Escape From Gold Mountain Read online

  The big red-haired man laughed. “Mayhap the truth of it is you can’t hold your liquor, eh?” He turned to the barkeeper. “Fetch me a beer. Tex, here, will have one, too.”

  The other man named Tex chuckled deep in his chest. “Y’all’s not one to be talking about not holding liquor, Charley, not after the times y’all went plumb crazy after getting likkered up. They ever let y’all back in Lundy after the way y’all cut up that town a couple of years back?”

  Charley snarled his response. “Been working there until a week ago. You plan to make something of it?”

  Tex shook his head with a grin and patted the pistol holstered on his right hip. “Y’all got a reputation with a knife, Charley Jardine, but it don’t do no good bringing a knife to a gunfight. Don’t try tangling with me.”

  Luke kept his face expressionless, and his stance affected indifference. He refused to give the appearance of weakness or fear by inching away no matter how much he wished to distance himself from this pair. He took note that Charley Jardine, the big redhead with the Canadian accent, was a knife man who couldn’t hold his liquor, and Tex, the man with the southern drawl and two pistols strapped around his waist, considered himself to be good with a gun.

  Charley continued. “Truth is, I’ve friends in Lundy that’ll stand with me through thick and thin. Both my brother James and I worked the May Lundy until that meddling Deputy Sheriff Willcox came up and shut the place down. It’s why I’m here looking for work.”

  The last statement immediately caught Luke’s attention. The May Lundy mine in Lundy was one place the livery owner in Bridgeport had suggested he look for employment. As the biggest mine in Lundy, it meant Luke would have had a better chance of getting on there this late in the season as opposed to the smaller mines in the Homer Mining District. However, the man had said nothing about the mine being closed.

  “When did the May Lundy shut down?”

  The two men, beers in hand, turned in unison and studied Luke more closely.

  Charley Jardine spoke. “Five days ago. You just curious, or are you headed up there?”

  “If I can’t get on at the Standard, I had thought of going up that way.”

  Charley snorted and shook his head. “There’s no work at the Standard, not even for an experienced miner, which you don’t look to be. I just checked. All the May Lundy crew are scrambling for what work they can find, but the other mines are already full.”

  Luke refused to feel insulted. He worked his tongue inside his mouth before he responded with a mild drawl. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll probably check myself, just to be sure. If I don’t have any luck, guess I’ll start looking for something else.”

  Charley narrowed his eyes. “What kind of work have you done?”

  Luke shrugged. “Farming. Working cattle. Fishing. Made my way out here working as a seaman.”

  Charley eyed Luke with interest. “Worked your way out here from where? You from back east? You sound almost like you hail from Canada.”

  Luke kept it vague. “The Great Lakes area. Came through Canada and down the Atlantic to Panama, then up the coast.”

  Tex offered one of his deep-chested chuckles. “Sounds like you and Charley could almost be neighbors, don’t it? Didn’t y’all and your brother come from somewhere up Canada-way, Jardine?”

  Charley glanced back at his companion with impatience. “Yeah, Nova Scotia. It’s where my family settled. But, not being much of a farmer, it wasn’t home to me.” He turned to Luke. “You Canuck?”

  Luke shook his head. “I’ve some French in me, but I’m American.” Luke knew most Americans regarded the French as a predominantly dark-haired people like their European neighbors in Spain and Italy. He left it at that to allow the two men to assume that accounted for his dark features.

  Charley sniffed. “Yeah, there’s plenty of French up that way, eh? Plenty of Metis, too. The French sure like their Indian wives.” He studied Luke’s face even closer. “You Metis?”

  Luke turned and looked Charley full in the face. A quick glance at Tex told him both men were more than a little interested in hearing his answer. Luke was one quarter Ojibwa, what the Americans called Chippewa. He also knew that except for his dark hair and eyes, most non-native people found it difficult to see his Indian ancestry by studying his face. He also knew all too well the prejudice against those with any native blood.

  “No.” Luke softened his next question with a lop-sided smile. “Are you?”

  Charley replied with a high-pitched laugh as he leaned away from the bar and shook his head. “Not likely, lad. All my ancestors were bred and born in Scotland before the lot came to Nova Scotia. No Indians in the highlands, eh? None bedded down with my ancestors once they crossed the ocean, either. Tex, now, I’ve heard-tell mayhap he has Indian in him.”

  Tex offered Charley a murderous glare. “Calling me part Injun’s a good way to end up with a belly full of lead, Jardine. Don’t go suggesting it, not even in fun.” Tex’s eyes narrowed as he studied Luke’s middle. “Looks like y’all got an Injun tomahawk hanging from your belt. You sure y’all not Injun?”

  “Bought it off an Indian back east.” Luke didn’t clarify that the Indian he had purchased it from was his stepfather, a full-blooded Ojibwa who had always had it in for Luke because he looked too white. The man had sold it to Luke for whiskey money, then later demanded Luke give it back. The two had fought over that tomahawk. Luke, much to his stepfather’s surprise and angry dismay, had prevailed and kept the tomahawk. Not long after that incident, Luke left the tribe for Lake Superior.

  Luke took a sip of his drink and looked away. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the pair dropped the topic of Indians, the better.

  “Look, there’s no mining jobs to be had. But, if you’d be interested in something where there’s money to be made, mayhap we can help you out.” Charley glanced over at Tex before he focused back on Luke. “You’ve run cattle? Know what you’re doing, eh?”

  Luke answered cautiously. “I know enough. I can handle a rope pretty good.”

  Luke could do more than pretty good. He might not be the tallest man around, but because of his speed and agility, he had always been a favorite to rope and tie the calves for branding.

  “Didn’t come on no stage, did y’all? Y’all got you a horse?”

  “I have a horse, a nice steady little mustang. Don’t know if she’s been trained as a cow pony, though. What do you have in mind?”

  Charley and Tex gave each other a knowing glance. Luke surmised his answers were what they sought.

  Charley nodded towards a vacant table standing by itself in the far corner. “It’s best we talk about it over there, eh?”

  As the three picked up their drinks and moved to the table, Luke noticed Tex made a point to bull his way into the seat which kept his back to the corner so he could see the entire room. Luke and Charley claimed the chairs on either side of him.

  Charley held out his hand to Luke. “Charley Jardine.” Luke shook, but quickly reclaimed his hand. Charley jerked his head towards the man between them. “This here’s Tex Wilson. My guess is it’s not the name his mother gave him, but it’s what he goes by. Sometimes out here, a man chooses to go by a different name than he started with, eh?”

  As he returned Tex’s nod of acknowledgement, Luke once more sensed the need for caution with these two. He decided they didn’t need to know his real name. He introduced himself the same way he had when he first covered his tracks in case his stepfather searched for him. He gave them a variation of his last name, McDaniels. “Dan. Dan Mackey. Now, tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Well, Danny, if you’ve worked cattle, you know it’s getting close to fall round-up. If you’ve never enjoyed a winter in this county, you’ll find it’ll remind you of winters back home. The ranchers around here need help rooting their herds out of the mountains, to bring them to the valleys, eh? Plus, they’ll be culling the herds, driving some up to the railhead in Reno to sell since it�
��s too hard to keep them all alive until spring. We’ll be helping them rounding up strays and getting them up to the railroad and sold. The work will only last ‘til the snow flies, but there’s good money in it. You interested?”

  Luke hesitated. As Charley outlined the job, Luke noted something shifty about the look in his eyes and he grew uneasy over the nervous tapping of Charley’s fingers on the tabletop. He felt Tex’s stare bore into him. The man sat still as a statue, leaning on the table with his arms folded while he waited for Luke’s answer. Luke didn’t like the idea of being beholding to the two for a job. Still, with his funds dwindling, the prospect of work appealed to Luke. “Maybe. Who will we be working for?”

  “We’ll be rounding up more than one brand. Ranchers like the Caldwell brothers are so big and have so many head running loose they can’t keep track of them. We’ll find their strays and those of other ranchers and take care of them, eh? You in?”

  Luke stalled several seconds as he slowly took a sip of his tea that had cooled to lukewarm. His brain mulled over the proposition. Something told him, considering who was making the offer, there might be trouble involved. He couldn’t figure out what it might be. He did need the work. And, if his impression of these two was correct, all he needed to do was tough it out with them a month or so until winter set in, collect his pay, and be on his way, never to deal with the pair again.

  ~o0o~

  His hands balled into fists, Luke rose to his full height. The red suffusing his face revealed the anger coursing through him. “What’s the meaning of this? This is not what you told me the job involved. Exactly what’re you doing with these cattle?”

  Charley snorted his derision. “Were you born yesterday, lad? What did you think this was about?”

  “You told me we were working with local ranchers rounding up strays and branding them with the brand of their mothers, and we would get our pay when we drove them back to their owners. These cattle have brands. You’re using that iron to change the brand.”

  “Like I said, we’re branding them for their owners.” Charley leaned back and emitted one of his high-pitched laughs. “We’re the owners now, eh? Mavericks are free game.”

  Luke shook his head. “They aren’t all mavericks. A lot of them have brands. This is cattle rustling, plain and simple.”

  At the sound of Tex’s deep-chested chuckle, Luke spun to face the man who sat his horse with his wrists crossed on top of his saddle horn.

  Tex shook his head. “I wondered how long it was going take for y’all to catch on, Shorty.”

  Angry as he was, Luke bristled even more at being called by the insulting nickname the two had come up with for him. He wasn’t nearly as tall as either Tex or Charley—almost a head shorter. However, at a little over five and a half feet tall, he was not shorter than the average man. He bit back his sharp retort as he watched Tex slowly reach back and caress the handle of his pistol.

  Charley’s features morphed into a sardonic grin. “It’s good to know you’re not as daft as you appear, eh? Did you think we’d be rounding up strays out of the goodness of our hearts? We fix them up, get them to the railhead and collect our money. Ranchers like the Caldwell brothers will never miss a few head.”

  Luke looked down at the half-grown steer with the brand sporting the double C. “I was looking for honest work, not something that can get me hung.”

  A scowl on his face, Tex straightened in his saddle. “Y’all don’t got to like it. Figured it was probably a mistake bringing’ y’all in on this, but we needed someone who could get a rope around them mavericks and get off his horse fast enough while we brand them. Don’t go shooting your mouth off. Do your job, then y’all can get your pay and skedaddle. Once we’re done with this job, I don’t never want to see your ugly face again. Comprende?”

  With his long legs, Charley hurried to Luke and grabbed his arm. In his other hand, its tip still glowing a menacing orange, he gripped the hot pipe used to alter the brands. “Don’t even think of walking out on us now. You do, I’ll give your name to Sheriff McKinney and tell him it’s you behind the missing cattle in his county. By the time I get done, he’ll know what you and your horse look like. He’ll come after you, eh? So, if you want to leave in one piece with money in your pocket once we’re done, work with us and keep your mouth shut.”

  .

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  Chapter 3

  ~o0o~

  Lundy, California ~ Early September, 1884

  I n her native Cantonese language, Loi burst out her refusal in breathless disbelief. “Mm-hui! I’m not going! I go back to Dai Fow, Big City Chinatown, yes, but not to a brothel. I paid for my boat ticket by working here, plus interest and protection. It is now time for me to return to the way of decency—to have a husband and bear him sons.”

  Ah Chin slid his hands up the sleeves of his blouse. Loi knew he, like most On Yick tong hatchet men, kept a knife strapped to his left arm. “Know your place, Ling Loi. You are already a wife to one hundred men. Your brother sold you to come here to Gum Saan. The On Yick tong zyu (leader, high man) bought you to be a prostitute. You do not decide when one man may buy you for only his wife. The tong boss will choose what he does with you. Knowing the disagreeable and uncaring nature of On Yick Zyu who rules us both, do not hope for a husband.”

  Loi suppressed the sorrow she once again felt at the reminder of how little Heng, her half-brother, regarded her. “The man my brother sold me to, he said I was to go to Dai Fow to be a wife to a Chinese husband. He did not say I would be a prostitute, a wife to one hundred men.”

  Ah Chin’s lips slowly widened into a sardonic smile. “I know your story, Loi. You are a fool if you think your brother demanded such terms for someone like you. He knows your mother shamed your family by listening to the barbarian Christian lies. You showed no proper family teaching. He told you such words so you would go willingly and not shame your family further by putting up a fight with your new owners. I have seen your disposition, Ling Loi. You are no more than an ill-tempered peasant woman. You forget your place.”

  Loi lowered her head. She knew her place—submit to men, whether it be a father, husband, son or—in her case before being sold—her brother. The wealth and social standing of the family often determined a woman’s status, although they never were considered as important as a man. However, nothing excused her brother for knowingly selling her into prostitution, a shameful status for women.

  Loi closed her eyes and mentally braced herself against Ah Chin’s ongoing verbal assault. His constant disrespectful manner to those around him exhibited his lack of family teaching.

  “The Christian mission where your father allowed your mother to take you poisoned you with lies, making you think you are worth more than you are. You are lucky your father died and you returned to Buddhism and the true Chinese way to serve your family.”

  His words about her father pierced Loi’s heart like a dagger. No matter what Ah Chin claimed, her father’s death was not lucky. It was a tragedy.

  Loi felt like screaming, but a lifetime of learning submission and acceptance helped her stay silent. In spite of what Ah Chin claimed, she no longer served her family by working for him. Instead, On Yick, one of the hooligan fighting tongs that relied on gambling parlors, brothels, opium dens, and protection payments to enjoy a high standard of living for their members, forced her and so many Chinese girls and women like her to provide physical pleasure to a host of men. The Six Companies, the benevolent societies of Chinatown that looked out for the Chinese who came to Gum Saan, had grown weaker over the years. At the same time, the hoodlum tongs that often fought each other for control of the vice trades had grown stronger. She would find no help appealing to the company for her province in Canton, even if she could reach their headquarters.

  Her procurer continued, although Loi suspected he toyed with her. “Maybe a poor laborer will earn enough to buy you for a wife. Probably not. You will never be a merchant’s
wife, not with your big, ugly peasant feet.”

  Loi glanced down at her feet ensconced in her felt boots embroidered on the cuff. They were boots for a big-footed peasant girl child whose feet had not been bound. They had been expensive because they were difficult to find in this land with few Chinese women who were married and, therefore, few Chinese children who wore footwear her size. Even though Loi no longer wished for tiny lotus feet for herself, she understood the perception of her people. Tiny bound feet served as a symbol of a woman’s value as a modest wife, someone appropriate for a man of high status.

  Only she knew that a packet tacked to the portion of her coat lining that covered her back held the red silk wedding outfit she had brought from China. Her mother had warned her it was not ornate and highly embellished with symbols of wealth. Still, her mother hoped—the wish of a mother who knew she would never see her beloved daughter again—for Loi to have the red silk embroidered with gold and green thread to wear for her wedding. It was her hope the garment would bring joy, luck and prosperity to the union.

  Loi struggled to keep the desperation she felt out of her voice. “I do not have beautiful lotus feet, but they are small, not big peasant feet. Very few Chinese women live in Dai Fow, and Chinese men there want sons. I would be honored to be a good wife for an important man and bear his sons. Surely, On Yick Zyu can find a man who will pay to redeem me to the way of decency.”

  “Pah! No merchant wants a wife who has been a prostitute.” Ah Chin continued his badgering. “Besides, you have no dowry. You will never be first wife. You would be lucky if one day you find a man to buy you for a concubine.”

  Loi glanced at Ah Chin. She quickly looked down rather than encourage him to think she defied him. She knew the Christian missionaries had taught that in times long past there had been concubines among God’s people. They had also stressed that since Jesus came to earth, concubines were no longer allowed. But, in Chinese culture, concubines were still acceptable, a symbol of a man’s prosperity. A man kept concubines to bring him pleasure and give him sons. In her father’s case, he had fallen in love with his concubine—her mother.