The California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Few, hell,” Gil snorted. “Am I entitled to know where you’ve been for most of the afternoon and half the night?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said, “but I don’t care. I’ve been to the theater. The one we attended last night. The way you fidgeted through it, I didn’t think you’d want to go again.”

  “It’s the same damn play,” Gil said, “and I can’t see why you’d want to go again. Maybe it wasn’t the play you went to see.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t,” she said. “I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, but don’t bother riding in until after six. I have plans for the afternoon.”

  “I have plans for tomorrow night,” said Gil. “After your daddy’s sober enough to talk, I have some questions, and he’d sure as hell better have some answers. You might want to listen in.”

  Without another word he stalked to the door, swung it open, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him. Just for a moment he paused before Rosa’s door, before entering his own room.

  Rosa knelt behind the door, her heart pounding. She had been near enough to the door of the Donnegans’ suite to hear most of the conversation between Gil and Kate, and had barely gotten her own door closed before Gil came stalking out. She was elated, certain that Kate’s plans for the following afternoon included Nicholas Bonner. There was only one loose end. Suppose Kate said something to the judge, and Donnegan stayed out of the saloon? But Rosa had one thing in her favor. The judge would be severely hung over, and his need for a drink should overcome everything else.

  July 11, 1850. San Francisco

  Rosa left the hotel at half past eight and found the theater’s back door unlocked. Bonner sat with his chair kicked back against the wall, waiting for her.

  He grinned. “It was almost too easy.”

  “She was gone all afternoon,” Rosa said. “Did you . . .”

  “No,” said the actor, “we’re saving that for this afternoon. At least, she thinks we are. She tried to lure me to her hotel room, but I persuaded her to wait until this afternoon. I’m meeting her there sometime around one, or as soon as she can hustle her old man off somewhere. She doesn’t strike me as the kind who travels with her daddy.”

  “I do not think they are related,” Rosa said. “How is she to tell you when it is safe for you to go to her room?”

  “I’ll be in the café by one o’clock,” said Bonner. “She’ll signal me by coming down to the lobby. When I leave the café, I’ll go up the hotel’s back stairs. Maybe you ought to be in the café, so you’ll know when I go to meet her. Give me fifteen minutes, but no more. There’s a limit to how far I’ll go with this one, even for money.”

  Rosa left the theater, taking a roundabout way back to the hotel. She must stay out of sight, lest Kate become suspicious. Rosa hoped Gil didn’t ride in early, perhaps curious as to Kate’s plans for the afternoon. But he knew the judge had been dead drunk and would need time to sober up.

  Shortly before noon Van saddled his horse. Already saddled and waiting were Ramon, Pedro, Juan, and Vicente. Van didn’t know what Rosa had planned, but he wanted to be prepared.

  “You raised hell about stoppin’ here,” Gil said, “and you spend more time in town than I do.”

  “I have my reasons,” said Van, “and one of them is to learn what I can about the goldfields. What have you learned?”

  “That there’s a need for beef,” Gil said shortly. “That’s enough.”

  Van and his four companions dismounted before the hotel.

  “All of you stick together,” Van said, “in case I need you. I’m going in the restaurant for a while.”

  “We be in the saloon,” Ramon said. “First roulette wheel I see since Mexico City.”

  Van found Rosa already in the café, and hooking a chair with the toe of his boot, sat down across the table from her.

  “How is Gil?” Rosa asked.

  “About as sociable as a sore-tailed grizzly,” Van said. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “He is upset with Kate and the judge,” Rosa said, evading his question. “When Gil rode in, Kate was gone, and did not return until late. Gil went into their rooms and found the judge very drunk. When Kate came in, Gil was angry and they had hard words.”

  “How did you happen to learn all this?”

  “I happened to be in the hall, outside the door,” Rosa said.

  Rosa sat so that she could see through the open double doors and into the hotel lobby. She and Van had just finished eating when she saw the judge coming unsteadily down the stairs. She waited until he entered the saloon before she spoke to Van.

  “It is time for you to take Gil a message. Tell him the judge wishes to see him as quickly as he can get here. Upstairs, in the judge’s room.”

  “I’ll get him,” Van said, “and I’ll be right behind him. I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

  Rosa had avoided looking at Nicholas Bonner while Van was there. Now she nodded to him, and then toward the hotel lobby. Rosa gripped the sides of her chair to stay the trembling of her hands. If Gil arrived too quickly, the plot would be ruined. But the judge had been in the saloon only a few minutes when Kate came down the stairs. She went to the front door, looked out, and then hurried back up the stairs. Nicholas winked at Rosa, paid his bill and departed.

  Rosa walked into the hotel lobby, where she could see the big clock, and it was then five minutes past one. When Gil and Van rode in, she could stand by the plate-glass window and see them long before they got to the hotel. By having Van ride out as soon as the judge had entered the saloon, she believed Van would have reached the camp by the time Nicholas Bonner had departed for his rendezvous with Kate. The lobby clock said it was twenty past one when Rosa saw Gil and Van coming at a fast gallop. She quickly crossed the hotel lobby to the open double doors of the saloon. At the far end of the room, Ramon, Vicente, Juan, and Pedro had gathered around one of the tables. The place was crowded, and ignoring the surprised looks of some of the saloon patrons, Rosa entered and went directly to Donnegan.

  “Judge,” she whispered, “something terrible is happening. Kate has a strange man in her room.”

  Donnegan slammed his glass down so hard, most of its contents sloshed out on the bar. He slipped off the stool, almost ran from the saloon, and headed for the stairs. When Gil and Van came in, Rosa was sitting in the lobby. Gil ignored her, but Van looked at her questioningly, and she nodded. Hurriedly they followed Gil as he mounted the stairs. By the time they got to the head of the stairs, they could hear the uproar. They were just in time to see the door open and Nicholas Bonner emerge, carrying his shoes. He closed the door and made haste down the hall, toward the back stairs. By the time they reached the Donnegans’ door, they could hear the judge and Kate shouting at one another. Gil was about to pound on the door when their words froze him in mid-motion, and he just stood there listening.

  “Damn it,” the judge roared, “all I asked you to do was dazzle Austin until I could figure a way to get my hands on the money. You’re nothing but a two-dollar New Orleans whore, and that’s all you’ll ever be!”

  “Don’t blame me for things going sour, you drunken old coot. Austin was here last night, and he’s no fool. Anyway, I’m sick of nuzzling up to a man who smells like cows and horses, while you sit in a saloon. As for me being a whore, my money was good enough to buy you passage to California, and I’m more honest than you. At least I give a man something for his money, which is a hell of a lot more than you can say!”

  “Get your clothes on, damn it. Maybe we can salvage this yet. Austin still sees me as an authority on the law.”

  “You?” she cackled. “An authority on the law? All you know about the law, you learned on the wrong side of the bars, and all you got comin’ from New York is a bundle of wanted posters. Suppose gullible Gil knew you’re in California only because the law’s looking for you everywhere else?”

  Gil had heard enough. He opened the door and stepped into the room.
>
  “Gullible Gil does know,” he said.

  He left the door open, so Van and Rosa saw it all. Kate’s clothes were on the floor, and except for her stockings, she was stark naked. Nicholas Bonner had played his role well. The judge recovered first.

  “Gil,” he cried desperately, “there’s been a damnable mistake.”

  “There sure as hell has,” Gil snarled, “and I made it.”

  He turned and stalked off toward the stairs, Van following. But Rosa wasn’t finished. Her words were to Kate.

  “Gil is so disappointed,” she said sweetly. “He believed your hair was naturally red. You should have colored the rest of it.”

  With that, she turned away and headed for the stairs. She reached the head of them just in time to hear a fight erupt in the saloon. First there were angry voices, then a shot, followed by the sound of breaking glass. On hands and knees, Juan Padillo crawled out the door, blood dripping from a horrible head wound. He collapsed facedown in the hotel lobby. Using their Colts as clubs, Gil and Van waded into the fight. The barkeep came up with a sawed-off shotgun, and it blew a gaping hole in the ceiling when somebody slugged him with a three-legged stool. Bottles and glasses were flung with abandon, and the big mirror behind the bar shattered with a tinkling crash. Slugged from behind, Van went to his knees, and somebody kicked him in the head. One man was on Gil’s back, an arm around his throat, choking the wind out of him. Somebody kneed him in the groin, and then they set out to rearrange his face. It was a drunken brawl, where men fought for the sheer hell of it.

  “Knock it off!” a bull voice roared. “This is the law!”

  His name was Burr Conklin, and he had two deputies with him. In all, he took fourteen men to jail. Eight of them were miners. Gil, Van, Ramon, Vicente, Pedro, and Juan Padillo were the others. There were four cells. The Texas outfit occupied one, and the miners a second.

  “There’ll be court in the morning,” the sheriff said. “Nine o’clock. You gents just make yourselves comfortable.”

  Some of the miners began cursing bitterly.

  “Quiet!” bawled the sheriff. “Any more mouthin’, and I’ll see that ever’ damn man in that cell gets thirty days!”

  That silenced them. The sheriff allowed Rosa to come in briefly.

  “Por Dios,” she cried, “what are we to do?”

  Gil lay on the floor facing the wall and said nothing. It was Van who spoke to her.

  “We’ll sit here until nine o’clock tomorrow, I reckon, and then if I’ve got anything to say about it, we’re gettin’ the hell out of this town. For now, take my horse and tell the rest of the outfit what’s happened. When you get back, round up the rest of our mounts and take them to the nearest livery.”

  When Rosa had gone, they sprawled on the stone floor in glum silence. They bled from countless cuts, their heads hurt, blood still dripped from smashed mouths and noses, and both Juan Padillo’s eyes were swelled shut.

  “I yet say,” Juan Padillo declared defiantly, “that damn roulette wheel, it be crooked. I yet go back and prove it.”

  “You do, by God,” Gil grunted, “and I’ll leave you sit here in this miserable juzgado until you moss over.”

  Drawn by the sound of gunfire, Judge Donnegan had witnessed the tag end of the fight from the head of the stairs. He had no idea why the Austins had been sucked into the brawl, but he counted his good fortune, and watched with some satisfaction as Sheriff Conklin led Van and Gil away. It was seldom the law or its minions ever did him a good turn, but having firsthand familiarity with jails and lawmen, he believed he had at least until ten o’clock the following morning before the Austins could get at him. He had the rest of the day, a banker who expected him, and Gil Austin’s reputation going for him. If he worked fast, by the time the Austins got out of jail tomorrow, he would be on a steamer bound for parts unknown. He returned to the suite to find Kate gone. Down the back stairs, of course, but where and why no longer mattered. She had paid his fare to California, but he no longer had need of her. He was on his own.

  As Van had requested, Rosa rode out and told the rest of the outfit about the trouble in town. Once she had returned, she took Van’s horse, along with the other five, to the nearest livery. That done, she returned to her room in the hotel, emotionally exhausted. The strain upon her had been terrible, and she hadn’t realized its impact until it was so suddenly removed. Half the outfit being in jail was only a temporary inconvenience, and tomorrow they would be released. But now that the Donnegans had been discredited, where did she stand with Gil? Certainly he would be bitter, but for how long? Sooner or later he would conclude that she had been responsible for this tragedy in which he’d unknowingly had the leading role. There had been just too much coincidence. And their troubles in town were far from over, despite Van’s determination to leave immediately. The hotel would have an enormous bill someone would be expected to pay, nearly all of it accumulated by the Donnegans. But that, as she later discovered, was the very least of their problems. . . .

  From his small bundle of belongings, Judge Donnegan took a thick packet of papers wrapped in oilskin. From it he took a number of checks, each of which had been imprinted with the names and account numbers of some of the most prestigious law firms in New York. Each check had, apparently, been properly signed and countersigned. Donnegan dragged a chair over near the window where there was more light. He removed the cork from a small vial of ink, dipped in his quill and began to write. In the hand of one of the senior partners, he wrote the check to himself for fifty thousand dollars. Then from the oilskin packet he took the two written pages Gil Austin had given him. In a hand startlingly close to Gil’s own, he wrote and signed two bills of sale.

  * Prior to the Gold Rush, the tin pans sold for twenty cents apiece.

  † So many sailors jumped ship that the Pacific Squadron’s commander advised the Secretary of the Navy, “For the present and I fear for years to come, it will be impossible for the United States to maintain any naval establishment in California.”

  26

  July 12, 1850. San Francisco

  Sheriff Conklin was at the jail promptly at nine o’clock. He stood in the aisle between the cell rows and looked at the disheveled men awaiting their day in court.

  “Listen up, gents,” he said, “because I’m only gonna say it once. The saloon has agreed not to press charges if each of you will post twenty-five dollars to pay for the damage. Now that’s fair, and if there’s any one of you that’s too broke, too cheap, or just too damn ornery to settle, then I can arrange some jail time. Pay up, and you can go. Not you, Austin. There’s some folks in the office with complaints and claims against you.”

  The miners paid and were released. Gil paid $150 for himself and his outfit, and the six of them followed Sheriff Conklin to the office. Rosa was there, but she looked worried. Waiting with her was the clerk from the hotel who had checked in Gil and the Donnegans, and Augustus Rawlins, the president of the San Francisco Bay bank.

  “Now,” said Sheriff Conklin, “let’s get to the bottom of this dispute. You first, Bettinger,” he said, pointing to the hotel man.

  “Mr. Austin owes the hotel money,” said Bettinger. “His friends, the Donnegans, are gone, and he guaranteed their rooms.”

  The sheriff looked at Gil.

  “I’ll pay for the rooms,” Gil said. “How much?”

  “Thirty dollars for you, thirty dollars for Rosa Onate, and $925 for the Donnegans.”

  The panic in Rosa’s eyes matched the anger in Gil’s. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

  “Mister, you said the Donnegans’ rooms would be twenty-five dollars a night. I figure three nights at seventy-five dollars, and that’s all I aim to pay.”

  “The difference is food and drink,” the clerk cried desperately. “It’s customary to charge it to the room. . . .”

  “I purely don’t give a damn how customary it is,” Gil roared. “I said I’d pay for the rooms, and I will, but that’s all.”


  The hotel man looked pleadingly at the sheriff.

  “I can’t see he owes for anything but the rooms,” said the sheriff. “You didn’t tell him he’d be stuck for whatever was charged to the rooms?”

  “No,” said the clerk, “I thought it was understood.”

  “Next time, don’t ‘think,’ be sure. Pay him $135, Austin, and before you leave, go to the hotel and get your receipt. I don’t want to hear any more about this. Now, Rawlins, what’s your problem?”

  The banker stood up, nervously wringing his hands. He seemed extremely embarrassed, and swallowed hard a time or two before he spoke.

  “Mr. Austin, yesterday afternoon, your associate, Mr. Donnegan, brought a check to me. A large check, payable to him, written on a New York bank. I saw nothing wrong with it, and based on your combined assets, I cashed it for him.”

  Gil knew what was coming. He caught a fistful of shirt and necktie, and the frightened banker found himself on tiptoe, struggling to breathe.

  “Turn him loose, Austin,” said the sheriff, “and let him finish.”

  “I told him,” gasped Rawlins, “I needed something to guarantee the check until it cleared the bank in New York, and he insisted I take this.”

  Gil took the sheet of paper and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was an unconditional bill of sale, giving the bearer rights to four thousand Texas steers, and it was signed by Gil Austin! The handwriting was so similar to Gil’s own, it was uncanny. Furious, he turned to the sheriff.

  “I never wrote or signed this,” he shouted. “These steers don’t belong to Donnegan, and he had no right to do this!”

  “Rawlins,” said the sheriff, exasperated, “when you took his check, you knew it might be months before it got back to that New York bank. Why did you do it, and not even twenty-four hours later, come whinin’ to me?”

  “Because,” cried Rawlins, “the herd of cattle promised me in this bill of sale has been sold to some speculator in Coloma, and they’re being driven to the goldfields.”