Greg

by Kathleen Ball

  Chapter One

  At the loud crack of a rifle shot and the subsequent bullet whizzing by his head, Greg Settler dove for the ground. He’d barely lifted his head when another shot rang out, kicking up the dirt next to him.

  Jumping Jehoshaphat! What was going on? He’d finally arrived in California and drove his pickaxe into the ground to stake his claim. Not a minute later he was waiting for death. He’d heard the Goldmines of California were dangerous but he hadn’t imagined anything like the situation he was in now. Afraid to move, he crouched behind a bush, his mind raced for a solution.

  “I’ll cover you! Make a run over here!” A voice to his right called out. “Ready? One, two, three, run!!”

  Greg had never gotten up and sprinted faster in his life. He dove into the dark cave-like opening in the mountain, gulping for air. “Thank you.”

  A few more shots were exchanged before all was quiet. He glanced around the beginnings of a shaft mine. The front was shored up with lumber and it served as this man’s living quarters too.

  The man quickly put out the oil lamp and sat in the dark shadow keeping watch across the stream.

  Greg sat up and leaned back against the side of the shaft. “What was that all about?”

  The man turned toward Greg. Only he wasn’t a man at all, and Greg’s breath caught with his surprise. Although it was dark, he could make out her features. She was quite pretty with bow-shaped lips and long blond hair. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes. For some reason, that bothered him.

  “It’s simple really, someone wants your claim.” Her voice flowed like honey, and he wondered how he’d ever mistaken her for a man.

  “I haven’t even started it.”

  “You drove your pickaxe into the soil. You started it all right. I’m just glad I was here to help. My pa went for supplies, and I’m guarding our claim. It wasn’t necessary a month ago, but some color was found a couple claims down and now everyone thinks this place has gold on the ground ripe for picking. They’ll turn this area into another boomtown and bring all its problems with it.”

  “I’m Greg Settler from Oregon.” He put out his hand.

  She wiped her palm on her pants before accepting his handshake. “I’m Mercy Watkins. You’ll find out soon enough that you can never seem to be mud-free out here.”

  Greg smiled. “Been out here long?”

  “If it’s not one claim it’s another. My pa has gold fever. We’ve been at it since March of 1849. We make enough to keep us fed.”

  He cocked his brow. “It would seem like a female—”

  “Don’t say it. I’m a hard worker, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she said in a defensive tone.

  “I’m sorry. No insult intended. I have two sisters, Scarlett and Cindy. Both hard workers, but boy does Scarlett love her dresses. Cindy is more of a homebody, but… I’m not saying it right. My pa has a way with words, not me. It’s admirable that you are a hard worker and helping your pa.”

  Her laugh was smooth like a fine Kentucky whiskey. “No harm done. I’m used to men telling me to go find a husband and a home to live in. To me this is my home.”

  She put down the heavy canvas flaps that covered the front of the mine and then lit the lamp. “I’ve got coffee and bread if you’d like some.”

  Greg swallowed hard. She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. She was beautiful in the lamplight. Her honeyed blond hair curled as it spilled down her back. She was also covered in dried mud. People told her to marry? She appeared too young to get married.

  “Much obliged. I have some food and supplies on my claim, but I suppose it isn’t safe to be on it at the moment.”

  “That’s why you need to sit by the door with my rifle and keep watch over your things.” She handed him the rife and the bullets. “My pa will whistle three times so don’t shoot him by accident.”

  Greg loaded the rifle and took up post at the front of the claim. He was off to the side and had a good view between the flaps. “Does this mean I won’t be sleeping ever?”

  Mercy handed him a cup of coffee and she placed a tin plate of bread next to him. “It’s best to have a partner. I guess you have gold fever too.”

  “It would be nice to earn my fortune, but I really just wanted to do something that was my own. I want to build something and make something of my life.”

  She glanced at him. “They threw you out of the house, did they?”

  He furrowed his brow. “They most certainly did not. In fact tears were involved when I left.”

  “Hope you had a bandanna to mop up your face as you rode away.” She laughed her whiskey laugh again.

  “I come from a family made up of orphans from the Oregon Trail. Our ma and pa taught us to think for ourselves and make something of ourselves. We live on a big ranch, and I could have stayed but I wanted to try something different. Restless feet, I guess.”

  “A big family sounds really nice.” He could hear the longing in her voice.

  Three short whistles from outside interrupted them.

  “Pa’s home.”

  A large man with wide shoulders pushed through the flaps with a large crate in his hands. He dropped the crate and reached for his gun.

  “Pa, don’t. This is our new neighbor, Greg Settler. He was being shot at, so I took pity on him.”

  Her pa looked Greg up and down before he nodded and took his hand off the butt of his gun. “I’m Hugo. It’s nice to meet you. You’ve never mined before, have ya?”

  “Nice to meet you sir, and no I haven’t.”

  “Just call me Hugo. We don’t go by ceremony around here. Mercy probably told you someone struck gold nearby. Now we have all kinds wandering about. We can take turns keeping watch tonight, and tomorrow we’ll get your tent up. You did bring a tent, didn’t you?”

  Greg turned his attention to guarding his mine. “I certainly did and probably a lot of useless stuff. They recommend everything at the supply store in Hang Town.”

  “Where’s your horse or did you come by boat and then walk?” Hugo questioned.

  Greg didn’t take his eyes off his claim. “I traded my horse for a mule.”

  Mercy laughed so loud that Greg glanced her way and saw her shoulders shaking hard.

  “What?”

  “Your horse was probably worth ten times what Ole Blue is worth,” Hugo said in amusement.

  “Ole Blue? How’d you know the name of my mule?” Greg was getting tired of being laughed at.

  “Ole Blue is traded to new miners. Usually to the ones the stable owner, Hank, thinks will quit fast. They always bring him back the mule and Hanks trades the same mule to the next new miner. Don’t worry. Ole Blue is a good mule.” Hugo rummaged through the crate. “I can add a can of beans to your bread if you like.”

  “That’s mighty good of you.” Greg had found that refusing this far West was the same as an insult. He shifted his attention back outside, glad to have the distraction of watching his claim or he’d probably be staring at Mercy. Hugo probably wouldn’t take kindly to that.

  In short order, they ate, and Mercy made two pallets on the benches inside the mine. One on each wall.

  “I’ll take first watch,” she offered. She walked to him and took the rifle from his hands. “My bed is the one on the right. Take it and sleep.”

  He was about to reject her offer when Hugo stood up and stretched. “Get to bed, boy. Mercy is good at guard duty. She won’t fall asleep on the job.”

  “Make sure you wake me—”

  “Don’t you worry. You’ll get your turn,” Mercy interrupted. “Scoot so I can sit there and keep an eye on your things.”

  “What about Ole Blue?”

  “She’s been in camps longer than anyone. She knows to care for herself. Now, good night.” Mercy sta
red at him until he got up. Then she promptly sat down and ignored both men.

  ***

  Dawn approached, and Mercy woke as she did every morning, before the sun. It was still cold this early in the spring season. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and started a fire. Next, she put a big pot of coffee on to boil and almost laughed at how deeply the lookout was sleeping.

  Greg sure was a handsome man. His hair was nut brown. The color of an acorn, she mused. He sported a well-trimmed beard. He didn’t have the hardened look of a miner yet. There were still smiles left inside of him. His broad shoulders would be a help to him. He didn’t smell as bad as the rest, yet, either.

  He’d be safe once the sun was up. No one would shoot in the morning hours. There were too many people around. Did he know the dangers that faced him out here? He didn’t look too green. There were callouses on his hands, so he wasn’t a milk toast miner. His teeth weren’t black or missing, so he wasn’t a man who paid no mind toward caring for himself.

  His eyes opened, and he caught her staring. Her face heated as she quickly turned away.

  “I guess I fell asleep.” He scrambled to his feet and quickly pulled the flap back then sighed in relief. “My things are all still there.”

  Her lips twitched into a smile. “You got lucky. Remind me to never ask you to guard me.” She couldn’t help but tease him.

  Greg smiled back, warming her. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. I don’t have a proven record here yet.”

  His eyes matched his smile which was unusual among the miners, except for the ones who struck it big.

  After she poured some coffee, she handed it to him. “We’ll have our coffee and then get your tent set up. After that you start digging. Am I going too fast for you? You look lost.”

  “Not at all. I’m just absorbing everything you’re saying. At what angle do I dig?”

  He tilted his head as though he thought she wouldn’t have the answer. “A hard forty-five degrees and as wide as ours is. Then you’ll want to dig in a straight line. You’ll need lumber in a few days or so.”

  “You’re quite knowledgeable for a… I’m sorry. I’m going to have to get used to the fact you know more than me and you’re female.”

  “Female she is, and keep your mitts to yourself or I’ll have to shoot you,” Hugo said from his bunk.

  “How many have you had to shoot already?” Greg asked.

  “None.”

  Mercy shook her head. “Only because I chase them away before he gets a chance. A man who wants to court me will arrive with flowers someday.”

  “Go on, the two of ya. Get the tent up, and Greg, you let Mercy show you where to dig. She’s usually pretty lucky at picking a spot.”

  Mercy put on a gun belt, checked her pistol for bullets and then grabbed her hat and coat before stepping out into the cold morning air. Her breath made little white puffs as she pulled on her coat. Work would warm her up.

  She walked over to Greg’s claim. Well, Greg had missed a person pulling his stake out of the ground. Men! She picked up the pickaxe and turned in a circle for all to see and then she sank it back into the ground. She tipped her hat to the small audience that had gathered.

  “Listen up. There was shooting last night over this here claim. It’s been claimed, so no more shooting if you know what’s good for you.” She pulled her coat back enough to expose her gun. “I don’t know where a lot of you are from, but here we stick to the code of no stealing from a miner and no claim jumping.” A few men narrowed their eyes at her and a few smiled. The others just shook their heads. She stood there until Greg joined her. By then most of the men were gone.

  “They respect you.” There was a sense of awe on Greg’s face.

  “Of course they do. Like I told you, I’m a hard worker, and that’s what is respected most out here.” She patted her holster. “That and my gun. Now don’t listen to any rumors of me shooting a man in the head. I mean, I shot at his head, but I only got his ear.”

  Greg laughed. “What?”

  “He came into the mine and tried to have his way with me and ended up running away with only half an ear. Oh my stars, talk about a lot of blood!”

  She frowned. “Why do you stare at me like that, Greg? You would have shot anyone who came into your claim and put his hands on you!”

  Greg stopped looking so amused. “You’re right I would have. Glad he didn’t hurt you. Is he still in camp?”

  “My pa would have killed him if he hadn’t skedaddled.”

  Mercy pulled a tent out from his pile of belongings. “Let’s get started. I have a mine of my own to tend to.”

  She’d shocked him. She could tell by the look on his face. She wanted to laugh, but she put on her poker face. She didn’t need another miner to think they were meant to be together. It got irksome, and one of these days her pa was going to have to up and kill one of them. She tried everything she could to discourage the men. With Greg, she was having fun at his expense. He actually seemed to be a good man, though time would tell.

  “I do know how to put the tent up, you know,” Greg grabbed the polls and followed her.

  Mercy stepped back and looked at their handy work. “It’ll stay up. Stop over if you need anything else.”

  “Wait, where am I supposed to dig?”

  “Inside the tent for now.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “Look, start on the left side and put the dirt on the back right side. You don’t want anyone to see what might be on the piece of land. If you find gold keep your mouth closed about it. What you are actually doing is carving out the mouth and living quarters of your mine. Dig down and out toward the opening to your tent. You’ll want to be able to walk into your mine. Make it as big as mine and then shore it up with lumber. Then you dig your shaft into the earth. I’ll stop by later to see how you’re doing.”

  “Thank you, Mercy. You’ve been a great help.”

  Her face grew warm. “Well, it will be nice to have a normal person next to us for a change. There’s food at Ima’s tent. It’s over yonder. Most eat there, and in turns. You watch someone’s claim and then they watch yours. Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  “See you later, then.”

  ***

  Greg admired her as she walked away. She was so different from the women back home. Heck, she couldn’t be any older than fifteen or sixteen, yet she had an air of confidence about her. But if she was so lucky picking the digging place, then why were they still trying to find gold after all these years? Or maybe they’d found it and Hugo gambled it away?

  Greg had seen a lot of that in Hang Town. In fact, he’d seen an awful lot more in that mining town. But at least there were buildings there. Here, the town consisted of a big muddy street with mostly tents serving as businesses, the largest being the saloon. He’d peeked in and got more than an eyeful and left. He’d never seen women in such state of undress. Weren’t they cold?

  He’d seen men in expensive suits buying mining gear mixing in with the miners dressed in rags. Gold fever hit all kinds. He saw riches to be made besides gold. Lumber mills, supplies, homemade food were gold mines of their own. First he’d try his hand at mining.

  Picking up his spade, he dug and dug. He was glad of Mercy’s advice. He had thought he’d just dig here and there or pan for gold even. But the streams were played out, and a lot of the surface dirt had been gone through. The only thing left was going into the earth.

  “Hey, Greg, It’s Hugo,” called out his neighbor. “Don’t shoot.”

  Greg leaned heavily on the shovel and waited for Hugo to come in.

  Hugo whistled. “By golly. You work fast. You’ll want to grade the front a bit. If it rains you don’t want the water sloshing into your mine. Come take a look at ours after the noon meal. That’s why I’m here, to take you with me.”

  Greg looked down at his dirty clothes. “I’ll need to change.”

  Hugo laughed. “You look cleaner than most. Come on you’ll s
ee. Ima makes the best pie this side of the Rocky Mountains. Now, you can pay by the day, but she’d rather be paid by the week. Sometimes miners forget to eat and she doesn’t think she should be out of money for food she cooked and they missed. She’s a nice gal. Keep your hands off her.”

  Greg nodded as they trekked down the hill to a big tent. He spotted Ima and she was no gal. She looked to be old as dirt. Maybe to Hugo she was still young. She rushed over to meet Greg. She wore trousers and she was as skinny as a starved rabbit.

  “Howdy do?” She stuck out her hand and Greg shook it.

  “No spitting, go light on the cussin’ and wait your turn. Those are the rules. I’ll make up more as needed. How’ll you be paying?”

  “By the week, ma’am.”

  Ima smiled brightly. “Good idea. Seeing as it’s Thursday and I collect money on Saturday I’ll only charge you for half a week.”

  Greg started to protest, but Hugo stuck his elbow against Greg’s ribs.

  “Sounds fair to me.” He dug into his pocket, took out some cash and handed it to her. He expected some change but he wasn’t offered any.

  “Go ahead and go through the chow line. You only get to go through once so pile up your plates—except for dessert. That you can have only one of. Coffee is on each table. If you bring your own tin cup and plate, I give a discount. Enjoy your meal.”

  She hurried around to the other side of the table that held the food and doled out the mashed potatoes while making small talk with each man. Greg watched as most piled meat five or six pieces high, leaving room for not much more. Hugo roared in laughter and Greg turned to see what was going on. Ima was hitting a man with her spoon.

  “You scoundrel! That plate is bigger than any of the others. No cheating. You get this one warning, then it’s cold cans of beans for you! Put some of that meat back then go eat.” She muttered under her breath as she shook her head. She shook her head so hard her braids of gray hair shook back and forth too.

  The tables were made of long planks of wood, the seats roughhewn benches that resembled sawhorses. Greg nodded at the group of men who sat at the table Hugo led him to. They all quickly looked away. Friendly crowd.