The Miner's Lady (14 page)

Marco won several hands himself—enough anyway that he felt safe to participate in a few rounds of Leo's high-stake madness. The man sitting to the Finn's right, however, was losing fast, and when he put his revolver on the table as part of his final bid, Leo took a moment to examine it. “I suppose I can give you two dollars for it,” he told the man. “But nothing more. I've already got quite a collection of pistols.”

“Two? You gotta be joking. That's a Smith & Wesson barely three weeks outta the store. I paid twelve for it.”

“Then you were taken advantage of,” Leo said, shrugging.

The man stared hard at Leo for several seconds, then heaved a heavy sigh. “All right, two.”

Marco looked at the man. He could see he was intoxicated. “You sure you want to do that, mister? You've had quite a bit to drink and tomorrow you may regret this.”

Leo frowned. “You're putting a damper on business. Why not let the man decide for himself. Looks to me he's looking for a good time.”

“Yeah, but you and I both know he's had too much to drink.”

The Finn exchanged a look with Marco that suggested he was in agreement with him, but said nothing. Leo, however, didn't care. “That's his problem, not mine. I'm running a business.”

“Gimme the two dollars in chips,” the man demanded. He looked at Marco with a snarled expression. “You mind your own business.”

Marco decided it was best to let the man have his way. He wasn't the type who would usually say anything about another man's desire to play, but for some reason it really
bothered him that Leo would take advantage of him in this manner. In another two rounds of cards, the man had lost everything. Marco fully expected him to start a fight, but instead he wobbled to his feet and gave Leo a salute.

“I'll be back on payday,” he declared. “You keep my gun for me.”

Leo nodded and the man staggered off across the room. “You two still in?”

The Finn checked the time. “Maybe one more.”

Marco nodded and leaned back in his chair. He thought about ordering another beer, but decided against it. He already felt guilty for the three he'd had; no sense in making matters worse.

The Finn won the next hand, which only served to egg him on to play another and then another. Leo kept the man too busy with the cards to consider leaving, and nearly an hour later, they were still playing. Only now, the Finn was down considerably more than when he'd first planned to leave. Marco had won just enough to keep the game interesting, but now he was done. He was about to close out and head home when the Finn protested Leo's dealing.

“I saw you deal off the bottom,” he accused. “I'm not going to stand for that.”

“You callin' me a cheater?” Leo asked, his dark eyes narrowing. “I don't take that from any man.”

“Then you ought not deal from the bottom.”

Leo's arm shot out so quickly that his fist made contact with the Finn's nose before Marco even knew what was happening. The Finn was sober enough to protest his treatment by fighting back. He jumped to his feet and threw a punch at Leo.

Dodging the attack, Leo picked up the Smith & Wesson he'd acquired earlier. Marco feared he'd shoot the Finn, but instead he used the piece to hit him in the head. The blow sent the Finn backward, and Leo jumped around the table and was on him in a flash. Marco watched in horror as Leo pummeled the man's head several times with the butt of the pistol. When the Finn finally fell unconscious to the ground, Leo further stunned Marco by squatting down to go through his pockets.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked.

“He owes me for drinks.”

Marco shook his head as Leo cleaned the man out. He looked around at the others in the room, but no one seemed to even care. Leo rose and stared down at the man on the floor. “He's probably dead.” He gave the man's body a kick. “Yeah, he's dead.”

Leo glanced around the room, then signaled one of his men. “Fred, get rid of this for me. Throw him on the tracks and leave him for the marshal or the train.”

“You can't do that, Leo,” Marco protested. “The man might not even be dead.”

“If not, he soon will be. Nobody, and I mean nobody, calls me a cheat, Marco. You know that.” He fixed Marco with a threatening look. “And you know better than to say anything about this to anyone.”

Fred had already hoisted the Finn over his shoulder. Leo gathered the rest of the man's chips from the table. Marco could hardly believe that Leo had sunk to such lows.

“I'm going home,” Marco said, feeling sick. He had to figure out what to do, and he couldn't do it here.

“Good to have you back, Marco,” Leo said. He motioned to Marco's winnings. “Don't forget these.”

Marco looked at the chips. There were spatters of blood on them and the table. He felt his stomach turn. “Keep it,” he told Leo. “I don't want it.”

He left the Fortune Hole, barely taking the time to pull on his coat. Marco couldn't stop thinking of the Finnish man. Was he dead? Had Leo killed another man?

Guilt ate at Marco as he thought of Lamb. How many others had been killed? Leo didn't seem to mind having blood on his hands, and no one else seemed inclined to care. Sure, it was reported in the paper and talked about around town, but no one made too much fuss about it.

He pulled up the collar on his coat and trudged through the snow toward home. He wanted desperately to forget about everything he'd seen and heard, but the sight of the Finn on Leo's floor was more than he could ignore.

At home Marco found his father sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee. Marco slumped into the chair opposite his father and put his head in his hands.

“What's wrong with you, son? You drink too much? I've got some coffee on the stove.”

Marco shook his head, surprised at just how sober he was. “I'm not drunk.”

“Then what's the problem?”

He met his father's gaze. “I . . . well . . .” He knew Leo had demanded his silence, but Marco found he couldn't live with his conscience and remain quiet. “I saw a man get beat up and left for dead,” he finally said. He explained in brief, and by the time he got to the place where Fred was to dispose
of the body on the tracks, his father was up and putting on his coat.

“We have to go find out if the man is dead,” his father declared. “If he is, he doesn't deserve to be left on the tracks, and if he's alive, he'll freeze to death. We need to get him to the doctor.”

Marco nodded. “I don't know exactly where they would have dumped him.”

“It's no matter. We'll wake up Alfredo and take the lanterns. If he's on the tracks, one of us is bound to find him.”

The Monday day shift was just ending when Marco and Alfredo saw the marshal approaching. The man motioned Marco to join him; no doubt this was about the Finn. The Panettas had found him near death and half frozen shortly after they'd begun their search in the wee hours of Sunday morning. The Panetta men had managed to get the man over to Dr. Shipman's, but the doctor feared the man wouldn't survive. All day Sunday they had waited for word that the Finn had passed on, but it never came. Now the marshal was here, and Marco knew that couldn't bode well.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened to Mr. Gadd.”

“Was that the Finn's name?” Marco asked.

The marshal nodded. “Still is. I understand you were there when he was beaten up at the Fortune Hole.”

Marco looked to his brother for a moment, uncertain how he should respond. If he told the truth, Leo would be implicated and possibly arrested. And Marco feared Leo's wrath. But if he didn't tell the truth, it would be the same as approving of what had happened.

Turning back to the marshal, Marco nodded. “I was there.”

“Want to tell me what happened? Gadd can't tell me much of anything just yet. Doc thinks he'll recover, but it may be slow going for a while.”

“I'm glad to hear he didn't die,” Marco said. He couldn't help but feel self-conscious as his fellow miners shuffled by on their way home. “You think we could talk somewhere else? Maybe you could come to the house later?”

The marshal's eyes narrowed. “You afraid of something?”

Alfredo jumped in. “It's freezing out here and looks like it's gonna snow. At home, Mama will have hot coffee and food. You'd be welcome to join us for supper.”

Marco felt a sense of relief that his brother seemed to understand his apprehension. The marshal grinned. “Guess I have to eat, and I happen to know that folks highly regard your mama's and sisters' cooking. I suppose I could follow you over.”

“Why don't you just meet us at the house,” Alfredo said. “Marco and me gotta make a stop first, and then we'll be there.”

The marshal nodded. “I'll be by in about twenty minutes, then.”

Marco and Alfredo took off before the man could change his mind. Marco threw his brother a sidelong glance. “Thanks.”

“I figure you don't need word getting back to Leo that you're talking to the law.”

“I don't, but this is a small town. It's bound to.”

Alfredo shook his head. “Leo deserves to go to prison for what he did to that poor man.”

“It seems apparent that Leo is quite comfortable in ending
lives.” Marco couldn't help but shudder. It didn't sit well with him to know that he'd been rather blind to his friend's true nature.

Alfredo pointed to the general store. “Let's stop here and get Mama some peppermints. That way we won't have been lying when I told the marshal we had to make a stop.”

Marco followed Alfredo into the store. A few of the other miners were already inside purchasing a variety of things. Marco waited just inside the front door as Alfredo made his way to the counter. He couldn't shake the sense of dread that washed over him. Leo seemed more than happy to put an end to his problems, even when those problems came in the form of people. What would he do to Marco . . . to his family . . . should he find out that Marco told the marshal the truth?

He'll know it was me
.
Whether anyone sees me talking to the marshal or not . . . he'll know.
Maybe it would be better to say nothing at all.

Alfredo returned with a small sack of candy. “This ought to make Mama happy.”

“But having the marshal there won't,” Marco muttered as they exited the store. “She's going to be all worried about what's going on.”

“She'll be all right,” Alfredo assured him. “Papa probably already told her what happened. You know they don't keep secrets.”

Marco nodded, knowing his brother was right. The thought of his mother knowing the truth, however, left him feeling deeply ashamed. Their walk home was made in silence. The cold wind stung Marco's eyes and burned his lungs. He ducked
his face into his coat, glad for the little warmth it offered. Neither he nor Alfredo said another word on the matter of the marshal or Leo.

At home, Alfredo gave Mama the peppermints and told her the marshal would be joining them for dinner. Chantel and Isabella looked at Alfredo and then to Marco as if for an explanation, but neither man accommodated. Mama seemed to understand and instructed Isabella to set another place.

She knows,
Marco thought. Papa had no doubt told her what had taken place that night. Marco also hoped his father had kept back some of the details, but it wasn't likely. She didn't seem at all surprised by the news about the marshal, but her face bore an expression that suggested worry. It only made Marco's shame increase.

Marshal Garrison arrived and chatted about the town as if he were there for the sole purpose of visiting. Marco, however, shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on the meal set before him, but found it impossible.

“Ladies, this has been quite a delightful meal. I appreciate your taking me in like this.”

“It's no problem,” Mama said with a smile. “You are always welcome here.”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with your menfolk,” the marshal said, getting up from the table. “Could we perhaps adjourn to the sitting room?”

Marco saw his father nod. Standing, he motioned for Marco and Alfredo to follow. Reluctantly, Marco got up from his chair. He still wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say. He didn't want to lie; after all, he had told his father the
truth. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd just talked to the marshal out on the street. At least then he wouldn't be so hard-pressed to be honest.

They took seats in the front room and waited while Papa added wood to the fire. The marshal looked quite intent on getting on with the matter, however. He fixed Marco with a look that suggested he would brook no nonsense.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened at the Fortune Hole?”

Marco looked at the ground. “Not much to tell. There was a game of cards and a misunderstanding. Gadd and Leo Fortino got into it. Gadd thought Leo was dealing off the bottom.”

“And was he?” the marshal asked.

Marco shrugged. “Could have been. I didn't notice.”

“Were you in the game?”

“Yeah, but I wasn't paying too much attention. I'd had a few beers.”

Marshal Garrison nodded again. “Go on.”

“I don't know what else to say. Gadd accused Leo of cheating, and Leo took offense.”

“So he dealt the first blow?”

Marco squirmed in his seat like a ten-year-old. “He pretty much dealt the only blows. Gadd fought him—don't get me wrong—but you know Leo. He's fast.”

“Did he only use his fists?”

Marco looked at his father. He knew he had to tell the truth, but oh, how he wanted to avoid it. He didn't want to get on Leo's bad side.

“Tell him, son.”

“He hit him with a pistol butt.” Marco stopped and shook his head. “Look, I don't want Leo mad at me. He has to keep peace in his establishment. He just did what he thought he had to do. Gadd did fight back.”

“But not well,” the marshal replied.

“No, not well. Leo is wiry and fast.”

“So what happened after that, Marco?”

Again Marco looked to his father. He could see that he expected nothing but the absolute truth. With a sigh, Marco resigned himself to the situation. “Leo knocked Gadd out. He figured he was dead and . . . and . . . told one of his men to get him out of there.”

“Where was he supposed to take him?”

Marco dug his fingers into his legs. “He . . . Leo told him to dump the body on the railroad tracks.” There, he'd said it. He'd left no doubt as to Leo's intention to see the man dead.

The marshal nodded. “I guess he figured if Gadd wasn't already dead, he would be when the train came through. I suppose I need to go have a talk with Mr. Fortino. Attempted murder can't be tolerated.”

“Look, he's not going to like it that I said anything,” Marco declared without thinking. “I don't want to see harm come to my family.”

“Son, you don't need to worry about that,” Papa interjected. “It's important that you told the truth and that the marshal can get justice for Mr. Gadd. That man did not deserve to be dealt with in such a manner.”

“No, he certainly didn't,” Marshal Garrison agreed. He got to his feet. “I'm not sure how much justice we can get, but I intend to do what I can. Given there's only a mandatory
ninety-day sentence for murder, however, I'm not sure that Mr. Fortino will face anything more than a dressing down.” He shook his head. “It isn't right, but until we have better laws, I doubt we can expect much more. I want to thank you again for supper, Mr. Panetta. Now I'll make my way over to the Fortune Hole and see what I can find out there.”

Marco didn't bother to see the marshal to the door. He sat staring at the flames of the fire, wondering if he'd done the right thing.

Chantel felt her heart skip a beat when Dante and Orlando Calarco stepped into her bedroom to see their grandmother. She had been reading from the Bible to Nonna Barbato when they arrived. She glanced up to find Dante watching her with decided interest and couldn't help but feel all aquiver. The man's dark eyes connected with her own, and she felt a tug low in her belly.

“You have visitors,” Chantel said, getting to her feet.

Nonna Barbato smiled and welcomed her grandsons. “You boys look tired. Was it a hard day at the mine?”

“Every day is hard there, Nonna,” Orlando declared. He kissed her forehead. “That's why I don't intend to make it my living.”

His grandmother eyed him with amusement. “Oh? And what do you suppose you'll do instead?”

Orlando slipped into the chair vacated by Chantel. “I don't know. Maybe I'll learn to bake bread like you make. I think I could be a good baker, don't you?”

Chantel heard the older woman laugh, but her gaze was
fixed on Dante. He stepped forward and kissed his grandmother's forehead. “Orlando wouldn't make a good baker at all. He has no patience for it,” Dante declared.

This brought a smile to Chantel's lips, and she seriously wondered what Dante knew about the patience needed for baking. Nonna, however, thoroughly enjoyed seeing her grandsons and didn't seem to care at all what the topic of conversation might be. She let the boys ramble on about their day and about the neighbors, all while Chantel stood near the door. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but for some reason she hadn't thought to leave. When Nonna asked her a question, however, Chantel realized she had been deep in thought.

“I'm sorry, Nonna, what did you say?”

“I asked if you had some dessert left over for my boys. You know they are at each other's mercy for food these days. Soon I will be well enough to return home, but I think they would very much like some of your
Pesche Ripiene.
”

“Stuffed peaches at this time of year?” Orlando asked. “What a treat.”

“We used peaches we canned last fall,” Chantel replied. “It's not exactly the same, but they come out pretty good, if I do say so myself.” She smiled.

“It sounds wonderful,” Orlando replied.

“Then if you like, I'll bring you each a portion.” She looked to Dante, and to her surprise he gave her an almost boyish grin of delight.

“It's one of my favorites, I have to admit.”

She liked seeing the pleasure in his expression. Chantel hurried to the kitchen where her mother and Isabella were just putting away the last of the dishes.

“Mrs. Barbato asked me to give Orlando and . . . Dante some dessert. I hope you don't mind.”

Mama pulled down two dessert plates. “Of course not. Take them coffee, too. It was probably a cold walk to come see their nonna.”