The Daughter - C.B. Cooper (red novels txt) 📗

The brass around the bar gleamed in the sunlight that poured through the clean plate glass windows that overlooked the boardwalk. The huge mirror behind the bar, housed in an ornate gilt frame, showed very few men.
At this early hour, everyone in town was up working the creek bed, all of them trying to strike it rich in the town of Striker. But come sundown, this place would be packed to the rafters, just like it had been for the two long weeks that him and Zeb had been here.
"I'm gettin' all stoved up jes' sitting here. You wanna take us a stroll?"
Sam smiled at his old friend, "Sure. Sounds good to me."
They hit the boardwalk and headed North. The streets were jam-packed with wagons and riders. People were showing up at an alarming rate as word got out that the creek north of town was full of color.
The smell of fresh cut cedar, mixed with the smell of horse an ox droppings, permeated the air as they walked. A saw mill had been set up just outside of town, and all of the buildings in town were brand new.
As they approached the northern end of town, three riders came whooping up the street, sliding to a stop in front of the essayers office.
"Ooh—eee!" one of the riders hollered, holding up a dirty white cloth, its four corners twisted together to form a make-shift pouch, "We hit the mother load today, boys!"
Curious and excited townsfolk drifted their way, anxious to see what the riders carried. As the men entered the essay office, people from the street followed behind them, many of whom had just rode into Striker, with golden dreams of, what else, striking it rich.
Curious too, Sam and Zeb followed the small crowd into the building.
Once inside, they politely moved past people, making their way to the front.
Sharp had been hearing about the vast quantities of gold taken from Jordan creek up yonder, but he had never actually seen the gold.
Him and Zeb waited curiously while the men made a big show of unwrapping their newly found treasure.
With the flick of the mans wrist he opened the pouch, reveiling four big pieces of gold.
The crowd ooohed and awwed at the size and quality of the golden nuggets.
Sharp and zeb looked at each other, both frowning.
Another man in the crowd had the same look on his face, but he made a deadly mistake when he growled, "Let me see that," and swiped at the gold in the prospectors hand.
A loud shot exploded in the tightly packed room. The shot was deafening and had everyone grabbing their ears. In the ringing silence that followed, they watched the man sway, then topple over, with a bullet hole right above his left eye.
The essayer stood stoically behind the couter, a smoking gun in his hand.
"Give me that before I have to kill anyone else."
The prospector turned toward the man slowly, and handed him the gold with an unsteady hand.
Next to Sharp, Zeb whispered, "I think we've seen enough. Lets the hell out of here."
They fought their way back to the door and exited.
Back out on the boardwalk, they turned and headed back south. Once they were a safe distance from the essayers office, Zeb spoke quietly as they ambled along.
"What do ya suppose that's all about?"
Sharp tugged at the edge of his hat, pulling the brim down low over his eyes. "I'm not sure."
Beside him Zeb hissed, "I've seen gold pulled out of streams before, and that gold didn’t come from no creek bed."
"No, it didn’t. That was pure bar gold. It looked like it had been chipped straight off the bar with a chisel."
"So, someone's been putting all of that gold in the creek for the placers to find, but why?"
"I'm not sure. What do you say to a ride? I'd like to get a closer look at that creek up yonder."
"Lets go git the horses."

They rode up north of town, the steep hill gradually giving way to the wide valley at the foot of the mountain.
Jordan Creek ran straight through the middle, its wide rocky banks, packed full of miners. Some of the men were panning for gold, while others had built large sluice boxes and were busy loading them with shovels full of gravel. There was a general feeling of euphoria in the fresh mountain air.
The two men rode north for two miles along the ever widening creek, without seeing as much as five feet of creek shore unoccupied by men, with visions of hitting the mother lode, dancing in their eyes.
Having seen enough, they headed back towards town. Along the way, they stopped along the steep ridge that overlooked the town of Striker.
"We still don’t know why somebody would go to all the trouble of faking a gold rush."
Sharp studied the bustling town below.
Word had gotten out, bringing people in droves to the small town. The main street running through the middle of town was packed full of newly arriving wagons and men on horseback, and the line waiting to still reach the town stretched as far as the eye could see. There was also a line at the essayers office. People waiting to buy their stake for a claim. The line was so long, Sharp couldn’t even see where it ended.
Someone was making a lot of money selling fake claims, and he had an idea who it was.
"I think we do."
Zeb frowned, "We do?"
"Look at all of those people down there. All of those people will be needing supplies. And it's pretty much guarenteed that any of the gold that the men will find, will be spent in that fancy saloon on booze and girls. And they got to eat. Money will be spend hand over fist at the Royal by the men and their families celebrating their victories. Not to mention, all the business men coming into town. And I'll bet that they're charged a small fortune to buy a lot in town, plus a hefty portion of their profits for taxes. In either case, all of the gold will pour back into the town, plus a lot more. I'm thinking that the man that owns that town is going to be paid back at least triple the amount of gold that he padded the creek bed with."
"George Jarvis." Zeb muttered, "That sneaky son of a bitch."
"Yeah, he's the son of something, alright."
"When do you reckon that girl of yourn is gonna show up?"
"Any day now I suppose."
"I shore wish she'd hurry up. I can't wait to be shut of this hell hole. To many people makes my skin crawl."
"Well, you never know, maybe one of those good-smelling, all laced up girls will come into town. You might find the woman of your dreams down there."
Zeb leaned over a spit a thick brown stream of tobacco onto the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he grunted, "Yeah, and the only way I'd get her to come with me, is if I clubbed her on the back of the head and drug her off."
Sharp smiled at his friend, "All that gentlemanly charm, I'm surprised the women aint falling at your feet."
"Well, if they were… it'd be because I clubbed 'em on the back of the head."

The next day proved to be interesting.
Sharp and Zeb had just finished filling their bellies at the Royal, after winning a lucky hand the night before in Jarvis's saloon. Taking a seat at an empty bench in front of the Grand Hotel, they each pulled out their cigarette makings and went to work. They had both just lit up, when a buggy came barreling up the street, completely surrounded by men on horseback, armed to the teeth with shot guns, long rifles and pistols.
The buggy skidded to a stop in front of the hotel, creating a thick cloud of dust that drifted towards them.
Zeb took his hat off and fanned the dusty air, "What a prick. Don’t that driver have the good sense to slow down in town?"
The door to The Grand Hotel opened and Jarvis walked out, flanked on each side by men packing as much lead as the men escorting the buggy.
He crossed the boardwalk and met the man just stepping down from the carriage.
Both men were well dressed, in fancy tailored suits. Jarvis was a good head shorter than the other man, and he had the lean, wiry look, of an ex-cowboy or owl hoot, someone who had spent a lot of time outdoors and looked to be in at least his fifties. His compadre, on the other hand, had the pasty pallor and soft body of a bank teller.
Jarvis stuck out his hand, his weathered face grim. "Adams."
"Jarvis." The serious faced men shook hands.
George Jarvis turned, walking back into the hotel, Adams and his wary-eyed men following suit.
"Now, what do you suppose that's all about?" Zeb asked, after the door closed.
Sharp shook his head, "I don’t know, but it cant be good."
"You ever see a man with that many guards?"
"The president maybe. But he aint no president."
"I counted sixteen men, how many did you git?"
"Thirteen, including the driver."
Zeb grumbled, "I never was any good at figurin'."

Jarvis sat behind his hand carved, dark mahogany desk, a bottle of bourbon and two tumblers in front of him.
Picking up the crystal decanter he filled both the glasses, then slid one across the desk to Adams.
Adams grabbed the glass, his fancy gold rings clinking against the sides, and swallowed the amber liquid in one large gulp. Setting the glass back down on the desk, he reached into his breast pocket, producing a folded piece of paper.
"This is the one I got." He said, handing it across the desk.
Jarvis took the paper and unfolded it, reading the telegram out loud.
"Your men are dead…. Stop…. She wanted me to give you a message…. Stop…. She's coming after you…. Stop…. And she said to say…. Stop…. That she's bringing hell with her…. Stop."
Reaching into the top drawer of the desk, Jarvis pulled out an identical looking piece of paper. "This, says exactly the same thing."
Adams scowled, "Oh, this is perfect."
"Oh no, wait, it gets better." He smiled, waving his hand with a flourish. "I sent a reply back with the messenger. I told him to send another telegram to the sheriff in the town where this one came from. I wanted the sheriff to find the man that sent this and detain him, because I had questions that I needed answers to."
"And?"
"And you know that’s it a good five day ride to Soda Springs and their telegraph machine, so it took awhile to hear back." Pulling a second piece of paper from the drawer, Javis opened it and began reading.
"Dear sir…. Stop…. The man you are looking for…. Stop…. Was found dead shortly after he sent you the telegraph…. Stop…. He died from a self inflicted bullet to the temple…. Stop…. Sorry…. Stop…. But that makes him unavailable for further questioning…. Stop."
"The sheriff has a sense of humor I see."
Jarvis slammed the palm of his hand on the desk, "I don’t give a good-goddamn about the sheriff! I want to know who this woman is, and how she managed to kill all of those men!" He jumped to feet and began pacing, "Those men were hand picked to be the meanest of the lot. They spent the whole entire war raping women, and taking