A Treasure Concealed (2 page)

Mama said nothing, but that wasn't at all surprising. Talking seemed to drain the older woman of what little strength she had. By the time Emily had fried up some bacon and soaked a few hard biscuits in the leftover grease, her mother was sound asleep.

The afternoon sun bore down on Emily as she made her way to the river, where her father had set up his sluicing frame. He was faithfully panning in the water, humming a favorite hymn, while their old mule, Nellie, grazed on dry grass a few yards away, mindless of the cart she remained harnessed to.

Emily had to smile at the sight. Pa had rolled up the legs of his pants and stood barefoot in the shallow but rapidly moving river. “That looks like a good way to bear up under the heat.”

“Emmy, I'm mighty glad to see you.” Her father straightened and held out his pan. “I found some color. Look here.”

For a moment Emily allowed herself the tiniest spark of hope. “Truly?”

She came to where he stood and peered into the iron pan. There at the bottom were a few flecks of gold mingled with blue pebbles. It wasn't nearly enough to get excited about. She sighed.

“Now, don't go gettin' all sad,” her father said. He came out
of the water to take a seat on the bank of the river. Once seated, he placed the pan between them. “I'll add it to what I already have, and at this rate I'll be able to head into town tomorrow or the next day and get a few supplies. Just remember, any color is proof that there's a whole lot more somewhere upstream.”

“Oh, Pa. We've talked about all of this before. There was a gold strike here last year, so of course there's gold, but you know as well as I do what everyone said about it.”

“I do know. I just don't happen to agree.”

Emily handed him his lunch and sat down beside him. “It's played out around here, and what's left will take too much energy and money to retrieve. We don't have a whole lot of either commodity.”

He laughed and pulled apart one of the biscuits. Bending a piece of the thick bacon in two, he sandwiched it between the biscuit halves. “I got plenty of energy left, and I'll show 'em all. I ain't giving up.”

Emily had heard this speech on many occasions. He'd never quit looking for that next strike—that big find. Henry Carver was absolutely convinced that God himself had ordained it. And God knew better than anyone that her father had looked for just such a treasure in every nook and cranny in the western United States.

“Oh, I just about forgot.” Emily withdrew the can of peaches. “Millie sent this as a gift.”

Her father took the can and smiled. “Good ol' Millie. I'll get this open right now and we can share it.” He unsheathed a knife he kept on his belt. “Yes, sirree, nothin' quite as good as peaches.”

In no time at all he had the can open and offered Emily a small peach half at the end of his knife. She took the slimy piece and popped it into her mouth. The sweetness made her smile.
Her father had always had a sweet tooth, and this would no doubt offer some satisfaction. Of course, it didn't take much to give Henry Carver satisfaction. Emily had never known her father to be all that unhappy.

Now, Ma on the other hand
 . . .

As if her father could read her thoughts, he asked, “How's your mama doin'?”

“She's fine now. I picked up her laudanum at Millie's.”

“Oh, that's good. She'll rest better now.” Her father wiped peach juice from his graying beard. “She's quite a woman, your ma. Never complains. Ain't seen any woman who could come close to bein' as patient in adversity.”

Their peaceful lunch was disrupted by the sound of rustling in the trees beyond the riverbank. Emily put her hand in her pocket to reassure herself that the pistol was still there, but her father stood and took up his rifle. Scouring the area for any sign of life, he waited. More than once they'd been surprised by a bear, so there was no need in taking any chances.

“I ain't a grizzly,” a man's voice called out in amusement. A big man, bigger than any of the regulars in Yogo City, came out from behind a clump of pines.

Emily watched him, careful to keep her hat low so he couldn't see her face very well. In spite of the heat, she was grateful for her heavy coat. Her father lowered the rifle. “That's a good way for a man to get shot,” he answered.

The man crossed the distance between them in what Emily thought was no more than ten steps. His long legs made strides that would have taken at least two and possibly three for most folks. She looked up, shielding her eyes by bending the brim of her hat down a little lower. The stranger had to be at least six and a half feet tall. Her own father stood at six feet, and this man was another head taller.

“Name's Kirk Davies.”

The man looked down momentarily at Emily. She quickly lowered her head. There was something about him she didn't trust—something that suggested trouble. Davies was certainly no more scruffy and dirty than the other men who lived in the area, but he had an air about him that almost frightened her.

“I'm Henry Carver. What can I do for you?”

“Well, the fact is, I'm here to do something for you. I understand you own the claim just up the hill and back of these trees.”

Emily glanced back up to find that Davies' attention was completely fixed on her father. The scowl on Pa's face told her he didn't like the intrusion and arrogance of this man any more than she did.

“I reckon I do, but I hardly see how that's any of your business.”

Davies' jaw clenched and Emily could see his eyes narrow. He had beady eyes that reminded her of a rattlesnake. “I'm here to offer to buy you out. I'm employed by a man who wants to buy up as many of these claims as possible.”

“Well, you're wastin' your time with me. I ain't lookin' to sell.”

“Now, just a minute,” Davies countered. “You haven't even heard what I'm set to offer.”

“Don't much care what you're offerin'. I don't have any intention of sellin'.”

“Well, if you ain't an ingrate.” Davies reached out faster than Emily or her father could react. He took hold of Henry's upper arms, making it impossible for him to raise the rifle in defense.

Emily forgot about hiding her face and jumped to her feet to confront Davies. “Leave him alone.”

Davies looked at her a moment. Then his face seemed to light up in amusement. “Now, ain't you a sight. You got eyes darker
than stout ale. In fact, you're kind of pretty. Be even better in the right clothes. Or out of them.”

Emily stiffened, but it was her father who made the next move. He punched Davies square in the belly, loosing the big man's grip.

Davies fell back a few steps, and his eyes narrowed. “You ought not to have done that, mister. I can't abide a man who hits me.”

“And I can't abide a man who lays hands on me and treats my daughter like a common strumpet,” Carver replied, once again bringing up the rifle. “Now, get outta here before I forget I'm a good Christian.”

Davies' scowl deepened. “You're gonna need more than God to protect you. I'll go for now, but I'll be back in a week for your answer.”

“You already have my answer,” Emily's father declared. “I said no. I'm not lookin' to sell.”

Davies' expression changed to a cold, calculated smile. “You will be—only then my offer ain't gonna be half as generous.”

He turned and headed back the way he'd come, leaving Emily and her father to watch. Despite the heat, Emily shivered. She could only hope he would forget about them, but unfortunately, she knew that wasn't likely.

C
aeden Thibault stepped from the stage in Utica and glanced around. He saw a hotel, several saloons, a post office and bank, stables, and a mercantile, just like any other small frontier town. A person could blink and miss it if they weren't headed here as their final destination.

Over one building the sign read
Silver Dollar Saloon
. It looked like a popular place with plenty of men standing in the shade of the structure. Another sign caught his attention, however.
Feed Stable
. He hoped he could rent himself a reliable horse there. He'd already received permission to leave his things at the blacksmith's, which doubled as the stage office. The man there assured him his things would be safe there.

Caeden studied the main street again. He was tired and thirsty. Mostly thirsty. He needed something to wash down all the dust he'd eaten on the stage ride from Great Falls. Not given to hard drink, Caeden had little desire to head to one of the saloons. Maybe the mercantile would have a soda fountain. It was at least worth a look.

He dusted off his traveling clothes as best he could, then made
his way to the store. The place wasn't nearly as well supplied as he'd hoped. He looked around, disappointed to realize there was no sign of anything to quench his thirst.

“Howdy, stranger,” a clerk said to him from behind a counter. “What can I do for you?”

Caeden fixed the man with a look. “Just came in off the stage and hoped you might have some soda water.”

The man shook his head. “Ain't got any. You can get powdered lemonade made to drink at the hotel restaurant down the way. Sometimes they got root beer. 'Course, there's beer and whiskey to be had at the saloons.”

Caeden nodded and was turning to leave when an older man approached him. “Why don't you come with me, and I'll get you fixed up with a drink. Name's Henry Carver.”

The bearded older man smiled and waited for Caeden to say something. He seemed friendly, but Caeden hadn't really come to Montana to make friends. “I, uh, don't drink.”

“What's that?” Carver asked. “Sounded to me like you were thirsty.”

“I am, but I don't drink alcohol.”

The old man began to chuckle. “Me neither. Never did develop a taste for it. No, I was suggestin' you join me for a bite down at the hotel. I was headed that way, and frankly, I'd enjoy the company.”

Caeden was surprised by the old man's openness. It had been his experience that a great many Montana men were more inclined to keep their own company, which generally suited him just fine. However, he was hungry and even more so needed something to drink—even water at this point.

“I suppose I might as well,” Caeden finally answered.

“Good,” Mr. Carver declared. He looked back over his shoulder. “Sam, I'll be back to load up that stuff after I get a bite to eat.”

“Sure thing, Henry. I'll have it ready.”

The older man left the store without another word. Caeden glanced after him and finally followed. Henry Carver seemed to have little doubt he would and kept walking toward the northern end of town.

Caeden had no trouble catching up and keeping stride with the older gentleman. He let the awkward silence stand between them until they reached the door, where Carver bounded in like he owned the place and motioned Caeden to a table and chairs by the back wall.

“Bring us two, Sarah,” Carver called out to no one in particular.

Caeden looked around at the numerous people gathered there to eat, but he saw no one who fit the name Sarah. The place was full of older men and cowboys, not a single woman that he could see.

“It's cooler back here,” the old man explained, pulling out a chair. “That big old window up front makes it feel like an oven when the sun comes bearin' down. Back here's much better.”

Caeden did likewise, still not entirely sure why he'd joined Carver.

“So what brings you to Utica, young man?” Carver pulled off his kerchief and wiped his face.

“Name's Thibault. Caeden Thibault.”

“Tee-bow. Now what kind of name is that?” He resecured the kerchief.

“French, I believe. At least that's what my mother used to tell me.” Caeden put his hat upside down on the chair beside him just as an older woman came to the table with two large mugs of dark liquid.

“Thanks for the root beer, Sarah,” Carver declared, taking
the mugs from her hands. He handed one to Caeden. “Best in the West.”

Caeden didn't bother to answer. Instead he put the glass to his mouth and drank nearly half of the cool liquid. It went down easy and eliminated the burning dryness in his throat.

“You'd better bring him another, Sarah. Looks like Mr. Thibault ain't had a chance to clear the stage dirt from his gullet.”

The older woman smiled. “I will. Now, how about something to eat?”

Carver looked to Caeden. “They got the best ham and beans to be had.”

Caeden gave a nod. “That's fine with me.”

Sarah smiled. “Coming right up.”

Henry Carver eased back in the chair and smiled at Caeden. “So I'm sorry for repeating myself, but what brings you up this way? You don't talk like nobody I've ever heard. Where you from?”

“I was born and raised in New York. I'm out here doing some work for the government.”

“What's the government got to do with Montana? Ain't been a state long enough to cause any real trouble.”

Caeden couldn't help but smile. “No trouble. Actually it has more to do with the mining resources. I'm a geologist, and I'm cataloguing some of the mining sites in the state. There's actually a team of us out here, and this area of the state is my responsibility.”

“A geologist?” Henry shook his head. “What exactly is that?”

“To put it simply, I study rocks—dirt—and the things that can be found in either one.”

“And somebody in the government pays you to do that?” the
older man asked, shaking his head. “Seems hard to believe, but I always did figure the government wasted more money than anyone.”

It was clear that the old man lacked education and understanding of what his government would find of value in such an investigation. Caeden took another long draw from the mug and emptied it just as Sarah brought another and hurried away with the empty glass.

Caeden picked up the new mug and gave Henry a nod. “There's a lot of good that can come out of such studies.” He took another long drink, finally feeling that his thirst was being sated.

He put the mug down and continued. “By figuring out what resources a state has to offer, the government can get an idea of what the worth of the area is and how they can best utilize it to serve the nation, rather than just a few individuals.”

“Figures they'd find a way to stick their noses into our business,” Henry said, sounding none too happy.

Just then Sarah returned with two oversized bowls of beans. “I'll have some bread out to you shortly, unless you'd just as soon have crackers.”

Henry looked to Caeden. “Makes me no nevermind, but I'm gonna need some vinegar.”

Sarah looked at Caeden and put her hands on her hips. “Well, how about you?”

“Crackers are fine.” Caeden picked up the spoon that had been placed in the bowl. The aroma of the beans reminded him he'd not eaten since breakfast. “Smells good.” He smiled up at the older woman. “Thank you.”

Sarah relaxed her stance and smiled in return. “You're welcome, stranger.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen without another word.

“I'll offer a blessing.” Henry bowed his head and jumped right in. “Lord, we thank you for this meal and for your providence. Amen.”

Caeden had barely closed his eyes before the old man's prayer was through. Sarah brought the crackers and a jug of vinegar, and Henry went right to work, first adding a healthy portion of vinegar to the beans and then crushing crackers into the soup. Caeden merely sampled the fare. It was simple but tasty. Carver was shoveling in his food as if it were some sort of eating contest. They passed the time in silence for a few minutes, and Caeden didn't complain when Sarah appeared after a time and offered to refill his own bowl. It would seem Henry Carver's enthusiasm for eating was contagious.

Now, however, with his own urgency to eat and drink satisfied, Caeden slowed down to enjoy the flavors of the second bowl of ham and beans. Crumbling a handful of crackers into the bowl, he posed a question to Carver. “I wonder, can you give me directions to a place called Yogo City?”

Carver's face split into a broad smile. “I can do one better than that. I can lead you there. I have a claim down that way. I need to load up my mule and cart with goods first, but then I'll be headin' back down.”

It seemed most fortuitous that Caeden had run across the older man. He nodded, realizing that this unexpected new acquaintance might make his duties a great deal easier. Folks didn't take well to strangers asking permission to inspect their properties.

“That would be most helpful. I need to rent a horse and get a few supplies myself.”

“No problem at all,” the old man said, pushing his bowl away. “I can wait. Where you staying down in Yogo?”

“Wherever I can pitch my tent.”

“That's easy enough. You can pitch it by my cabin. You can take your meals with us when you're around.”

“Us?”

“I have a wife and daughter, but they won't mind. They'll be glad for the company. You play chess?”

Caeden nodded, memories washing over him. “I do. I used to be pretty good at it. Played quite a bit with my uncle.”

“Then we can spend some time playin' this evenin'. I think you'll like Emmy's cookin'.”

Caeden finally finished off the second bowl of beans. “Is Emmy your wife?”

“No, she's my daughter. Her given name is Emily, but we call her Em or Emmy most of the time. My wife's name is Nyola.” For the first time Henry Carver's expression took on a look of sorrow. “She's not been well.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Uncertain what else he could say, Caeden looked at his pocket watch. “I suppose we should get to it before we lose too much more time. I'd like to be set up before dark.”

“Well, won't be dark for hours around here. That's the joy of a Montana summer.” Nevertheless, Carver got to his feet. “I'll pay Sarah and then we can head out to get your horse.”

“No, this is on me.” Caeden reached into his pocket. “The government has provided funds for my meals.”

Carver grinned. “Well, that's right kind of ya. I don't suppose I can argue with lettin' the government pay.”

Caeden settled the bill and found Henry waiting for him just outside the front door. They headed back down the street to the stable.

“I'll go load up my cart and meet you in front of the mercantile,” the older man told him.

Caeden pushed his hat back just a bit. “Once I secure a
mount, I have some things to pick up at the stage stop, but that won't take much time.”

With a nod, Henry took off for the store, while Caeden turned his attention to renting a solid-looking black gelding. The rental prices for the horse and saddle were steep, but he'd expected no less. When there's only one show in town, folks will pay whatever they're asked and be grateful, albeit poorer.

It took less than half an hour to gather his things and visit the mercantile for necessities. Since Henry Carver spoke of his taking meals with the family, Caeden thought it only proper that he supply some of the food. He purchased a variety of canned goods, oatmeal, flour, sugar, salt, and beans, hoping Carver's daughter would be able to make use of it. Last of all, he pointed to a large ham and told the proprietor he'd take that as well.

“Ready?” Carver asked as Caeden came out the door carrying a large wooden box heaped with goods.

“Do you have room for this in your cart?” Caeden looked at the small conveyance and old mule with doubts. “I figured I'd bring something to add to our meals.”

“Old Nellie can pull most anything. She might look old and feeble, but there's a lot of gumption left in her. Just throw it in back with the rest of the stuff.”

Caeden deposited the load, then went for his horse. Once he'd mounted, he urged the horse to step up alongside the cart and mule. “Ready?”

Carver nodded and gave the reins a slap. “Get on with ya, Nellie.” The mule pulled forward without hesitation.

The old man waited until they were out of Utica before resuming their conversation. “So can I ask you a question?”

Caeden couldn't very well refuse him. “Of course.” He gave a hint of a smile. “But I might not have an answer.”

“I'm bettin' you will,” Henry replied. “Just don't know if you'll be wantin' to share it.”

“Go ahead.”

“I was just wonderin' about you not drinkin'. Most of the men I know drink and do so frequently. Liquor keeps 'em company on a lonely night. Now, I know it's a personal matter, but since I'm an abstainer too, I reckon I just found it interestin'.”

Caeden felt himself go rigid at the thought of answering. He had long abstained from alcohol, but seldom did anyone question him as to why. “It
is
a personal matter, but I suppose I don't mind telling you. My father drank heavily, and it ruined our family. That's the simple truth. My mother had great faith that he would change, but he didn't.”

Henry nodded. “Usually takes somethin' like that to keep a fellow off the bottle. Liquor has a powerful pull, and it's been known to ruin many a good man.”

“What about you? Is there a reason you refuse to drink?” Caeden kept his gaze on the road ahead. He hadn't wanted this conversation, but now that he'd made his reply, it didn't seem right to go silent.

“My Nyola prefers it that way. She's a strong woman of God, and she took me to a church meetin' once where the preacher spoke out against the evils of liquor. I tell you that man very nearly made me feel the fires of hell lightin' up my backside, even though I weren't much of a drinker.” Carver chuckled. “Well, I figured if Nyola could say yes to marryin' a man like me, I could say yes to abstainin'.”