Jasmine Passion: The Historical Romance Collection Book 4 by Fancy DeWitt

Author:Fancy DeWitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: City Lights Press

Chapter 13

Zigzagging trestles for ore cars made a filigree on the face of Mount Penelope above the Number Eight Mill. Wisps of steam feathered out of the vents of the mill, and two large plumes of black smoke boiled from the high smokestacks.

A small shack, halfway between the mill and the mine entrance, bore a large, hand-painted sign proclaiming it to be the superintendent’s office. Inside, the superintendent of Powers Mining operations, Mike Kelly, a large-boned, red-headed Irishman, looked through the operating books.

At six feet four, Mike towered over most men; among the Chinese members of his crew, he was a giant. He was a giant in more than one way, though— he was a giant in the way he treated them, as human beings rather than as mere dray animals.

Nearly one-third of the mining crew which worked for Mike at the various mines were Chinese. Mike liked working with them. They were good with explosives and handled the “giant powder,” miners’ term for dynamite, with unequaled expertise. They put in an honest day of work, and there was little drunkenness among them.

In the superintendent’s office with Mike Kelly was Carl Hobbs, principal bookkeeper for Powers Mining.

“Carl, what is this?” Mike asked, finding something in the book which disturbed him.

Carl was a small, bald-headed man, as small as the smallest Chinese worker. But he was good with figures and had earned his position in the company; his size was of no handicap to him. Carl walked over and stood behind Mike. He pulled a pair of steel-rimmed glasses from his pocket and put them on, affixing them to one ear at a time, then peered down at the ledger.

“Oh, that, Sir,” Carl said, “that is a corrected entry for funds which were to have been used for purchasing shoring timbers. As the purchases weren’t made, the funds were returned to the account.”

“What do you mean the purchases weren’t made?” Mike asked. “I ordered enough new timbers to shore up the entire offshoot shaft.”

“I have a note on that somewhere, I believe,” Carl said, returning to his own desk. It was a large, roll-top desk with dozens of pigeon holes, and each pigeon hole was stuffed with paper. Carl rifled through the papers until he found what he was looking for. He smiled. “Ah, yes, here it is,” he said. He cleared his throat and read aloud: “Order 10-5-80-3 . . . uh . . . that’s the third order placed on the fifth of October, 1880,” he explained.

“I know what it means,” Mike said irritably. “But I don’t know why it was canceled.”

“Of course, you know what it means, Sir,” Carl said. “It is just that I am so used to dealing with inspectors and the like, for whom it is necessary for me to explain every little thing, that—”

“Carl,” Mike asked in growing frustration, “why the hell were the timbers canceled?”

“Well, because Mister Powers canceled them, Sir,” Carl explained, clearing himself of any wrongdoing. “Boykin Powers canceled those orders?”

“Not Boykin Powers, Sir,” Carl said.

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