in there."

  "We're sorry, ma'am," the older man repeated.

  "You were simply trying to amuse the boy." Poppy remembered a line from a newspaper that had brought chuckles all over California. "You did your best according to your lights, but your lights were a little dim." She remembered Maurice using that quotation, too.

  They understood they were forgiven and gathered closer in a circle around her. Poppy knew exactly what was on their minds. Curiosity was eating into every one of them. Andy probably had confided they had been living with their older brother on a claim up Injun Creek, but the big questions remained. Where did they come from, where were they going, what were their plans and the most important of all, the question they could not ask, was it possible a girl as pretty as Poppy could also be good? That was agitating everyone of these men, and, whatever the answer, each bad some idea in his mind.

  Andy sensed he was no longer the center of attention. "Do you suppose Dutch is finished?"

  "You stay with me. I won't have you hanging around that fandango parlor."

  The bushy-bearded man smiled and leaned forward to prove he also could quote. "The place has a bad reputation, as has its owner."

  "There's Jack on the bridge," Andy whooped.

  Relief flooded through Poppy. "Run and meet him and tell him I'm here."

  "Will you be staying around these parts through the winter?" the young man asked.

  The whole circle waited for the answer.

  Andy had indeed talked, but there was no harm in that. "I don't know. It's up to my brother. This seems to be a nice town."

  "Growing every day," the bushy-bearded man said. "There's every opportunity here. Every opportunity."

  "There's six decent women in town already," somebody back of her said, his voice hoarse with shyness. "And we're putting together to buy a piano for the church for the use of any of the ladies that play."

  Poppy sighed. "Jack was always sea crazy until he got this gold fever. He's never been one for towns."

  ''We'll have a word with him about that," the bushy-bearded man said heartily. "Perhaps we'll see you here at lunch, ma'am. We can recommend it."

  Poppy nodded and smiled. She would not have them guess her pretty little bag, for all its elaborate decoration of tasseled drawstrings, held only the derringer and her pitifully light poke, and she would part with those only for something she considered vital. Lunch was not that.

  A half hour passed before Jack came wearily across the square to join her. He sank down in the other rocker and did not speak for a few minutes.

  "Took a little extra walk," he said at last. "Five miles or so."

  "For news of Grass Valley?"

  "It's big. Maybe the biggest."

  "You want to go?" .

  Jack looked past her, at the square. "How do you like Injun Gulch?"

  "It's a nice little town."

  "You'd like to stay here?"

  "We can't stay at the diggings."

  ''This Grass Valley strike is different," Jack said.

  "How?"

  "I admit I haven't talked to anybody who's been there. But I've got the same story secondhand from three or four people. The ore is rich, and it runs deep. Needs big machinery, there's more than one mine, and the gold will last for years. That means a town, permanent."

  "How far?"

  "You always ask how far."

  "And it's always far. Jack, Andy and I would be safe here. You could go ahead, and we could follow in the spring when you're settled a little."

  "San Francisco was one thing. You had a house, friends. I wouldn't leave you alone in a place like this."

  "In the spring?"

  "Too late. The cream is being skimmed off right now. This minute." He forced his voice down. "There's still a good chance. Some men can't see the winter through, and they walk off without leaving even a shovel for markers. But it's rich, rich. People are pouring in there every day."

  Poppy wavered. Jack had moved on again and again, running after his dream, and each place seemed to have been a little more desolate than the last. Any place more desolate than Injun Creek would be death for them all. But a man never forgave the person who cost him his dream, however futile it was. And without it, he died another death, though not of the 'body.

  "I don't see how we could get there," she said.

  ''They've got a couple of broken-down old nags over at the livery stable. Taken in for bad debts and look it, but

  they'd get us there if we ride them easy. One could carry you and Andy together. Fifty dollars if I take them both."

  "I have thirty."

  "So do I. I got a fair price for our gear. That leaves ten for food."

  He had it planned, though she had dreamed of living here at Injun Gulch. They could not both have their dreams.

  Suddenly from the square she heard a strange sound, but with something familiar about it. She jumped to her feet and stared. Andy, oddly bent over as if on four feet, was running around and around the straggling oak. He would bend over until his face almost touched the ground and then rear back and let out a strange baying sound, mingled with half-hysterical laughter. And then he would stoop over again and go galloping around the tree before he repeated the whole performance.

  Men were lined along the rail where the horses were tied, howling with laughter and yelling encouragement between gasps of hilarity. With every one of their yells, Andy bayed louder.

  Poppy jumped off the porch and crossed the square at a dead run. 'She reached Andy, grabbed him by the hair, and jerked him upright.

  "What do you think you're doing, young man?"

  Andy's face was purple, and his eyes were glassy. ''I'm a bloodhound," he howled, then threw back his head and bayed. "I'm a bloodhound, smelling the blood. See?" And he pointed to the hard-trodden dirt around the tree.

  Poppy looked at the men lining the rail. ''What story have you told him now?"

  "He looked all right," the bearded man muttered. "We didn't know he was apt to be taken strange, that way."

  "He wasn't taken any way," Poppy snapped, but her heart sank. The men had concluded Andy was simple, a lackwit, and he would be the butt of practical jokes as long as they stayed in this town. "He's excited by his first trip to town in weeks, and you've been feeding him wild yams to see what he'd do. So what was it this time?"

  The young man with the educated accent stepped forward. "We're sorry, miss. We were just making a little fun. You know how it is when men come to town on a Saturday. Everybody's ready for fun, frolic, or a footrace."

  "I'd like to hear about your fun."

&nb
sp; ''We had a little trouble here last week, and we took care of it as we usually do, public hearing and trial by the alcalde," the young man admitted and glanced toward the bearded leader.

  Poppy nodded. The men at the diggings had talked about such trials, where an informally elected alcalde and a committee held immediate trials and gave immediate verdicts on local crimes. The men thought the justice was usually both quick and fair. Poppy shuddered away from the thought of such Vigilante-type proceedings.

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "A little thieving," the young man said reluctantly and added with pride, "After he was punished, we found out the poor fellow was broke and hungry. We outfitted him and gave him money and supplies before we sent him on his way. Please, miss, we're decent men at Injun Gulch."

  "You're the best judges of that. What was the punishment?"

  The bearded man spat. ''Thirty-eight lashes. I decided it, and I'll stick to it. Thirty-eight good ones."

  Poppy closed her eyes and pressed Andy close to her side. She could feel his heart beating wildly. They had seen a sailor get six lashes on shipboard, and the sight of the blood had left Andy sick and white for days. That was before his shattering experience with the slaughtering of the beef, and the two experiences had left him with a horror of bloody punishment. These men could not know that or that Andy had fled in fear of his life from a Vigilante-type punishment. Their cruelty in calling up those memories was unwitting but it was nonetheless cruel. They were not bad men, but Andy could not live in the same town with them.

  At her elbow, Jack said quietly, "I think Andy's going to be sick."

  She looked down at the white face and twisting lips. "I'll take him down to the water where it's cool. You buy the supplies, and we'll meet you at the livery stable."

  Chapter Thirty-five

  AFTER the torrential downpour that had driven them from Injun Creek, the weather turned hot. Poppy thought she had never known summer to be as hot as this country's autumn. The sun beat down out of a cloudless sky, and there was no breeze. Even the nights were warm. They held their horses to a walk and tried to ride in any shade they could find, but they still were uncomfortable, hot, sticky, and plagued by flying bugs.

  The third afternoon they rode past a series of camps along a deep canyon that had every sign of being prosperous diggings. The shacks had a settled look. Many had chimneys and even small porches. A few had rough garden patches scratched out beside them, and a couple even had chickens penned in the back. The horses looked well fed, and the dogs barked saucily. Still something about the place seemed strange.

  They rode at a slow walk because they were climbing a steep incline and their horses were damp and were tiring in the hot afternoon. Then Poppy realized what the strangeness was. The place was deserted. It was settled but not inhabited.

  Jack looked back at Andy and Poppy. "I don't see a single deserted claim, but I haven't seen a living soul, either."

  "Right you are, brother, right as rain from heaven," intoned a deep voice. A long-legged man on a small, rough horse came riding across the stream and scrambled up the bank to join them on the trail. "Not a living soul, as you say, not a living soul."

  Jack touched his hat. "I didn't see you, Reverend Doctor."

  "Reverend's good enough, young man, just Reverend. Christened a Christian, living a Christian, and preaching of Christ out of the living spirit and His own book, and never touched by the dead hand of a diploma or doctrine. As you say, never a living soul to be seen. Because they're all waiting around the bend with the lamented and departed to be seen into his grave with fitting words."

  "Which you have come to provide," Jack said.

  "Ridden twenty miles, young man, twenty miles. I get many calls from roundabouts when a man's the kind that's properly honored and his friends want to see him off in fitting style. Some men can read a service, and some can preach one, but I tell you it's power that's wanted when we lay our lamented in the ground and know we'll look upon his face no more. Yes, it's a powerful thought, and it's powerful praying that's needed."

  "I'm sure that's so," Jack said hastily. "A sad errand, Reverend. But I'm sure you'll be a consolation to the survivors." He started to rein his horse off the road so the Reverend could pass.

  "Follow me young man and young lady and young, fellow too. Because there's only bush and disaster once you're off this trail. So follow me and listen to the words of the Lord and know afresh that it pays to stay on the right trail, the Lord's trail, and then be on your way rejoicing."

  Jack looked back at Poppy with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. She shrugged back. She had heard a few such preachers on San Francisco street corners and she knew that once they started that intoning talk, they could keep up for hours without seeming to stop to draw a breath. But if, as the man said, this was the only trail they could follow safely, they must go with him.

  The trail twisted up abruptly, and they rode out on a small, flat plateau looking over the water. Some twenty miners were waiting there, grouped around a rough wood coffin standing beside the already-dug grave. The dead man must have been respected and loved by his fellows for them to have selected so impressive and beautiful a site for his grave and gone to the trouble to send for a preacher. Besides, she could see nobody had staked a claim this high above the water.

  Touched, Poppy dismounted and walked over to stand beside the group around the grave, intending only to join them for a ceremonial minute. Then as she saw Jack's disapproving face, she realized she had made a mistake. Now they could not leave without giving deep offense. They would have to stay for the funeral.

  The preacher tied his horse under some trees to one side and strode over to stand at the head of the grave. Poppy gestured Andy to her side as Jack took the horses to tie them in the scanty shade. A half hour's rest would do none of them any harm.

  The miners circled around the grave and coffin, leaving room for them on one side. Poppy composed her-self, clasped her hands, and bent her head.

  As the man had promised, he was a powerful speaker. He only knew the dead man had come overland from the east and had been honest and generous, but that was all he needed. A half hour passed, and Poppy was swaying on her feet. Andy was slumped against her, and Jack was closely hemmed in by miners on the other side of the grave.

  "Let us kneel in prayer."

  Poppy dropped gratefully to her knees and almost yelped as she felt sharp stones dig into her legs even through her heavy skirts. She wiggled and put her hands down, trying to brush the stones away, and was aware of similar wiggles and movements all around the grave. Cautiously she eased forward and rested part of her weight on her hands. Looking from under lowered lashes, she saw many of the miners were doing the same thing, their hands, unused to idleness, working at the stony soil, pulverizing it and straining it through their fingers. Twisting a little, hands working to try to ease the discomfort, they all knelt with bent heads. Andy was digging a little hole in front of him, but she nudged him once with her elbow and let it go. She could not blame him.

  "Let us pray for him on the first step, an innocent baby in his mother's arms."

  Poppy wondered if the preacher was going to take the man up every one of those golden steps to the gates of heaven. At least she could try to scratch a soft spot to rest her hands. Then she might be able to take more weight off her knees.

  "Let us pray for him on the next step, a fine young boy but now not so innocent."

  Scratch, scratch. Beside her, she could hear Andy digging at his hole. "

  He mounts the next step, not yet quite a young man."

  The preacher was taking him up every step of that long flight, Poppy mused as she scratched away. Would he stop long at the gate? But he had a way to go yet.

  "Now a young man, a good man, and a joy to those who knew him, but no longer innocent. Let us pray for him now on this step."

  The sun was hot, and her knees had burning holes in them. Those stones did gouge. Maybe she could clear enough space to
move forward. She brushed and scratched energetically, making a little pile of dirt to one side close to Andy.

  "A fine young man, but young manhood is filled with temptations. Let us pray for him now in the temptations of the flesh that assail him."

  Poppy's flesh was stinging as if those stones had cut holes. Could they be deep enough to bleed? She had to do something. Scratch, scratch. There, she had those pebbles strained out and could push them to one side and move forward to the cleared spots.

  ''Then again let us pray for him as he feels the temptations of the other senses. The temptations, the greeds, the indulgences of lusty young manhood, ah, yes, all the dire temptations of young manhood. Let us pause a little longer on this step."