by John Hansen
A look of embarrassment quickly came over Sarah’s face. She could feel Josh’s stare upon her. Her heart began to pound as she frantically processed her options. She wanted to just melt away into the evening shadows and rid herself of her legacy at the Gold Strike, but she knew that would never happen; what was done was done. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “You are right, Mr. Scoville, I did go by the name of Pearl while I worked at the Gold Strike. I only told Josh my real name after I was forced to leave there.” Sarah paused. “What I wasn’t truthful with him about was how long I’d been at the Gold Strike and how it was I came to be there.”
There was disappointment in Josh’s eyes but not surprise. Earlier in the day, he had sensed there was some history between the marshal and Sarah. He’d felt similar then to what he was experiencing now, but he rationalized what did it matter to him as he was just helping her out and not necessarily because he wanted to but more due to the circumstances being what they were. Besides, as soon as they got over to the Salmon River country, he would hopefully be shed of her. But deep down where it really mattered—where a guy, regardless of what he told himself, just couldn’t shake free—he knew he was developing feelings for her. The real question was whether Sarah’s past would destroy these feelings. It was a question that Josh couldn’t truthfully answer, at least not at this point.
Sarah looked at Josh with a sadness in her eyes that was genuine. It was a look that was rooted in something beyond mercy or sympathy; it spoke more of regret. “I’m sorry, Josh,” she began in a voice that was lacking any energy. “I kind of deceived you. I’ve been working at the Gold Strike for a little over a month.” She paused and tried to speak but couldn’t.
Josh sensed where she was going with this, and although he was a little angry that she hadn’t been totally truthful, he saw no need for her to grovel. “Maybe some things are best left unspoken,” he said in a sympathetic tone.
“No,” she said more assertively. “What I don’t tell you now, other folks will at some point.” Sarah paused. “The truth is my husband didn’t have a promising gold claim and he wasn’t killed near Bear Creek. We spent most of our savings taking a sailing ship to get to San Francisco. We were broke and down to living on the street. My husband couldn’t find any work and so out of desperation he tried to rob a wealthy man and was killed in the process.” Sarah paused, and then in her defense, she said: “I had nothing, no one to turn to,” and then in a forlorn tone she added: “I signed on with Madame Ruth and her girls and came to Bear Creek.”
The silence, save for the babbling of the small creek a short distance away, was, for Sarah, overwhelming. She searched the faces of Josh and Lester for an acknowledgement of some kind but Lester shifted his eyes downward, leaving it for Josh to respond. But Josh seemed frozen in place. Here was the first assault on the fledgling feelings that he had for Sarah, and it had come from her. For an instant, when the particulars of what Josh suspected all along became known to him, he felt revulsion. But then, it flashed in his conscience something that his mother, who was a religious woman, used to remind him of: “Judge ye not for ye shall be judged also.” Sarah had begun to tear up when Josh broke the silence: “Sarah, sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. Your husband turned to robbery and paid the ultimate price. And no doubt you’ve paid a heavy price for your decision but life goes on.” It was difficult for Josh to sound convincing but it was the best that he could do, considering the fact that he was still trying to convince himself of Sarah’s future.
Sarah stood before Josh and Lester, naked in her shame. She had bared her soul and there was nothing more to give. At what price would acceptance come? It was an awkward moment, a painful moment with no easy way for anyone involved to extract themselves. But then Josh said: “That invite for supper still stand?” And just like that the healing process seemed to have begun.
“You betcha,” replied Lester in an exaggerated tone of cordiality. “Got beans and venison and some baking-powder biscuits too. Even got some honey for them biscuits. Me and Rufus found a bee’s nest up the creek the other day. Got stung a few times but we made out okay.” Lester laughed.
The tension that had existed only moments before was lifting rapidly like a morning fog under the onslaught of the sun. “Are you hungry, Sarah?” asked Lester in a purposeful gesture of kindness.
Sarah could see that both Josh and Lester were making an effort to console her, but what wasn’t apparent was what their true feelings were; most importantly, would they ever respect her? She’d experienced pity before. It was a hollow fix that temporarily satisfied your physical needs but left you painfully devoid of self-respect. She was hungry; she hadn’t eaten since breakfast but her thoughts took flight, as a person’s mind sometimes does at inappropriate times, to the past when she and her husband had been dinner guests of family or friends. Dinner then had been preceded by polite conversation and laughter, but tonight her surrender of what little self-respect that she possessed had been the topic of that conversation. What a difference two years can make, she thought. The irony of the situation would have been laughable to Sarah had it not been so deadly serious. And then the kaleidoscope of events in her mind was ended when a gray jay flew down from a nearby tree and began calling noisily as it hopped about on the ground. Rufus gave chase to the intruder, barking wildly.
Sarah glanced at Rufus and the jay and then made eye contact with Lester. “I am hungry, Lester, thank you for the invitation.”
“Good,” said Lester jovially. “Let’s eat.”
“I’ll be along shortly,” said Josh. “I’m gonna tend to the horses first.”
“I’ll help,” offered Sarah tentatively, not knowing if Josh would want to be around her at this very moment.
Josh looked at Sarah. For a brief moment he considered declining her offer, as he felt the need to be away from her for a short while so he could ponder this revelation of hers. He had no need for any more emotional discussion where there just didn’t seem to be any good answers. But then he saw that same innocence in her eyes that he’d seen at the Gold Strike. Her body language seemed to evoke a fragileness of her being. Josh knew the recovery of Sarah’s self-respect would be a long process, if it ever occurred at all, and so he said: “Sure, bring your horse. We’ll unsaddle by the cabin and then take the horses to the creek for water.”
Sarah nodded but she did not smile. “Okay,” she said simply. Earlier that day there had been a playful, almost teasing tone in Josh’s voice; it was not there now.
“Don’t be long or me and Rufus’ll eat your share,” said Lester with a chuckle.
Josh laughed. “Ya’ll don’t need to worry ‘bout that. I’m never late for supper,” he said, continuing the good-natured bantering.
Sarah gathered the reins of her horse and followed along behind Josh and Thunder to a place on the south side of the cabin. Without speaking, Josh began to remove Thunder’s saddle. From the corner of his eye he could see that Sarah was struggling to remove her saddle, but he didn’t offer to help. At five foot three and 110 pounds, lifting the saddle from the back of her horse was a bit of a challenge for her, but she finally got it done. At that moment Josh felt less than a gentleman, but his ambivalence towards Sarah had left him incapable of doing things for her that prior to their conversation a short time ago, might have been spontaneous. He didn’t like this feeling but he couldn’t help himself.
After watering and picketing the horses in a grassy area, the conversation between Josh and Sarah was still minimal, at least from Sarah’s perspective, and lacking not so much in sympathy because she didn’t really expect that, but just simply any kind of warmth. She felt certain that the spark between them that had been present in Bear Creek was gone.
Lester’s cabin was small; it had only one room. He’d built it himself from Douglas fir trees that he’d cut down up the canyon a ways. After trimming the branches off and cutting them to length, he used his mules to snake the logs down to his cabin sit
e. It had been a tremendous amount of work, but he reasoned that he was going to be on his claim for a good while and he might as well be comfortable. Towards the front of the room along the wall opposite the door was a stove and wood box. Near the stove was a table made from rough-cut pine and two chairs. A coal oil lantern sat in the middle of the table. There were no cupboards on the walls, but instead numerous shelves that revealed everything that Lester owned. A fair-sized bed took up most of the room along the back wall. A half-full metal water bucket sat near the door. A metal ladle hung on the edge of the bucket, and if a person looked close he could see a few small shreds of chewing tobacco clinging to it. There were windows in the north, east, and west walls, but given the time of day they did little to alleviate the increasing darkness within the cabin. As Josh and Sarah entered the cabin, Lester removed the chimney from the lantern and struck a match. The lantern was slow to come to life but eventually it did, pushing the darkness into the corners of the room.
“Sit yourselves down,” said Lester, knowing that there were only two chairs in the room.
Josh was quick to note the shortcomings of the accommodations. “Have a seat, Lester,” he said as he went out the door.
Sarah looked at Josh’s sudden departure somewhat perplexedly, but said nothing, assuming there was some logical explanation. Lester began dishing the steaming hot beans and venison onto plates that he had taken from the shelf near the table. “Sarah,” said Lester, nodding his head towards the oven compartment of the stove, “you wanna grab that towel and pull them biscuits out of the oven?”
Sarah had just risen to get the biscuits when Josh reappeared in the doorway carrying a stump length of firewood under one arm and his rifle in the other. “Got a couple of visitors up on the ridge,” he said with some indifference. “Not sure what they’re up to.”
Lester set the pan of beans back on the stove. “Where ‘bouts are they?” he said as he stepped to the door.
Josh edged in near Lester. “Just below the skyline near that crooked ponderosa. One of ‘em’s ridin’ a sorrel and the other a palomino.”
Lester could barely make them out in the fading light. They were a good 500 yards away—too far for either party to make an effective shot if that’s what it came to. Lester sighed. “You know I ain’t fer certain, but them horses kinda look like the ones that I seen over to your dead friend’s claim.”
Josh’s pulse quickened. His first impulse was to ride up there and confront the two strangers, but then he exclaimed, somewhat in disbelief, “The hell you say.”
“Well, like I say,” said Lester in a tone that was markedly calmer than Josh’s, “I ain’t dead certain but the buckskin especially looks familiar. I only seen’em once before, though.”
Josh watched the riders who, perhaps sensing the alarm that they had created at the cabin, spur their horses and ride up and over the ridge out of sight. “I reckon there’ll be time enough tomorrow to locate them two hombres,” he said.
“Yeah, if I’m right about them two being the ones that’s on your friend’s claim,” said Lester in a gravelly voice, “you won’t have to look too hard for ‘em. They’re too full of themselves to have any common sense.” And then he added: “Let’s eat ‘fore them whistleberries get cold.”
Inside the cabin, Sarah began dishing up the rest of the food and handing each of them their plates. She had voluntarily assumed this role, and it made her feel good that Lester did not object. It gave her a sense of belonging if not wholesomeness.
Josh leaned his rifle against the wall near the door and set the piece of un-split firewood on its end near the table; this would be his stool. “Y’otta let me set there,” said Lester, who was distributing coffee cups.
“No, sir,” replied Josh. “I’m good. Besides, it wouldn’t do to have the host sittin’ on a stump in his own house.”
“Oh, horse feathers,” said Lester. “Ya want some coffee to wash that stuff down with?”
“That sounds good,” said Josh.
Lester started to get up from the table to get the coffeepot from the stove behind Sarah. Seeing this, Sarah said quickly: “I’ll get it, Lester,” and then she added, “I’m sorry, I should have already done that. Don’t know what I was thinking, empty coffee cups aren’t much good.”
Josh extended his cup to Sarah; as she poured his coffee, he could see that her hand had a slight tremble to it. She wanted badly to be accepted. “Thanks, Sarah,” said Josh, looking deliberately into her eyes. There was an unspoken communication between them, and Sarah could see that Josh’s demeanor had softened from when they were caring for the horses. Nonetheless, it had been a long time since a smile came naturally to her, and now was no exception; she said simply, “You’re welcome,” and turned to pour Lester’s coffee before sitting down.
Everyone had just begun to eat when Lester noticed Rufus sitting patiently near his side. “Ah dammit, Rufus. I’m sorry. I plumb forgot to dish your plate.” And with that Lester got up and went to the stove, where there was a cast-iron skillet with two good-sized venison steaks that were cooked. He quickly went to work with his fork and knife, cutting the meat into bite-sized pieces, and then dumped it into a metal pan for Rufus. “Here you go,” he said as he put the pan on the floor and patted Rufus on the head.
It was obvious that Lester cared a lot for Rufus. “So how long ya’ll had Rufus?” asked Josh.
Lester paused from eating and sat back in his chair with a pensive look on his face. His hands, filled with a knife in his right and a fork in his left, rested on either side of his plate. He continued to chew his steak, and when he’d created sufficient space to speak, he said: “Purty darn close to ten years. Got Rufus when he was just a little guy. His mother was a stray runnin’ the streets in Boise. Somebody there decided he didn’t like dogs and shot her. Left Rufus to fend for himself and that’s when I found him. We been pardners ever since.”
Josh had already taken a liking to Lester, but learning of his devotion to Rufus made him all the more confident that Lester was a good man who could be trusted.
Supper continued with small talk, mostly between Josh and Lester about the finer points of sluicing gold in the stream near the cabin. It sounded to Josh like it was as much an art form as it was a science, but Lester seemed to have it down pretty well. He knew a lot about gold and how to get it out of the ground. “So Lester,” began Josh in a naïve tone of voice, “ya’ll ever come across any iron pyrite?”
Lester snickered. “You mean fool’s gold. Sure, ever’ now and again.”
Sarah’s eyes widened as she looked up from her plate towards Josh. What was he doing? Peripherally, Josh sensed Sarah looking at him but he didn’t allow his eyes to go there, focusing instead on Lester. “I’ve heard that it’s hard to tell apart from real gold, is that right?”
“Well that depends,” said Lester, “on who’s tryin’ to do the tellin’. If a fellar has handled a lotta gold in his life he’ll get a feel for the real thing, it’s heavier than fool’s gold and if the light’s just right he can see that it’s got a little different color to it. But if a guy don’t know what he’s a-lookin’ for he could get the wool pulled over his eyes.” Lester paused and then said with a laugh: “You got some fool’s gold ya want to pawn off on somebody?”
Josh laughed. He didn’t like being less than totally honest with Lester, but he had given the marshal his word that he’d keep his plan confidential. “Oh no,” he said in a tone that suggested it would be ridiculous to even think that he had some fool’s gold. “I’ve just heard different folks talk about fool’s gold in the past but I never knew what it was for sure.”
“Well, now ya know,” said Lester as he placed his knife and fork on his empty plate.
“Yeah,” said Josh, “thanks for settin’ me straight on that.” Josh was skeptical of the marshal’s scheme; but at least now he had another opinion of its one key element.
Chapter Six
Daylight came early in the summertime, but that was
of little consequence to Josh as he’d been awake for a good while looking at the stars and waiting for the new day. The sun was not yet visible, but there was an awareness of light in the east and the birds were singing. Dawn in the mountains makes a man appreciate being alive, thought Josh. It was kind of like as the darkness retreated, God had wiped your slate clean for one more day; what you did with that day was up to you. It could be a day that would make God proud or maybe not. Josh wasn’t sure about today. He intended to go to Seth’s claim and see for himself who was on it and how they came to get it. It’d be a touchy proposition, but it was something he couldn’t walk away from. In his mind it was a wrong that needed to be righted.
It was not long after a pine squirrel’s high-pitched chatter punctuated the symphony being put on by the birds that Josh became aware of Sarah’s eyes upon him. Try as he might, Lester was unable to convince Sarah to take his bed for the night. She instead slept on the ground outside the cabin near Josh. “Good morning,” she offered.
“Mornin’,” said Josh. “Did ya manage to flatten any ah them rocks last night?” he added good-naturedly.
The friendliness of Josh’s words sent a surge of feel-good through Sarah’s body; it was akin almost to the warming effects of a hot cup of coffee in the crisp morning air. Sarah frowned in a playful manner. “I’m not sure but I think the rocks won.”
Josh had been the perfect gentleman throughout the night, as Sarah knew that he would be when she insisted on no special treatment. Separated by only a few feet, it was difficult for each of them to not fantasize about the possibilities of a relationship had the circumstances been different. But the situation was what it was, and thinking about it only led to more frustration. After a time, Sarah succumbed to fatigue while Josh continued on, analyzing the events of the past few days and attempting to suppress from his mind what the rhythmic breathing lying a short distance away represented.
