He ought to have been there now, his dream realized, he thought bitterly. Instead he had had to ride hundreds of miles to track down his partner. He could only pray that he wasn’t too late, that Pat hadn’t spent all his money. If he had, he’d kill Pat, so help him he would.
A quick word at the desk in the large lobby and Hank knew he’d have to find other lodgings. He had only ten dollars left, and that would not even give him one night in the fancy hotel.
He found a stable for his horse, then moved on down the street looking for a cheaper hotel or a boarding house. He hoped for a bath, too. His clothes were no longer black but brown, they were so covered with trail dust. And he needed to see a barber. He’d grown a full black beard in the last months, and his coal-black hair was several inches past his shoulders, making him look like a saddle bum.
Hank passed a barbershop, made note of its location, then moved on past a restaurant and an ice-cream parlor. Then he saw the sign, MRS. HAUGE’S BOARDING HOUSE. On plain white paper tacked on the bottom was the word VACANCY. He got the room for a dollar a day or five by the week, taking it by the day. He wasn’t planning to stay long. His saddlebags slung over his shoulder, he declined Mrs. Hauge’s offer to show him to his room and just asked for directions.
It was a new two-story house, and his room was upstairs, at the end of a long hallway, on the right. As Hank moved down the hall, he found himself following a trail of blood, blood still wet. He heard voices coming from a room where the door stood open. The path of blood ended there at the door. As he drew nearer, the voices became distinct.
“I’m just glad your new house ain’t finished yet, Doc, so you’re still here. I don’t think I could’ve made it any farther than this.”
“Nonsense,” came a crackly reply. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you aren’t that bad off, Tom. Now lie still.”
“How the hell can you say that? I’m dyin’.”
“You are not dying,” was the firm reply.
“Well, it sure feels like I am,” the deeper voice grumbled. “I’m hurtin’ all over.”
“That I don’t doubt.”
Hank moved to the open doorway and peered inside. Tom was stretched out on a long, narrow table. A short, older fellow stood by his feet holding a knife. Neither man noticed Hank. He forgot his fatigue and watched as the Doc cut away Tom’s pant leg and began examining one of the wounds.
“I’ve never seen anything like this, Tom. How did you get so shot up?”
“I tol’ you, this fellow jumped me by Cherry Creek,” Tom replied testily. “And don’t ask me why again, ’cause I just don’t know. He just kept firin’ and firin’, and I couldn’t get out of his way in time. He was crazy.”
The doctor shook his head as if he didn’t believe a word. Hank wanted to laugh. He supposed Tom didn’t want to admit the truth, and he sympathized.
“It’s those two wounds between your legs that have me puzzled,” the Doc continued thoughtfully. “They’re mighty close to you-know-what.”
“I know how close they are!” Tom snapped, his face reddening.
“I just don’t understand. If your legs were closed, and a single bullet sliced between them, that would have been a strange shot. But the two wounds aren’t from one shot. You were shot twice there. The wounds are identical, an inch of flesh out of both thighs. The fellow was an expert shot. For Christ’s sake, Tom, were you just standing there letting him use you for target practice?”
“Will you stop yammering and get me fixed up?”
“I can only work so fast,” the doctor grumbled. He moved alongside the table, studying each wound in turn. “That lower leg wound is as clean as the one in your arm. The shoulder is the only one I’ll have to dig into.”
“Yeah, she—he—said he’d leave me a bullet as a memento,” Tom muttered.
The Doc raised a brow. “You said ‘she.’”
“Did I?” Tom stammered. “Well…the guy had a woman with him. The green-eyed bitch enjoyed every minute of it!”
The doctor handed Tom a bottle of whiskey, shaking his head. “Enough talk. Drink some of that before I take the bullet out. You realize, don’t you, that you won’t be able to go back to the mines for some time? Neither arm is going to be much use to you for a while.”
“Hell,” Tom growled, and took a drink.
“I wouldn’t complain. You count your blessings instead, Tom. It’s remarkable, but not one of your wounds is really serious. No bone is shattered, not even in the shoulder. Out of five wounds, you’ve just got a lot of torn muscle and cartilage. You’re damned lucky, young man. If that fellow was an excellent shot, then he didn’t mean to do you any permanent damage.” The doctor ran his eyes over the length of his patient. “I just don’t understand it,” he said softly.
Hank moved on to his room, still unnoticed. His curiosity was thoroughly aroused again, yet he knew that Tom would never admit to being shot five times by a slip of a girl. Ah, well, it wasn’t Hank’s business. And he was not fool enough to question the girl. He would ask no questions of a lady who could shoot so well—or so badly. And it might have been either one. Either she had aimed way off while trying to hurt Tom, or she’d been a superb shot. Hank shrugged. He’d probably never know which it was.
Chapter 3
SAMANTHA was still crying into her pillow when a deputy of the law knocked on her door. She wasn’t at all prepared for Mr. Floyd Ruger, not in her emotional state. A man with a much-too-serious face, he threw one question after another at her without giving her a chance to think before she answered.
“Your name, Miss?”
“Samantha Blackstone Kingsley.”
“That’s an unusual middle name.”
“Well, it was my mother’s family name. I didn’t even know my father’s name until—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “Where are you from?”
“Back East.”
“Where?”
“Is that any of your business?” Having been rebuffed, Samantha wasn’t going to offer any more information.
Without batting an eye, Ruger repeated, “Where?”
She sighed. “I was attending school in Philadelphia, if you must know.”
“Philadelphia is your home?”
“No. I only went to school there.”
Ruger sighed pointedly in turn. “Your home is where, then?”
“Northern Mexico.”
He raised a brow. “But you’re not Mexican.” He seemed startled.
“You noticed, did you?”
He ignored her sarcasm and asked, “Will you be staying in Denver?”
“No, Mr. Ruger, I’m just passing through on my way home,” she replied impatiently. “And I don’t see the need for all these questions.”
Again he ignored her. “It’s been reported that you shot a man. Is that true?”
Samantha’s eyes narrowed. She had known what he was there for.
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
Floyd Ruger gazed at her intently. “You don’t think you’ll tell me? Now see here, Miss Kingsley—”
“No, you see here!” she snapped. “I haven’t committed any crime. And I’m in no mood to answer ridiculous questions. I would like it very much if you would leave, Mr. Ruger.”
At that moment, Jeannette Allston walked into their suite, followed closely by Adrien. Jeannette had a look of concern about her, but Adrien simply looked shocked. Samantha had known he would be.
It infuriated her, and she glared at him. “So! You finally decided to get here.”
“They said downstairs that you have shot a man,” Adrien said, incredulous. “Is this true?”
She could see Mr. Ruger watching her keenly. It was too much. It really was.
“I’ll explain later,” Samantha said stiffly to Adrien. “As for you, Mr. Ruger, I have no more answers. If the man I am supposed to have shot dies, then I will be happy to answer your questions.”
“I insist on his name, Miss Kin
gsley, at the very least,” Ruger returned.
“Who says I know him? Perhaps he was a stranger.”
“Or a close friend,” Ruger insinuated.
Samantha’s eyes flashed emerald fire. “I don’t shoot my friends, Mr. Ruger. If it will put an end to this, I will tell you that the man forced his way in here and wouldn’t leave me alone. I was protecting myself. I was all alone.”
“Protecting yourself by shooting him five times?”
“Five!” Adrien gasped and fell into a chair.
Samantha shouted at the deputy. “I’ve had enough! You have no business here. Good day!”
After Floyd Ruger left, there was utter silence. Samantha stared at Adrien. He seemed to be in shock. What kind of man was he to react that way? He was ridiculous. He should be comforting her, she thought, not sitting there looking like he needed comforting himself.
“Ah, chérie, what you must have gone through,” Jeannette said gently as she put her arm around Samantha and led her to the sofa.
Samantha thanked God for Jeannette. She and her brother were both decidedly French, though born in America. Their mother was French, and their American father had died when they were children. The father had left them comfortably well off. Their mother had not married again, so they had had no influence except hers. Perhaps Adrien had needed a man’s influence. Lord, he was acting like a faint-hearted woman.
“Did you really shoot someone five times?” Jeannette asked.
Samantha sighed. “Yes,” she answered simply.
“How terrible!”
“For him,” Samantha said bitterly.
“You are not upset?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I was so furious. I still am. The man just wouldn’t leave, not even after I got my gun. I guess he didn’t think I would use it.”
“But after you shot him the first time, surely—”
Samantha laughed shortly, cutting her off. “You would think he’d have gone, wouldn’t you? But after that first shot he was mad, and he wanted to get his hands on me. He would have killed me if I had given him a chance.”
“Mon Dieu! So you were only protecting yourself, just as you said.”
“Yes. I finally got him out of the room and made sure he left the hotel by the back stairs. But even then he wouldn’t give up. He tried to knock me down, so I shot him again.”
“How could the man live after all that?” Adrien broke in suddenly.
“I didn’t mean to kill him, Adrien. I knew what I was doing. I gave him five harmless wounds.”
“Harmless? Harmless!” Adrien gasped. “You can talk so calmly of shooting a man! I thought I knew you. I have traveled across this country with you, but I do not know you.”
Samantha was enraged. “What was I supposed to do, let him hurt me? He had already attacked me before I finally got hold of my gun. And he was able to walk away. He will live, I’m sure of that. And I would like to point out that none of this would have happened if you had got here when you were supposed to. Where were you, Adrien? Did you forget we had a luncheon engagement?”
Adrien nodded his head. She had deftly turned the tables on him. But Samantha got no satisfaction from his weak answer.
“I did forget.”
“Oh, Adrien, how could you?” Jeannette said the very words Samantha had been about to say, though Samantha’s tone wouldn’t have held mere disappointment.
“Do not look at me so, Jean,” Adrien replied with a little more gumption, his shock lessening. “I simply forgot. I made an important decision this morning and acted on it promptly. I only just finished.”
“Only just finished what?” Jeannette asked with sudden surprise.
“Buying supplies,” he said almost defensively. “I am going to Elizabethtown.”
Samantha frowned. She hadn’t expected Adrien to leave Denver. She had assumed she would have at least another month in Denver to work on him. In a month she would leave for Santa Fe to meet her escort from the hacienda.
“Elizabethtown? Why?” asked Jeannette.
“To find gold, of course.”
The girls gasped. Jeannette spoke first. “But why, Adrien? You came here to open a law office.”
“Others are getting rich here, Jean. I never dreamed what it would be like,” Adrien replied, excited now. “We shall be rich, too, and own one of those fine mansions like the wealthy miners are building.”
Samantha laughed suddenly as the realization struck her. “He’s got gold fever!”
Jeannette looked from Samantha to her brother, thoroughly bewildered. “But why go all the way to Elizabethtown? There is silver here—tons of it, if the reports are true.”
“I agree, Adrien,” Samantha added soberly. “You could stake a claim right here. There’s no need to go running off to New Mexico. Haven’t you heard of the Indian trouble they’re having there?”
“Ah, that is nothing.” Adrien waved a dismissal.
“You’ve never seen an Apache, Adrien. You don’t know what you’re saying if you can scoff at the danger of fighting Indians.”
“That is beside the point. If I could mine silver here, I would. But I cannot do that until I can afford to buy equipment for reducing ore. Panning for gold is much easier.”
“Oh, Lord.” Samantha sighed in disgust. “You’re going to pan for gold there in order to come back here and mine silver? That’s ridiculous, Adrien.”
“I have made my decision,” Adrien replied stubbornly. “And it is not ridiculous. I am not the only one who cannot afford the equipment it takes to mine the silver. There are many others going to Elizabethtown. Gold can be picked up off the ground. Silver must be refined. I have bought a very good mine already. I need only a smelter.”
“You bought a mine!” Jeannette cried in growing alarm. “What did it cost?”
He shrugged. “It was very reasonable, since the owner was faced with the same problem as I—no smelter.”
“How much?”
“Only a few hundred.”
“Adrien!” she gasped. “We could not afford to spend a few hundred!”
“We could not afford to let this opportunity go by. In a year we will be able to afford anything.”
Samantha was embarrassed. She had thought the Allstons did not have to worry about money, as she did not.
“How much would it cost for this device to process the silver?” Samantha offered.
Adrien turned to her hopefully, but Jeannette snapped, “We are not reduced to borrowing, Adrien. If you must do this thing, you will do it yourself.”
“I was thinking of it as an investment,” Samantha said quickly. “Not as a loan.”
Adrien shook his head. “Thank you, Samantha, but no. Little Jean is right. We must do this ourselves.”
“Very well. When did you plan to leave? We might as well all go together, since I must go south anyway.”
“The day after tomorrow,” he said readily, glad that Jeannette had made no further fuss. “We wait only for the stage.”
Chapter 4
IT took Hank four hours of hard riding to reach the Pitts mine. When he got to the site, he found six men working in the hot sun, digging rock from the earth, grunting and muttering as they sweated. Seeing a large tent set up by a stream, he rode toward it and dismounted, keeping a watchful eye on the tent.
Hank entered silently. Inside were two long wooden tables, bedrolls lying along the edge of the tent, and an old potbelly stove. That, and the cooking utensils around it, meant a permanent setup. There was only one man in the tent, and he sat at the long table to Hank’s right, a tin of coffee beside him, working a column of figures on a sheet of paper.
“Hola, Pat.”
Patrick McClure’s head shot up, and he started to rise, but stopped halfway and sank back into his seat. The voice was the familiar voice of old, but the face was very different. Gone were the laughing gray eyes Pat knew so well. In their stead were eyes of steel. He had been afraid that this might happen, that Hank wouldn’t unders
tand.
“Now, laddie, you’ve no call tc be lookin’ at your old amigo like that,” Pat began uneasily, his voice cracking.
“Amigo?” Hank walked slowly forward. “You call yourself amigo?”
Hank didn’t wait for the answer. Pulling back his right arm, he shot his fist straight into Patrick’s jaw. The chair—with Patrick still in it—toppled over backward. Patrick was an older man, and his body had gone soft, but he was on his feet in a moment. Very slowly, he backed away from Hank.
“I won’t fight you, laddie. At least not till you let me explain,” Pat growled through his throbbing mouth. “After, if you still want to have it out—”
“I want just one thing from you, Pat—my money. Hand it over, and I will leave it at that.”
“Didn’t you get the note I left you?”
“Perdición!” Hank swore between clenched teeth. “Do not change the subject!”
“But I told you about this mine,” Pat continued, undaunted. “We’re going to be richer than we ever dreamed, laddie.”
“Then give me my share now, and you can keep all the rest. I have no interest in mines, Pat. You know my dreams. I have waited more than ten years. I will not wait any longer. I must go home to Mexico.”
“But you don’t understand, Hank, me lad. Sit down and let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain. Either you have my money or you don’t.”
“I do not. I spent nearly all of it on a smelter,” Pat said quickly, and stepped farther back.
Hank grabbed hold of his shirt front and pulled him closer, nearly lifting him off the ground. There was murder in his eyes.
“I think I must kill you, Patrick,” he said in a deadly calm voice. “Sí, I must. You knew what that money meant to me. You knew how I hated what we did to get it. You knew…and you spent it anyway.”
“But, laddie, you will have enough money to buy a dozen haciendas, two dozen,” Pat pleaded. “I tell you we will be rich.”