Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Did I ever tell you about Mr. Olney of Coyoteville? The miners elected him justice of the peace under the rules of our new constitution. Do you know, he died just last year and left all his money, some six thousand dollars, to the boys, to have a jolly good time. They did, you know. And there was Danny Slengh, who sold his claim for ten thousand dollars. It was over in the Gold Run and Deer Creek area. Then he came back furious because another miner sold a claim that was about an eighth the size of Danny’s for four thousand dollars. The other miners laughed at him, and he finally left, ten thousand dollars richer, but still feeling like he’d been robbed.”

Was she breathing more easily? He couldn’t be certain. He continued stroking her s

hivering body. “When you’re well again, I’ll take you to Red Dog, Rough and Ready, and Humbug. Yes, I swear they’re really names of towns near here.

“Did I tell you about Sam Brannan? Not for old Sam to stand thigh-deep in freezing water panning for gold! No, he was far too smart to ruin his health doing that. He bought gold pans for around twenty cents and sold them for sixteen dollars apiece to the miners!”

She grew quiet in his arms and he stopped talking and pressed his cheek against her forehead. She was cooler, he was certain of it. She began to mumble words again, and the name Cricket came out. Cricket, he thought. He must not be hearing her aright. She was growing more agitated, and he began speaking again, calmly and slowly.

“When I first arrived in San Francisco, it was the most ramshackle, flimsy, higgledy-piggledy, haphazard collections of shacks you’ve ever seen. Big ones, little ones, ugly—and all inflammable. We had six fires in eighteen months. I, personally, lost my first home and a warehouse. But it really didn’t matter. We all rebuilt. So many changes I’ve witnessed in only four years, love. There was litterally nothing in forty-nine, and now we have banks, waterworks, the beginnings of a lighting system, hotels, theaters, churches, schools . . .” He stopped, his mind a blank for a moment. Good God, what else did San Francisco have? He really didn’t give a good goddamn. Was she quieter than before? Was his voice, pitched soothing and low, calming her?

“Did you know that men could simply pick gold nuggets up from the ground? I remember the story of old Simon Luther. He was just walking along one day, not too far from here, and chanced to kick a stone out of his path. The kick had a surprising recoil. He picked it up and found that it was pure gold. The record for one nugget is nearly one hundred and forty-one pounds. Then there was John McGlynn. He was a teamster from New York and had brought his wagon with him. He came to search for gold like the rest of us, but he promptly decided that wasn’t for him. Things had to be hauled, and there was no one to haul them. His was the only wagon in town. Do you know, love, that very soon he had an entire fleet of wagons? He even had an out-of-work lawyer driving one of his wagons. The story goes that a judge and friend of McGlynn’s approved of this, saying that ‘the whole business of a lawyer is to know how to manage mules and asses so as to make them pay.’ ”

Delaney had always laughed at that story before. Now he might as well be reciting a prayer book.

“Do you know the phrase ‘a gold spoon or a wooden leg’?”

She didn’t answer, of course.

“I remember back in the early spring of fifty-one that flour cost four dollars; by late summer it cost forty dollars. You see, what the merchants did was take risks continually. Would their shipments arrive first? If they did, the profit was enormous, and thus the merchant gained a ‘gold spoon.’ If he lost, a ‘wooden leg.’

“So many absurd things came over on the clipper ships. Can you believe that once we got a whole shipload of omnibuses? Just last year, the sagebrush on the hills was littered with junk that simply didn’t sell. The Stevensons’ house has a foundation of cases of tobacco. Just eight months ago we used hundred-pound sacks of coffee from Brazil and flour from Chile to fill holes in Kearny Street. Montgomery Street was passable during the rains of fifty because of a double row of cooking stoves sunk in the mud. Of course, several months later, everyone needed cooking stoves. Too late. You can’t dig a thing up and use it, once you’ve sunk it in a mud hole.”

That had always seemed amusing to him. Now the stories were just strings of nonsense words. “Chauncey,” he whispered softly against her hair, “I’ll tell you these stories again when you’re well. I want to hear you laugh, watch your eyes sparkle.”

What if she dies? It will be your fault, all your fault.

Suddenly Chauncey said very clearly, “I’ve always disliked you, Guy. Your mother is a witch!”

He smiled against her temple. “I agree with you. Likely a dried old prune.”

“Cricket, I must have a bath!”

Who the devil was Cricket? Think! Tell her more stories. She’s got to remain calm. His mind was a blank. He shook away his fear for her and said, “It was so difficult and primitive in the beginning. There was so much gold to be found in the rivers and creek beds. You know that gold is seven times as heavy as rock and gravel, thus our use of gold pans. Hell, we even used wooden bowls, Indian baskets, and sluice boxes to free the rock and gravel from the gold. I was very lucky, Chauncey, very lucky indeed. I didn’t have to spend the winter freezing in the mountains. I gambled like all the other miners. God, it was so lonely and miserable in the camps. I wrote so many letters back home. My brother told me that only a few arrived eventually. Then, in only two months, I found my fortune. Several huge nuggets, Chauncey, and that day I yelled at the top of my lungs in triumph. But I knew that my real fortune was in commerce. I met up with Dan Brewer in the fall of fifty in San Francisco. He was also one of the fortunate ones. Then—”

“I must have a bath!”

“Yes, love, I know. When you’re well, I’ll bathe you myself.”

“Don’t let him touch me!”

“No, he won’t touch you. I swear you’ll be all right.”

He spoke on and on, telling her of the construction of his new house, of how he had found Lin and gotten together with Lucas. His voice became hoarse, his words making less and less sense as fatigue washed over him.

His last thought before he fell into a light sleep was that her forehead felt cool against his cheek.

27

“You are the most beguiling little ragamuffin I’ve ever seen.”

“And you, sir, look like the most ardent of villains!”

“Hold still, love, there’s still that spot of smut on your cheek.”

Very gently he wiped her face with the wet cloth, then patted her dry. “Better?”

“Yes, a bit.” She turned her head slightly away from him, not wanting him to see her face contorted with pain.