A Treasure Concealed (17 page)

Each day, Emily saw to the animals and then joined her father at the river washing and sluicing through the dirt they had managed to haul down. Each night she fell into bed so exhausted that she went to sleep almost immediately. It gave her little time to really think about Caeden, and that was just the way she wanted it.

Her father managed to collect some gold, although it was hardly worthy of a celebration. If they were lucky it might provide a month's worth of supplies. Always there were more of the blue pebbles to collect. They irritated her father to no end as they clogged up the sluice. However, Emily couldn't help but think how they might be valuable, and she always cleared the pieces away for her father and tucked them into her pocket for safekeeping. She was once again amassing quite a collection.

Emily suppressed a yawn and looked out over the river valley—what little she could see. There was still snow on the ground, but this morning there had been an ice fog as well, and everything seemed covered in diamond dust. It was quite pretty but made long-distance visibility almost impossible.

Nellie pawed at the ground, causing Emily to reach into the cart and retrieve a nice armful of hay. “Here you are, old girl.” She tossed the hay on the ground, then gave Nellie's muzzle a gentle rub. “Eat up, for the winter is coming, and you need to be nice and fat.”

Pa laughed and picked up his shovel. “I think if I can get just a little more gold together over the next day or two, we can head up to Utica and pick up some supplies.”

“I think that would be wise.” Emily thought of the long list of needs. “We definitely should buy more blankets, and it would be helpful if we could get a few canvas tarps for the walls. That would help keep out some of the cold.”

“I agree. We'll just see what we can pull out today and add it
to what we've already set aside. That way we can better know how much we'll have to meet our needs.”

“You aren't going to have needs much longer, old man.”

Emily froze. The voice of Kirk Davies was not one she had expected. In his absence she had hoped they were finally rid of him. She sunk her hand into her coat pocket, reassuring herself that the pistol was still there.

“The time has come for you to pay your debt,” Davies said, stepping out of the fog. He held a long-barreled pistol aimed directly at her father. His short leather coat gave evidence of another revolver tucked in his waistband.

Without thinking, Emily put herself between them. If need be, she would shoot Davies and keep him from hurting her father.

“Now, isn't that sweet.” Davies' sarcastic tone made her skin crawl.

“Emily, you need to leave,” Father declared. “I'll settle this alone.”

“No you won't. My business is with both of you.” Davies surprised Emily by crossing the distance in a matter of seconds. He took her in hand and pulled her tight against him. “Like I said, the time has come for you to pay up.”

“Pay up for what?”

Emily could hear the agitation in her father's voice. “Let me go.” She tried to pull away, but Davies was much too strong.

He leered down at her. “No, little lady, you're my assurance that this old man will do exactly what I want.” He looked back to her father. “You were hard enough to track down, but now that I have you where I want you, I'm going to take my time and enjoy this.”

“What are you talking about? I've been here all along. You knew that. Even after someone . . .” He paused and narrowed
his eyes. “Even after someone burned down my cabin and killed my wife, I've been right here.” Emily saw her father take a step forward, but Davies shook his head, and he stopped.

“You deserved that and more. You killed my little brother in California.”

The statement was so matter-of-fact that Emily wasn't at all sure she'd heard correctly. Her father, however, immediately understood.

“So that was your brother. He was quite the bully. Always makin' trouble and shootin' folks. He threatened to kill a man's child. I could hardly stand by and do nothing.”

Emily remembered that day in the California mining camp and bit her lip. Davies hadn't come here to buy her father's claim for Singleton as he'd said. That had only been a convenient excuse. Instead, he had come with his own purpose of revenge.

“It doesn't matter to me what he did,” Davies said, loosening his hold on Emily. “Fact is you killed him, and now I'm going to kill you.”

Emily knew this would be her only chance to intervene. She pulled away from Davies, drawing her pistol. It caught on the edge of her pocket, however, and before she knew it, Davies had taken the gun from her. With a powerful backhand he slapped her to the ground, then stepped on the material of her coat and skirt to keep her from moving. It happened so fast that her father could do nothing to help.

“You can't do this,” she told Davies. She rubbed her jaw where Davies had struck her. The pain was fierce. “Your brother shot my father and would have killed that family. It wasn't murder. My father never intended for him to die. He just wanted to stop him.”

“Like I said, I don't much care what happened. He killed my brother, and now I'm going to kill him.” He pulled back
the hammer on his gun. “Say your prayers, old man, and say one for her. 'Cause after I kill you, I'm going to make her wish she were dead.”

Emily knew her father, and when he charged forward, she wasn't surprised. She heard the gun go off and did the only thing she could think to do. Taking hold of Davies' leg, she bit his thigh as hard as she could and held on tight. He screamed in agony, cursing her. Emily held on, even though he grabbed a handful of her hair to pull her away. She could taste blood as it oozed through the torn trouser. She had no idea if her father was dead or alive, but she'd make certain Davies never forgot his mistake of messing with her.

“Henry, that you shootin'?” someone called out in the fog.

Davies let go a stream of curses, and Emily felt something hard hit the back of her head. Her jaw went slack as the day grew dark. She fought for consciousness, but the blow was too much. As Davies moved out, Emily fell against the frozen ground.

E
mily awoke to searing pain and merciless motion. She opened her eyes just enough to see that she was in the back of a wagon and Millie Ringgold was there beside her.

“Where am I? What happened?”

“Jes yo hush, chil'. Somebody done shot yo pa and nearly kilt yo with a blow to de head. Yo bled a lot.”

“Pa? Is he alive? Where is he?” She tried to sit up, but Millie held her fast.

“It's bad. Yo pa is gut shot. Went straight through, but it don't look good.”

“Where is he?” Her head was about to explode, and Emily closed her eyes, hoping the pain would ease. It didn't.

“De boys got yo pa in de other wagon. Weren't room in yo pa's cart here.”

“I don't remember much.” Emily tried to force her mind to sort through the darkness. She raised her hand to her brow, hoping it might ease the pain.

“Do yo know who shot yor pa and hit yo?”

Emily remembered they were sluicing, and Pa said something
about going to Utica. Then someone came. She opened her eyes. “I know we were working the sluice. I remember . . . Kirk Davies. He was there. He must have done it.”

“That man ain't good for nuttin'.” Millie patted Emily's shoulder. “Don't yo worry none. We'll let the marshal know.”

Emily gave herself over to unconsciousness once more, and when she next awoke, she was lying on a bed and her head didn't hurt quite as bad. She looked around the room as best she could without moving her head. It was a small, sparsely furnished room. The bed and the small table beside it were the only things that occupied the space.

She stared at the ceiling and tried to remember the details of what had happened and why she was there. Wherever she was. Image chased after image in her mind, and none of them made any sense. Why couldn't she remember?

“I see yo is awake,” Millie said, coming into the room with a glass of something.

“I'm trying to be. Where am I?”

“Doc's place in Utica.”

“What happened?”

Millie put the glass down on the table and came to sit beside Emily on the narrow bed. The movement caused by the stocky woman made Emily wince, but Millie didn't seem to notice.

“Don't yo remember? I done tol' yo already. Yo pa was shot, and yo got hit on de head. Yo said it were Kirk Davies who done it.”

“Pa? Where is he?” Emily tried to sit up, but Millie pressed her shoulders back down. “Yo ain't gwanna get up. Doc wants yo stayin' down.”

“But I have to see my father. How is he?”

“It be bad, Miss Emily. Doc say he has to go to Lewistown. He sewed him up and stopped de bleedin', but he say more has to be done and he can't do it.”

“If he's going to Lewistown, then I'm going with him.” She looked at Millie. “I have to. He can't go alone.”

“Doc won't allow for dat.”

“He'll have to. Please go get him.”

Millie got to her feet. “I don't s'pose I can convince yo to stay.” She shook her head and muttered to herself all the way out the door.

Emily drew a deep breath and forced herself to sit up. Her brown hair fell about her shoulders. She touched her head where the pain seemed the most intense and felt bandages. Just how bad was her injury?

It was only a few minutes before the doctor appeared. “What's this all about, young woman? You need to rest.”

“I need to be with my father. How is he?”

The doctor's expression turned grave. “He's not good. I can't do enough for him here, so we're rigging a wagon to take him to Lewistown.”

“I need to go with him.”

“You need to rest and heal,” the doctor replied. “I had to put twelve stitches in your head.”

“I understand, but my father will need me there.” Emily fought back the urge to cry out from the pain. A wave of nausea washed over her, but she fought that as well.

“Your father won't even know you're there.” The doctor came closer. “The bullet went right through him and out the back. It narrowly missed the main artery. Even so, he's lost a lot of blood, and even if he recovers, I doubt he'll ever walk again. The bullet passed very close to the spine.”

Emily could hardly bear the news. She had only just lost her mother. How could she lose her father as well? Was this what God had in mind for her future? Where was the comfort that her faith should have afforded her?

“I want to see the marshal before we leave.”

The doctor looked to Millie, who had remained in the doorway. “Go get him.”

She disappeared, and the doctor turned back to Emily. “If I allow you to go, you must rest on the way and once you get there as well. You won't be any good to your father if you don't.”

“I understand, but I need to be close by in case . . . in case . . . the worst happens.” Emily forced back her tears. Her head already felt as though it would burst, and crying would certainly not help matters.

“I want you to lie back and rest for now. As I said, we're rigging a special wagon for your father. The jostling could well kill him, so we're making a sort of sling for him to lie in. I don't imagine we'll move him for another hour.”

“If the jostling could kill him, why not leave him here?” She didn't like the sound of the risk they were taking with her father's life.

“If he remains here he will certainly die. I'm not qualified to care for wounds like his. So we have to take a chance. The hospital in Lewistown has a fine surgeon. I believe your father's only hope is to get him there.”

Emily gave just a hint of a nod. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “Now let me help you to lie back. You need to rest. The trip won't be easy for you.”

“I don't care.”

Before she allowed the doctor to ease her back onto the bed, the marshal entered the room. He gave Emily a nod. “How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts.” She licked her dry lips. “But I had to talk to you about all of this.”

“What do you remember?”

“Pa and I were working the sluice. Kirk Davies showed up,
and it gets pretty blurry after that. I know he had a gun and that he hit me. I . . . I think . . . I bit him.” She put her fingers to her lips and nodded. “Yes, I'm certain I bit him on the leg. I can't remember much else.”

“I'm afraid your mind is playing tricks on you,” the marshal answered. His tone was more sympathetic. “You did suffer a hard blow.”

Emily frowned. “What do you mean?”

The marshal shrugged. “It couldn't have been Davies.”

“I'm telling you it was. I know it was.” She looked at the doctor and then back at the marshal. A fleeting memory came to mind. “He blamed my father for killing his younger brother. It was when we lived in California.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Carver. I know that man pestered a lot of folks in Yogo, your family included. I know you figure he set the fire that killed your ma, and maybe he did. I never found anything to prove that, however. But this time you're wrong. It wasn't Davies.”

“You're wrong.” She shook her head harder than she meant to and nearly cried out at the pain. “It
was
Davies.”

The marshal looked to the ground for a moment and then back to Emily. “It couldn't have been Kirk Davies. I don't know the fella all that well, but Davies was in my jail last night. I didn't let him go until just after they showed up with you and your pa.”

Emily felt as though the entire world had turned on its ear. Her stomach churned, and she was certain she couldn't have heard right. “Davies was in your jail?”

The marshal gave a brief nod. “He was. He was brawling yesterday and tore up one of the saloons. My deputy brought him in. I'm sorry, but it wasn't him this time.”

The nausea returned. “I think I'm going to be sick.” Emily
clutched her stomach as the doctor reached down beside the bed and produced a bucket.

“You might as well go, Marshal. If you would, please send Miss Ringgold back in.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving Emily. “I'm sure sorry, Miss Carver.”

Caeden hated the painful jostling of the stage as it made its way along rutted roads to Utica. He hated even more being wedged against the window due to Singleton's stocky frame taking up a good portion of the seat. Across from them, Bishop Arnold and Catherine sat along with an older woman who was bound for Lewistown. At least they all had seats inside. Caeden knew there were at least two men riding on top with the driver.

When they'd first climbed into the stage, it appeared as though Singleton and Arnold would say nothing more about their venture. However, as the miles clicked by and boredom set in, the two men began discussing details about the mine. Caeden saw the older woman doze off. Her snoring left Singleton feeling safe enough to speak in detail about what Arnold could expect.

Caeden had little desire to share in the conversation and closed his eyes. For most of the trip he pretended to sleep, grateful that the two men seemed quite happy to leave him out of their discussion.

“I believe you can recoup your investment within a month's time,” Singleton declared.

“Truly?” Bishop Arnold replied. “That's marvelous. What will be required?”

“Well, after you purchase the claim from me,” Singleton began, “you'll need to hire workers and supplies for those work
ers. You'll need shovels, picks, and ore carts. Oh, and mules. You'll need mules to haul the dirt and ore to where the water is so you can wash it.”

“Wash the dirt? Why would anyone do that?” Arnold asked. “I thought gold mining consisted of breaking ore out of rock.”

“There is, of course, that kind of mining—when a vein is found. We are very close to exposing that vein, but right now we are working the dirt and flushing out the bits of gold hidden in it. It's not that difficult.” He smiled. “We can go over the details after you secure the claim. You'll need someone you can trust to run the operation. Of course, winter is a difficult time to mine, but with the right people it can be done. These Montana folks are a hearty bunch, and I don't think you'll have trouble getting men who want to work.”

Caeden listened to the man drone on and on. It was impossible to get comfortable, but he finally managed to doze at one point, and his thoughts were all about Emily. He was glad he'd been able to arrange for the freight of goods to leave ahead of his departure from Great Falls. It was possible he'd catch up to the shipment in Utica and could be there to instruct locals on the delivery. He didn't want to be there when Emily and her father received the goods, so his thought was to delay the delivery in Utica until he'd gone.

He'd lost track of the stage stops and changes of horses. All he knew was that from Great Falls to Utica the distance was nearly eighty miles. Eighty miles plus the eighteen to where Emily and her father lived. Nearly one hundred miles altogether. It might as well have been a thousand for all the time it was taking.

At the halfway mark they stopped for the night. The place wasn't much, but it was clean and the food decent. That night, Caeden fell asleep and dreamed of his encounter with Emily
and how he would explain his heart and ask if she would wait for him to return. He could see her clothed in the new gown he'd bought her. The dusty rose would look beautiful with her dark eyes and hair. He'd even purchased her a parasol of the same color. He doubted Emily had ever had a parasol. Such a frivolous item wouldn't have been considered important.

The next morning, after a breakfast of watered-down oatmeal and bacon, they were once again on their way. Caeden almost felt sorry for Arnold. The man was so obviously uncomfortable. He'd already complained several times of his miseries in trying to sleep the night before. Not only that, but the food had also caused him great discomfort.

Singleton apparently had wearied of the man's complaints and had engaged the elderly Mrs. Dyson in a conversation about her family in Lewistown. It was to his droning voice, telling her about the time he'd spent in Lewistown years ago, that Caeden drifted off.

“Caeden, wake up,” Catherine said, giving his arm a shake.

He opened his eyes and moaned. Rubbing a knot in his neck, he straightened and looked around. He found himself alone with Catherine and the stage at a stop. “Where are we?”

“I don't know. Yet another change of teams. This stop, however, is offering food if you're hungry. Father, Mr. Singleton, and Mrs. Dyson all went inside. I wondered if you wanted to join them. I don't think I could keep anything down. This trip is rather jarring.”

“I told you it was rough country.” Caeden looked out the coach window at the small house. He feared the meal would be as distasteful as their breakfast and decided against it. He figured he could get something better in Utica.

“I knew it would be hard,” Catherine said, trying to shake the dust from her dark blue traveling suit. “I wasn't the one
who insisted on coming. I would have happily waited in Great Falls.”