He kissed her again. “When I left the hospital, they were unloading two wagons of injured cowboys, a stampede, I believe. I really ought to—.”
She pushed away from him. “What are we standing here for? Let’s go!”
“That’s my girl,” Lee said, as he followed her back to her carriage and his horse.
“Open the gate!”
Pamela Fenton Younger sat atop her horse before the gate to the Little Pamela mine, glaring down at the two guards.
Both guards stared up at her. There was something quite intimidating about a six-foot-tall woman atop a seventeen-hand-high black stallion that was prancing so high its ironclad hoofs showed. Even though they were separated from the animal by a heavy wooden gate, the men stepped back when the horse jerked its head and did a half turn.
“Did you hear me? Open the gate.”
“Now, wait a minute—,” one of the guards began.
The other guard punched him in the ribs. “Sure thing, Miss Fenton,” he said, as he pulled aside the gate for her, then jumped back as she went charging through.
“The mine owner’s daughter,” the guard was explaining behind her.
Pamela rode directly to the entrance of the mine shaft, the horse’s hoofs kicking up a cloud of coal dust. “I want to see Rafferty Taggert,” she said, holding the horse on a tight rein, its eyes rolling wildly. “Where is he?”
“On shift,” someone said. “Tunnel number six.”
“Then bring him up. I want to see him.”
“Now, see here—,” a man said, stepping forward.
Another man, older, pushed his way toward the nervous horse. “Good mornin’, Miss Fenton. Taggert’s below, but I’m sure that, for you, someone can bring him up.”
“Do that,” she said, with a hard pull on the reins to further assert her dominance over the big animal. With a curled lip, she looked about the coal camp, at the dirt, the poverty. When she was a child, her father had insisted she accompany him to this place, to show her where their wealth came from. Pam had looked at everything and said, “I think we’re poor.”
The place still disgusted her. “Saddle a horse for him and have it waiting. I’ll meet him by the bend in Fisherman’s Creek.” She had to wait while the stallion made a full turn before she could look at the mine supervisor. “And if he’s docked even a penny, you’ll hear about it.” With that, she let the horse have its head and tore back through the camp, cinders flying behind her.
She didn’t have to wait long for Rafe. The name of Fenton might have evil connotations for some people but those who worked for Fenton Coal and Iron jumped when a Fenton spoke.
Rafe sat on a mangy horse much too small for his big body. His face and clothes were black with coal dust, but the whites of his eyes showed his anger. “Whatever you want takes first place, doesn’t it? Princess Fenton gets whatever she demands,” he said as he dismounted, looking her squarely in the eyes.
“I don’t like that place.”
“Nobody does, it’s just that some of us have to earn a livin’.”
“I didn’t come to fight you. I have something important to tell you. Here.” She handed him a bar of soap and a wash cloth. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve seen coal dust before.”
With one more glare at her, he took the soap and cloth, knelt by the stream and began to lather his face and hands. “All right, tell me why you want me.”
Pam sat down on a flat rock, stretching her long legs toward him. Her tall, hard, black hat made her seem even taller than she was, but the little black veil gave her face a look of mystery and femininity.
“When I was seven years old, my father lost the duplicate key to his private desk drawer. I found it and put it in my treasure box. When I was twelve, I discovered what the key opened.”
“And you’ve been spying ever since.”
“I keep myself informed.”
He waited, but she said nothing else. When he turned, his face clean, she handed him a towel. “So what have you found out?”
“My father hired Pinkerton men months ago to find out who’s bringing unionists into the coal camps.”
Rafe took his time drying his forearms. They were muscled from years of wielding a sledgehammer. “So, what have your Pinkertons found?”