“Whose wagon, Slick?” Dutch asked.
“Burton’s. Fitting, too.”
Dutch shook his head over that. Andrew Burton was a man he liked. Just went to show how one man could fool another. He turned and went back to the bar.
“They almost finished, Dutch?” McCready called out from where he sat with Mike and Lars.
“Just about. Slick’s going up to Clairmont first.”
“One problem down and the biggest one to go,” McCready muttered, solemnly contemplating his fresh drink.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, McCready,” Mike said, hunching himself over his glass. “We figured out between us what to do with Maggie.” He was a mite disappointed to see that McCready’s eyes didn’t hold a flicker of interest, but he told him what they decided anyway.
“See, Lars here admitted that she’s too rough and independent for a woman. A mite too tall. Now, me,” he said, “I don’t mind in the least. I need a woman that can take care of herself. She’s a mite feisty, that’s true, but she’ll come to learn who’s boss in our outfit.”
McCready lifted his glass to his lips and didn’t stop until he set it down empty. He smiled at Mike and poured out another drink for himself.
The man thought Maggie was going to learn to call him boss? She’d hold an Irish wake like she did for Pete before she let that happen
. And he knew he would be lifting the first glass.
“I believe you have disabused me of the myth that men living in the territories cannot settle their differences without resorting to violence. No fists, knives, or guns. A toast, gentlemen, to the gentlemen’s way of fighting over the same bone. Good liquor, clear terms, and proper payment.”
McCready didn’t wait to see if they would join him; he slugged his drink down. The liquor wasn’t gently blurring the edges tonight. His mind was sharp and clear, so he poured another one.
“So tell me, Lars,” he intoned softly, meeting the man’s steady gaze, “how much did Grant pay you to back off?”
“Five hundred dollars he offered.”
McCready slouched back against the chair. “Only five hundred? Bad deal. Maggie’s worth more.” And to Grant he said, “She’s young, strong, and has all her teeth. She can hit anything she aims at, does her own hunting, and really, when you come down to it, doesn’t need anyone.” The bitterness of his own words forced the glass to his lips once more, and he drained the few drops.
“Didn’t ask you to come over here to stir up trouble, McCready. We have this settled between us. The only thing Lars and me want from you, since you seem to know Maggie, is to go tell her what we decided. I want to get started for home in the morning.”
Jealousy floated like a cork on the sloshing waves of liquor in McCready’s stomach. He reached for the bottle, eyeing its half-full contents, promising himself that he would drown the cork before the night was over no matter how much whiskey it took. But as he poured slowly, he saw Maggie’s hair lit by firelight in the amber depths. Maggie, dancing on the table, telling him of the wee ones. Maggie, answering his demand that she give him her mouth with a dare of her own to take it. Maggie, giving and giving, filling the empty places.
He set the bottle down with a controlled motion and very carefully raised his glass. “I’ve heard that messengers get shot.”
“That little gal ain’t gonna shoot you.”
“You, my friend,” McCready announced in a slow drawl, “do not know Maggie.”
“Seems you’ve made it your business to tell me some bad and good points. The rest I’ll be pleasuring myself to find out.”
Pleasuring himself? With his Maggie
? McCready came out of his slouch and set his glass on the table beside the bottle. He turned in his chair just far enough to reach out and grab hold of Grant’s shirtfront, pulling the other man’s face close.
“You, cowpoke, aren’t talking about buying a cow. Maggie,
my Maggie
, hasn’t any ‘points.’ She’s a flesh-and-blood woman who you’ll treat with respect or answer to me.”
Mike Grant had faced his share of mean. But McCready’s eyes promised more than a good fight. There was death in his look. Since he was the stranger here, not McCready, Grant jerked free and slowly nodded. “I hear you.”
Lars had sat quietly and watched the two men, but he had his own worries that needed his attention, and he wanted this settled.
“Now, you will go to her and say this is the man she is married to,
ja
? You are to blame that she is so angry.”
“Lars’s right. Just stop this hemmy-hawing and give us your answer, McCready. You gonna go tell her?”
If Maggie hadn’t been barefoot, she would’ve never known that it was a body she stumbled over on the second wider circle she made around her cabin. By touch she knew it was a small man, still breathing but out cold judging by the lump behind his head.
“Pamela, get the lantern. Someone’s hurt.” Maggie spared a quick look down below, where the bonfire raged high behind the Rawhider. She could hear shouts coming from the milling figures.
Satin nearly made her fall when the dog rushed to her, licking her face and whining. Maggie pushed her down and ordered her to stay, but Satin sniffed and whined her way around the body. Before Pamela came with the lantern, Maggie knew the body was someone that Satin knew and no threat to them.
Holding the lantern high, and lifting her skirt to pick her way over the rocks, Pamela finally reached Maggie. “Why, it’s Ira. I fixed that shirt for him a few weeks ago.”
“Wonder what he’s doin’ up here?” Maggie turned him over, trying to be careful. “Whatever brought him up here, someone hit him. That knot he’s got ain’t from no fall. Ira’s got feet like a mountain goat.”
Nervous, Pamela looked around, swinging the lantern to throw light on the night’s blanket. “What if that someone is still here, Maggie?”
“No. Satin would be growlin’. You’ll have to go down an’ get Dutch.”
“Don’t ask me to do that, Maggie. Please, I’m afraid.”
“You can’t keep bein’ scared of your own shadow, Pamela. I ain’t dressed an’ Ira needs tendin’. You figure you can stay with him while I go down?”
“I don’t want to be left alone, Maggie.”
With a new understanding Maggie didn’t poke fun at her. She owed Pamela for helping her, and, having her own fear about storms a secret she shared with McCready, Maggie knew she would work out another way. Satin lay beside her with her head resting on her front paws, and Maggie absently patted her before coming to her feet.
“This is what we do. You stay right here while I get me boots and pants. I’ll send Satin to get Dutch.”
At the mention of her name, the dog came to stand beside Maggie.
“Good girl. Now, go fetch Dutch for me.” But the dog whined, then barked. “Go on. You obey me.” Maggie gave her a little push, but Satin came right back. “What’s wrong, girl? I need you to get Dutch. We have to get help for Ira. You like Ira, don’t you?” Maggie took her barks as a good sign. She was finally getting through, but when she ordered the dog off again, Satin refused to go.
“Maggie, maybe she doesn’t want to leave you after being away from you.”
“No. There’s somethin’ else. But I’ll be hornswoggled if I can figure what.”
Pamela suddenly grabbed hold of Maggie’s arm. “Look over at the ridge. Someone’s walking across, carrying a lantern.” She swung her lantern back and forth, trying to attract attention. For a few moments it appeared that they had been seen, for the other lantern hung motionless, but soon it was moving away.
“Stop wastin’ time,” Maggie ordered. “Satin, go get Dutch. I need him, girl. Go now. Go on,” she added when the dog trotted off and turned. “Do it.” Maggie swore when Satin’s eyes gleamed in the light before she finally turned and ran. The dog actually seemed to be pleading with her not to send her away. Maggie shrugged it off. She was, without a doubt, losing her mind.
“Hang on to this,” she said to Pamela, handing over her rifle. “It’s loaded, so be careful. I’ll be right back.”
Maggie left the cabin door open, knowing that it would make Pamela feel safer. She pulled on her old pants and stuffed her shirt inside. Just as she sat to pull on her boots, a bloodcurdling scream from Pamela had her running to the door.
“What’s wrong, Pamela?”
“There’s a fire!”
Maggie almost snorted and went back inside. “Yeah,” she called out. “I saw the bonfire they built behind the Rawhider.”
“No! It’s on the ridge across from us. Where we saw the lantern. Maggie, the tents are burning!” It took a few minutes for Pamela to realize that Maggie didn’t answer her. She turned and saw the cabin door closed. “Maggie! Maggie!” Pamela ran back and tried to open the door, then pounded on it when she found it barred. “Answer me!” All she got was silence. Pamela screamed for help.
Satin burst through the open door of the Rawhider and barked to get Dutch’s attention. He hushed her, engrossed with waiting to hear McCready’s decision about going to tell Maggie, as Lars and Mike wanted him to.
When she snarled and grabbed hold of his pant leg, he had to give her what she wanted.
But McCready was already running across the room. “What’s Satan doing here?”
“Don’t know, boss. And her name’s Satin. Can’t you remember?”
“Never mind. Maggie wouldn’t let that dog out of her sight after what happened. Something’s wrong.” McCready acted without thought. He dropped to his knees and reached out to grab hold of the dog’s neck. “Easy, girl, I won’t hurt you. Maggie sent you, didn’t she? Nothing else makes sense. But Ira’s up there with them, isn’t he?” His look caught Dutch’s curt nod. Satin issued a low, steady warning growl, and McCready let her go.
“I hear you say that dog belongs to Maggie?” Mike asked from behind McCready.
“That’s right. Maggie’s best friend. Where Maggie goes, so does Satan. Just like Ruth in the Bible.”
“Satan! Ain’t a fitting name to be mentioning in the same breath with the Bible, but she’s a fierce-looking critter.”
“This, gentlemen, is one of the devil’s own, just like me. Right, girl?” he asked, leaning toward the dog and holding out his hand. “You’re going to take us to Maggie.” He rose and took the rifle from Dutch. “Care to come along?” he asked the other two men.
The faraway shots and faint screams stopped their talk. McCready and Dutch shared a look and spoke at the same time. “Berger!”
“Who is this Berger?” Lars asked but found himself running to keep up with the others.
“A dead man!” McCready shouted back.
“Up there, on the ridge!” Slick yelled.
For a moment the sight of fire arrested McCready and every man that turned to look. But McCready was already gazing up to where Maggie’s cabin was, relief flooding him when he didn’t see flames leaping high. On the other ridge fire was spreading to the tents and shacks that belonged to the miners.
The miners moved like an angry horde around to the street where McCready and the others stood.
“Slick, bring that wagon. Dutch, break open those new barrels of whiskey and pour it out. We’ll fill them with water from the creek.”
“You’re ordering me to spill out good whiskey, boss?”
“You heard me. Take whoever you need to help you. Maybe we can save something.”
No one was more surprised than McCready to find Satin trotting at his heels when he broke into a run. There were enough men to form a bucket brigade up the ridge before the fire spread to the street. But Maggie and Pamela were alone, and Berger was still out there somewhere.
McCready ran, cursing the liquor he drank that slowed him down. Ira could have fired a few warning shots when he saw the fire. But a woman had been screaming. Warning them of the fire or someone more dangerous? The question was one McCready asked himself as he reached the bridge. He couldn’t see any light coming from Maggie’s cabin.
Satin streaked by him, running flat out, and he had no choice but to follow her. Every breath he drew was filled with the smoke drifting across to him. The only thing he could be thankful for was that there was no wind tonight. He heard shouts and yells as orders went back and forth from the men below as they filled whatever they could find with water.
But all he could think about was Maggie. That was why Pamela’s headlong flight down the rocky path caught him unawares and sent them both sprawling in a tangle of arms and legs.
It took McCready a few minutes to recover, and when he did, he had to shake Pamela to stop her crying and get her to make sense of her babbling.
“Where is Maggie?” he demanded.
“Up t-there. Ira’s hurt. We found him. Someone hit him and he has a lump and Maggie wasn’t dressed and I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Slow down, Pamela. I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying.” He helped her to stand and had to peel her clawlike grip from his arm. “Now, tell me where Maggie is?”
“The cabin. S-she was getting dressed. I didn’t want to be alone outside with Ira, but she gave me her rifle. I saw the fire and started screaming. Maggie heard me. She came to the door but went back inside by the time I told her where the fire was. When she didn’t come out, I turned and the door was closed.”
“So, she wanted some privacy to get dressed. It’s no reason to try breaking your neck by running—”
“You don’t understand! McCready, the door is barred. I called her, and when she didn’t answer me, I tried to open the door.”
“Listen to me.” He gripped her arms, shaking her. “Did you hear Maggie inside?”
“N-no. That’s why I’m running for help. Maggie didn’t answer me when I screamed, not even when I fired off her rifle.”
Her panicked words tore through him just as Satin’s barking reached a new pitch. McCready released her and raked his hand through his hair. “I want you to go down, but don’t let anyone come up here, Pamela.”
“But if someone has Maggie—”
“That’s just it. I think it’s one man, but I’m not sure. And no one knows what would happen to Maggie if he’s cornered. I’ll figure out a way, but you go on.” He gave her a light push, already turning to run.
“Be careful, McCready,” she whispered after him.
Within minutes McCready was kneeling by Ira’s side, as the man moaned himself awake. He helped the miner to sit up, firing questions in a whisper at him. “Did you see anyone? Hear anything before you were hit?”
“Not a blasted thing. Can’t you hush up that dog? She’s making enough noise to make my bones rattle.”
“Just be thankful that she’s ignoring us. That is one devil I don’t want to tangle with, Ira. Can you stand now?”
“I’ll give it a try. Maggie and Pamela all right?”
McCready shook his head, then realized that Ira couldn’t see him. Coming behind the old miner, McCready helped him to his feet, steadying him with his own body when the man rocked to and fro. “Sure you’ll be all right?”
“McCready, I’m tougher than I look, and you didn’t answer me. Them women all right?”
“Pamela’s down below. I told her not to let anyone come up here.”
“And Maggie? Where’s she?”
“Inside, Ira.”
“Gawd damn!” Talking and trying to turn around cost him his strength, and he had to grip McCready’s arm not to fall. “Guess I ain’t as tough as I figured, huh?”
Lifting Ira’s arm around his shoulders, McCready moved him away from the cabin. Lowering him to rest against a small rock outcrop, he planted his hands on his hips and looked down at Ira.
“You stay put out of harm’s way. Pamela didn’t see anyone, but it could be more than one man.”
“That fella Berger?”
“That’s what I think. How desperate he is, I don’t know. All I want to do is get Maggie out and safe.”
“Helped Pete build that cabin. Solid. If the door’s barred and the windows shuttered, ain’t no way you’re going inside lessen they let you in.”
“Nothing like a few impossible odds to make a challenge worthwhile.”
“That’s the spirit, son. How’d that get started across the ridge?” Ira asked, pointing to the fire.
“I didn’t stay to find out.”
“Someone tried fooling us by yelling fire. It almost worked. Could be the same man trying to draw us all away.”
McCready nodded, but he was studying the dark outline of Maggie’s cabin. Ira claimed there was no way in unless somebody opened the door, and that wasn’t likely to happen. He tried to coax the dog away, but she ignored every one of his whispered promises along with the commands he tried.
Smoke drifted toward them in thickening clouds, and tiny figures were visible moving about as the men fought the fire. McCready kept glancing from the fire to the cabin and suddenly had an idea.
“Wish me luck, old-timer.”
“McCready, what’re you gonna do?” But Ira saw that he had already gone around back of the cabin and couldn’t hear him. He rubbed the lump on the back of his head, then tried to call the dog away. But he had as little success as McCready.
Inside the cabin William Berger was having very little success in forcing Maggie to draw him a map to her gold claim. He couldn’t kill her, but he thought his threats sounded as if he were desperate enough to do it. The woman was proving to be extremely stubborn.
“Gold isn’t worth losing your life over,” Berger told her once more. “Draw the map and I’ll leave.”
Maggie eyed the gun he held. There wasn’t a quiver to be seen in his hand. She knew he had to be the one that started the fire to draw everyone’s attention. And he had managed to catch her unaware with one boot on. She had been too far to grab her handgun and had no idea where her knife was. She hadn’t seen it since the morning McCready had come with his breakfast peace offering. The badgering continued for her to draw him a map to the claim, and she tried to close out his voice, not understanding why she didn’t do what he wanted.
“Can’t you shut that dog up?”
“She won’t stop lessen I let her inside.”
“No. You aren’t going to try to get me to open that door. This is the last time I’m going to say this. You either draw me that map, or I’ll start shooting. It won’t be pretty. You can still use one hand after the other holds a bullet and you could still walk with one leg if you force me to keep on.”
Maggie clutched her hands together. It wasn’t the threat of what he would do, but the edge in his voice that told her she was pushing him. It had been a long while since she had heard Pamela at the door and didn’t know if she was still outside with Ira or had run down for help.
The man, Berger, had the same habit as McCready of raking his hand through his hair, but McCready’s hair was thick and Berger’s thin enough to reflect the light off his scalp every time he touched it. She kept hoping that he would get careless and turn his back toward her, for he was short and slightly built. She might be able to land a few solid punches and get the gun away from him. But never once in the minutes that seemed to stretch and stretch had he given her an opportunity.
“A pickle,” she whispered to herself.
“What? What was that? Did I hear you say you’ll do it?”
Maggie looked at his eyes and didn’t like what she was seeing. They had a desperate look. Satin ceased her barking and began scratching and whining at the door, so it was real easy to hear Berger click the gun hammer back.
“No. Don’t start shooting. I’ll make you a map.” Fear for her dog made Maggie agree. But it was hard for her to swallow his gloating smile. “Trouble is, I don’t have what’s needed. Ain’t got a pen or paper.”
Berger eyed her carefully to see if she was trying to trick him. But he saw for himself the meanness of the cabin, and pen and paper would not number among this woman’s possessions.
Backing away from her, never once taking his eyes from her, he reached the back wall and snatched down a shirt. Throwing it to her, he ordered, “Tear off the back and use that.”
Maggie caught her shirt, crushing the cloth in her hands. This was the shirt she had worn that morning McCready came. The shirt she had worn when he taught her to play. The same shirt that she had so willingly taken off wanting him so badly. And where was McCready when she needed him this time? Likely getting himself drunk with relief being rid of her.
The cloth tore before she realized she was doing it. Pushing aside the clutter on the table, Maggie smoothed out the material. “That gives me somethin’ to draw on, but me finger ain’t gonna do you no good.”
“Don’t sass me. There’s got to be something here you can use.”
Maggie eyed the stove. Berger had set the fire across the ridge, of that she was sure. The smoke was beginning to drift in through the cracks in the chinking between the logs. It wasn’t enough for him to notice, but Maggie smelled the smoke. Fire was everyone’s biggest fear.
She pushed back her chair.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You said I had to find somethin’ to use to draw you the map. I just figured I could take a stick from the fire if they ain’t all burned. If not, I’ll just stick a piece of the kindlin’ in.” His glare told of his mistrust, and Maggie took a little of Pamela’s meek manner and lowered her head. “That all right with you?”
“Just get on with it and remember that I’m watching every move you make.”
“I’ll remember,” she muttered, kneeling down in front of the small wood stove. With the poker in her hand, she opened the door and knew she would find some glowing coals. The poker was a weapon, but with him standing on the other side, she wouldn’t have a chance of hitting him before he fired a shot. She set the poker down and took up a split piece of wood. Carefully she held it against the coals until it began smoking. Soot began to filter down, and Maggie fought the urge to look up.
She turned her head and began loudly hushing the dog, hoping to distract Berger from what she was noticing.
Another clump of soot fell, and she saw the stovepipe shake. The temptation to look up, even as she strained to hear if someone was up on the roof, grew to be almost impossible for her.
She wanted to believe that someone was up there. Pamela would have gone for help. But she had to get away from the stove before Berger noticed what was happening. Time was all she could buy for herself and whoever had come to her rescue. Once again she didn’t feel so strong or certain that she could take care of herself and whatever came her way. First, McCready had shown her and now Berger.
The intense heat of the stove forced her to move. She closed the door and rose, moving slowly to the table, all the while keeping up steady loud commands for Satin to stop her whining.
Seated again, Maggie started at the lower end of the cloth to draw the map. She had no intention of showing Berger where the gold claim was, but she didn’t know how much he knew. Her map had to have real landmarks. What she hadn’t counted on was Berger coming to stand behind her.
“No tricks.” He placed the gun to the back of her head and finally had the satisfaction of rattling her. The line she was drawing revealed the tremble in her hand.
“There’s no marking for north or south. I warned you not to try—”