Gold (18 page)

Four other men followed Pike from the gam
bling saloon. They hurried off up the street.

“
Let’s ask Abe what the commotion’s about,”
Selena said. The two women went into the hotel
lobby and Selena opened the door to the saloon.
She was surprised to find Abe alone.

“
Ah, Miss Selena,” he said, coming to the door.
“And Miss Pamela.”

“
What’s happening, Abe?” Selena asked him.

“
What is it always?” Abe ran his hand over his
balding head as though pushing back imaginary
hair. “A brawl of some sort. That fellow Pike says
English Bob got a knife between the ribs.”

“
Oh,” Selena gasped. “Not English Bob. He’s
always such a gentleman.”

“
Most men around here like Bob,” Abe said. “Still and all, I don’t know about the gentleman
part. He did have a go-round with that young
Danny O’Lee, you’ll remember. And there’s been
other times when he’s been known to gouge and
knee with the best of them, or so I’m told.”

“
You don’t think Danny O’Lee . . . ?” Pamela
began. She put her hand to her mouth. “They’ve
done some panning for gold
together,” she said.
“It wasn’t Danny O’Lee with the knife, was it?”

Abe shrugged.
“Pike didn’t say. Didn’t know, I gather. The way he told the story, he was on his
way to his tent, Pike was, and English Bob comes
staggering toward him all doubled over, his
bloody hands to his stomach. When Pike tries to
help him, English Bob falls to the ground saying, '
I’m a goner,’ or words like that.”

“
I haven’t seen Danny O’Lee these last few
days,” Selena said. “He’s probably at the diggings.
And I doubt he even has a knife.”

“
Where’s Mr. Rhynne?” Pamela asked Abe.

“
Said something about paying his respects to
the Reverend Colton when he left here half an
hour ago. If I was you, ma’am, and I know Mr.
Rhynne would say the same, I’d stay far clear of
trouble of this sort. You know how it is with no
law in the territory. What can you expect in a
country where a great man like John Charles Fre
mont is court-martialed out of the Army? The
men here see theirselves as judge, jury and hangman all rolled into one.”

“
Let us know the minute you hear what hap
pened to English Bob,” Pamela told him.

“
That I will.” Abe started to shut the door, then hesitated. “Do either of you ladies know why Mr.
Rhynne put this slotted box behind the bar? I
asked him this morning and he just smiled.”

“
Box?” Pamela and Selena both asked at once.
They went to the door and stared at the pine box,
shaking their heads.

“
Just curious,” Abe said, going back behind the
bar.

“
I’m sure Danny O’Lee wouldn’t do such a
thing,” Pamela said as they walked to the store.
“Though he’s got a temper I can’t imagine him
with a knife.”

“
Do you want me to go to the church and look
for W.W.?” Selena asked.

Pamela considered.
“I think not,” she said fi
nally. “This will all turn out to have nothing to do
with us.”

“
I can’t imagine,” Selena said, “what W.W.
wants with Reverend Colton.”

“And what, Mr. Rhynne, do you want with
me?” Reverend Colton asked. They were seated in
the minister’s small office at the rear of the church.

“
I want your help, Reverend.”

Colton
steepled his hands. “A strange request.
Considering.” His speech had a Scottish burr.

“
The older I become, the more I realize what
I’ve missed in life.”

“
It’s never too late to find God, Mr. Rhynne.”

“
It may be for me. For others, I hope it’s not.”

Reverend Colton said nothing.

“I squandered my youth,” Rhynne said, “in the
pursuit of pleasure. If only I hadn’t been born
into a life of poverty.”

“
A man can rise above his circumstances.”

“
A strong man like yourself can. I’m not strong, never have been, either in body or in spirit. Temp
tation finds me an easy prey today as it did when
I was a lad living in a house of ill repute.”

“
You grew up in a--a bordello?”

“
In New Orleans. My mother was the madam.”

“
You said you were raised in poverty. I’ve
heard women of that sort described in many diff
erent ways, but never before have I heard them labeled as being poor.”

“
It was a spiritual poverty I referred to. My
mother read to me from the English poets, never from the Bible. Only later did I realize that some of our greatest poetry is in the Good Book.”

“
For myself, I like to believe it also contains
some of mankind’s greatest truths.”

“
My point exactly. When I was a child, these
truths were denied me.”

“
And the child is father of the man.”

“
You know Wordsworth, Reverend Colton.”

“
A line or two.” He stood up and nodded to
ward a shelf on the wall behind him. “I think I have the largest library in Hangtown,” he said.
“All thirty volumes. Forgive my boasting. Pride is
one of my sins.”

Rhynne looked over the Reverend
’s shoulder.
“And only a few of your books concern the
ology.”

“
Worldliness is another of my sins. And as a somewhat worldly man, I have to admit I suspect the purity of your motives in coming to see me
today.”

Rhynne reached into his pocket, took out a deerskin pouch, and dropped it on the minister
’s
desk.

“
My intentions are as pure as the gold in that
poke,” he said.

The Reverend Colton weighed the pouch in his hand.

“About five hundred dollars worth of gold
dust,” Rhynne told him.

Colton
placed the pouch on the desk between
them.

“
It’s yours,” Rhynne said. “My gift to the
church. Let’s say it’s a guilt offering.”

“
In both meanings of the word? Gilt and guilt?”

Rhynne smiled.
“In both meanings.”

Colton
dangled the pouch by its leather thongs.
“No strings attached, Mr. Rhynne?”

“
None at all.”

Colton
opened a drawer of his desk and
dropped the gold inside. “You’re most generous,”
he said. “The only gift I’d prize more would be
the return of the prodigal son, yourself in this
case, to the ways of God. If that were to occur,
I’d personally kill the fatted calf.”

“
That’s one of the parables I’ve never under
stood. All the attention is lavished on the prodigal
while the dutiful son is ignored. Human nature,
yes. But good theology?”

“
Mr. Rhynne, I’ve never completely understood
that story myself. Perhaps something was lost in the translation from the Greek.”

“
I’ve enjoyed your frankness, Reverend.”
Rhynne held out his hand. “I only regret we
haven’t talked before this.” They shook hands.

At the door, Rhynne turned, reaching into his
vest pocket. “I quite forgot,” he said. He opened
a volume on the Reverend Colton’s desk and in
serted a slip of paper. “The Empire is conducting
a lottery,” Rhynne said. “As a man of the world,
I thought you might like to have the first ticket.
There’s no obligation, of course.”

Colton
took the paper from the book and ex
amined it. “You’ve given me number one,” he
said. “This ticket appears to be cut from a volume
of poetry.”

“
Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads. A great favor
ite of mine. Since we have no printing press in Hangtown, I had to sacrifice it.”

“
And the prize?”

“
I’ve not quite decided. I’m considering awarding the winner a week’s free lodging in the Empire’s best room furnished with a new bed I’ve
ordered from Horobin. It’s all rather nebulous at
this point.”

“
I could never accept such a prize. My parish
ioners would think I’d allied myself with the
devil.”

“
I understand. If you should win, and the
chances are ninety-nine to one you won’t, a gift of
cash to your church would be forthcoming.”

“
I don’t see how I could refuse that.”

Rhynne nodded.
“Good day to you, sir. Be
tween now and when we meet again, I suggest we
both reread the parable of the prodigal son.”

“
I’ll pray for you, Mr. Rhynne,” Colton said.

After Rhynne closed the door, Reverend Colton
looked from the door to the slip of paper he still
held in his hand. He shook his head in puzzlement,
then reached for his Bible.

***

“
I’ll go next door and find out if Abe has heard
anything more about English Bob,” Selena said.

“
You may as well,” Pamela told her. “We cer
tainly aren’t busy. Where is everyone today?”

In the gambling saloon, Selena found Abe be
hind the bar polishing glasses.

“
No,” he said in answer to her question. “I
haven’t heard a word. No one’s been in since you
saw that bunch of them leave. No one at all.”

Selena nodded and went outside to the porch.
When, looking to her left, she saw a group of men approaching the hotel, she ran down the steps into
the street. As the men went past, she saw that four of them were carrying English Bob on a canvas
stretched between two poles. Although Bob’s eyes
were closed, she thought she saw the rise and fall
of his chest.

“
Here’s the doc now,” one of the men said.

Dr. Braithewaite, followed by a miner, walked
quickly toward them.

“
Put him down, put him down,” Braithewaite
ordered. “Over there out of the sun.”

They laid English Bob in the shade of a cabin
across from the hotel. The men, hushed, crowded
around. Selena stood on tiptoe trying to see over
their shoulders.

“
What happened to him?” Braithewaite asked
as he knelt beside the wounded man.

They all spoke at once.

“Knifed.”

“
Up to McCowan’s Hill.”

“
The new man. The one with two slaves.”

“
At his place.”

“
The Mex girl did it,” Pike said. “English Bob
told me. She stabbed him.”

Braithewaite stood up.
“He’s hurt bad,” he said.
“All I can do is bandage him up and pray. And
give him morphine for the pain.”

“
Will he make it?”

Braithewaite raised his palms.
“It’s in God’s
hands,” he said.

A murmur ran through the crowd.

“The Mex gal,” Pike said. “She’s the one what did it.”

“
Let’s get her. Bring her back. Hold court.”
“All legal-like. We’ll try her and hang her.”

“
A woman? We can’t hang a woman.”

“
We’ll give her a trial. That’s what the trial’s
for, to see if we hang her or send her back where
she come from.”