Authors: David B. Riley
"Walk with me, Mr. O'Malley.” He went outside, then turned toward the vineyard. I followed along.
"You and the brothers have been so kind to me. I was wondering if there was something I could do for you?"
John plucked a grape off a vine. He tasted it, then plucked another and handed it to me. He waited for me to taste it. It tasted like a grape. I had eaten a few before. I liked the flavor, but did not care for the tiny seeds.
"We harvest in ten days. Did you want to stay and help us pick grapes?"
"I need to get back; see if I even still have a job to get back to,” I explained.
"Then have a safe journey, Mr. O'Malley. One man will not make a significant difference to our harvest. Get on with your life in San Francisco."
"Well, tell Brother Thomas I really enjoyed his cooking."
The monk smiled. “He'll be happy to hear that."
So, I loaded up Paul. I was just about to head off, when shots rang out in the chapel. I ran over there as fast as I could. I stopped halfway across the courtyard and took refuge behind a St. Francis statue.
Two men in Gray Army uniforms were running around to the front of the chapel. I retreated a few yards until I was underneath some bushes. I'd only been there a few seconds when I heard steps next to me. Someone else dove under the bushes, Brother Franklin.
"I told John there'd be trouble if we started dealing with gold."
"Where are the others?” I asked.
"All inside. I was late for prayers or I'd have been there too,” Franklin said.
"How many Gray Army?"
The monk shook his head. “I don't know. I counted ten. There could be more. How could they know we were back? We never told anyone our panning location."
"The Gray Army is made up of a lot of Indians, perhaps a third of their force were culled from missions such as these.” I seemed recall that from one of the reports on Judge Hastings desk. “The Indians knew you went panning. They only needed to wait for your return."
"Our own Indians? I don't see any here. These are white men."
"That doesn't mean they didn't get advice. They could have planned this some time back. I had hoped the Gray Army was disbanded. I guess not.” I crawled out of the bushes, but stayed low. “Where is the gold?"
The monk looked at me, but did not speak.
"Dang it, if you want to get out of this with your friends alive, you better let me help you."
"You know a lot for a barber?” the monk said. He hesitated a moment. then told me, “It's in a bag underneath the stove in the kitchen. They're not even close."
"All this for a few ounces of gold?"
"The bag contains a hundred pounds. I was weighing it when this happened. We're better panners than you think."
"I should say so.” Then, I noticed a man wearing general's insignia. I presumed he was Creed's replacement. “Go get a small bag of a few ounces and bring it."
"It's against my better judgment.” The monk crouched along the buildings and made his way to the kitchen. He returned in a few minutes with a bag of, perhaps, a half pound—a substantial sum under normal circumstances.
"Thank you, brother."
"What happens now?” Franklin asked.
"We begin our negotiations.” I stood upright and approached the two soldiers standing sentry in front of the chapel. “Gentlemen, I need to see your general."
They both aimed their rifles at me. “Drop your weapon."
I held my arms out. I was carrying the bag of gold dust, but had left my revolver behind, next to the monk. “I am not armed."
"Stay put.” One of them raced off into the church. The other kept his aim on me. Soon, the other sentry and the general were on the scene.
I held out the gold dust bag. “I believe this is what you're looking for."
The general opened the bag. He seemed impressed. “That all of it?"
"Yes, general,” I said.
"How'd you know I'm a general? Our rank—it ain't the same insignia as the Union Army."
"I guessed."
He peered at me for a moment. “You're that idiot, O'Malley. You're the one got near everyone killed."
"I tried to warn General Creed. It was the Martian, not me, that killed him."
"Well, we'll see about that.” He turned toward one of the sentries. “Line up them monks against a wall. We'll conduct ourselves a little firing squad."
I'd hoped they take the gold and leave. There seemed little to be gained by killing monks. My fate—well, I knew that risk was there. I'd guessed wrong. Then, flying through the air, came my revolver from the direction Brother Franklin had been hiding. It was a magnificent throw. It landed right in my hands. I shot both sentries at once. They both went down with shoulder wounds. Their weapons fell to the ground with them. I trained my gun on the general. “Turn around."
He reluctantly complied. “Where'd you get that gun? I know you were searched."
The general still did not know about Franklin. “It fell from heaven. God likes me.” I clamped my arm around his neck and placed the barrel of my revolver to his temple. “General, call out the rest of your men. Tell them to drop their weapons and line up."
He did as instructed. They all came out and tossed down their guns. The monks followed them out. “What now? The sheriff is miles away. I've got scouts out there."
"I've got a better idea. Get on your horses and leave.” I waited for the soldiers to mount up. Then, I handed the general the gold dust bag.
"You're giving this to me?"
"Less incentive for you to come back here,” I said.
The general climbed up on his horse. “Move out."
When they'd gone, Franklin came out from behind the bushes. “I don't see why you had to give him the gold. You rewarded his shenanigans."
"There's more where that came from, brother. They have what they wanted.” I went and found my horse, who was still standing in the stable where I'd left him. “Glad they didn't swipe you again."
I climbed up on my horse and started in the opposite direction the riders had gone. “Be careful,” Brother John said. “Those men know you. Did you give them a bad shave, once?"
"Something like that, brother.” I looked at Franklin. “Some throw.” It reminded me of miners tossing rocks full of ore into ore carts.
Brother Franklin made the sign of the cross. “Travel safely, Mr. O'Malley."
"Lots of men gave up on prospecting and took up other vocations. They got tired of claim jumpers and cave-ins,” I said.
"Travel safely, Mr. O'Malley."
Finally, we returned to the City by the Bay. I'd left fearing I was becoming a city slicker. I returned feeling like I was coming back home. I liked my barbering job. I liked my rooming house. And Paul didn't seem to mind living in his shed and roaming the neighborhood all day. Compared to living in an otel in some rundown town, well things looked pretty good.
To my surprise, my few belongings had not been tossed out. My room was just as I'd left it, perhaps a little cleaner. I ventured down the street to see if I still had employment. The Captain looked up from a customer. Another man was waiting. “Well, Miles, this man don't need to wait all day, does he, while you're out gallivanting around? Get a move on it."
We had steak for supper that night, with apricot pie. I noticed the apricot tree in the back yard had been picked clean in my absence. When I'd finished eating, I patted my stomach. “Mrs. Wilson, that was a right fine supper."
She took my plate away. “I'm glad you enjoyed it. Why don't you mosey out in front and set on the porch a spell."
"Don't mind if I do.” I stretched out and watched a few passers-by. My horse was grazing on the front lawn. I wondered if I'd ever figure out how he kept getting out. He did not seem to want to share his technique.
Paul suddenly looked up. He wasn't looking at the horse, but the black carriage the horse was pulling. The horse stopped across the street. It sat there a few minutes, then an arm extended through the window, beckoning me.
I walked over to it. The door opened. I climbed inside and wasn't all that surprised to see Judge Hastings. “Evening, your honor."
"Mr. O'Malley, I was pleased to hear you recovered your horse."
"It's good to have him back."
"After your work is complete tomorrow, could you stop by my house and give me a haircut?” Hastings asked.
"I'd be honored, sir,” I said, baffled at why he'd want one of my haircuts.
"Splendid. You've been there before, as I recall."
"Yes, I remember where it is."
"Splendid."
I climbed out of the carriage and off it went. I went back to the porch. “Wonder what that's about?"
"Who are you talking to?” Mrs. Wilson asked though the window.
"Uh ... my horse, ma'am."
"Your horse?"
"When you've spent as much time on the trail as we have, well sometimes he's more like a person."
She grinned, just slightly. “I talk to him when I work in the yard, Mr. O'Malley."
I would never have figured that. I leaned back in the porch swing.
I must've fallen asleep. I awoke and it was quite dark. Somebody had put a blanket over me. I checked and found my horse was asleep in his shed. I made my way to my bed and again dozed off.
The smell of bacon and coffee got me up in time for work. As I ate my breakfast, I asked Mrs. Wilson, “How come your coffee always tastes the same?” I finished my cup and pushed my breakfast plate away. “It's always exactly the same."
She looked puzzled. “Why would it change?"
"Every cup of O'Malley coffee tastes different."
She waved a dishtowel at me. “Mr. O'Malley, you say the darnedest things."
"It's true,” I insisted, “the Captain won't let me make coffee at the barbershop. Last time I did, he thought I was trying to poison him."
"It's not that hard to make coffee."
"Well, I best be off."
As I sauntered along, I wondered why no one ever seemed to wonder why I kept going off for periods of time. The Captain never said a word about my absence. Mrs. Wilson never had, either. It seemed to me the Captain should've hired a replacement, and Mrs. Wilson should've found another lodger. Frankly, I was afraid to bring up the subject.
It sort of came up in the shop. A customer asked the Captain where I'd been. The Captain told him my horse had run off to Nevada, and I had to go fetch him. The customer didn't seem to believe him.
Quitting time finally rolled around, and I made my way to Judge Hastings’ residence. A servant brought me into the office I'd been to before. Judge Hastings was sitting behind his desk, reading the
Examiner
.
He didn't really look like he needed a haircut. In fact, it appeared to me he already had the services of a very capable barber. “Ah, Mr. O'Malley.” He gestured at an empty chair.
I sat. The chair was most comfortable.
"Mr. O'Malley, you've now had more contacts with the Gray Army than anyone I am aware of. And, unlike most of our agents, you are still alive. This is most remarkable."
"I'd be real happy if I never saw that bunch again."
"The incident at the mission, I'd hoped they were disbanding. Looking for funds is a sign they are trying to regroup,” he explained.
"How did you know about that?"
"Brother John told the bishop. The bishop was concerned and told me."
I had not thought of that. “Oh."
"It's unfortunate, the monks lost all their gold that way. I believe you acted correctly. They would have most certainly returned after you had left if there was still gold there. The bishop was not in agreement. I informed him you are a private citizen, and there was nothing I could do. However, had a U. S. Marshal been in the same situation, I would have been pleased if he had done the same. I do not need to read about a massacre of monks in the evening paper. I reminded him, he does not either."
Apparently, the monks had not shared all information on this matter. They certainly were not out of gold, as I recalled.
"We are going to allow the limited use of convict labor,” Hastings said.
"This will get them through their grape harvest. They can sell wine and hire laborers later. Frankly, this whole Gray Army business has been an incredible disruption in our way of life. Some of the Mexicans do have some grievances over land claims. Many Indians may not have been treated fairly. But, that owl-headed man has incited them into an army where all he plans for them is cannon fodder.” He slammed his fist on the desk. “It has got to stop."
I didn't have any problem with what I'd heard. “Your honor, what's this have to do with me? I'm just a barber."
"Well, I think your life will return to normal when my life returns to normal.” He leaned back in his chair. “When that scoundrel is dead."
"Ah Puch cannot be killed. He said so himself,” I stated.
Judge Hastings rubbed his eyes. “Perhaps, we may have to settle for a well-fortified prison cell. He must be stopped. That is certain."
I sat there and waited. The pep talk had been unnecessary. Even as stupid as I was, I saw the danger of Ah Puch and his followers. What I was waiting for was what his honor had planned for me.
He opened his desk drawer and removed a telegram. He placed it on top of the desk, then turned it around in my direction. “This is from Miss Jones."
Look for an owl in Venus
.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay?"
"Mr. O'Malley, I have no clue what this means. The planet Venus? I sent agents down to the art museum. There is nothing there pertaining to Venus De Milo.” He placed the telegram back in his desk.
"The Town of Venus,” I stated.
"There is no such place."
"Yes, there is."
The judge opened up a map. “This is the latest map from the Geological Survey. There is no such town in this state."
I pointed to a place on the map between Vallejo and Napa. “It's right there."
"Are you certain?” He looked at the map. “There's nothing there."
"I've been there. It's a ghost town,” I insisted. “Been deserted since the gold rush days, I'd say."
He started writing down something on a piece of paper. “I'll be."