The Silver Queen by Jane Candia Coleman

Author:Jane Candia Coleman [Coleman, Jane Candia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4285-0590-2
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 2003-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

No prospecting or serious mining was done in winter in the early years. Those who didn’t head for Denver to spend their hard-earned gold, simply holed up in their cabins and waited for spring, which was usually long in coming.

But like spring everywhere, when it arrived, its beauty broke the heart. The creeks ran high and clear with snow melt, and all day, all night, frogs twanged and croaked on the banks, their music as welcome as the songs of nesting birds, the unaccustomed warmth of sun at mid-morning, as the scents of damp earth, rising sap, flowers blooming somewhere out of sight. Around us the world seemed to be breathing, to have expanded till it touched a sky so blue to look at it was blinding.

With spring, too, came more hopefuls who dragged themselves over the pass, the lure of gold lending them strength. Our little camp swarmed like an ant hill, and I was busy with store and boarders, thanking God for my sisters’ help.

As always, Haw disappeared on the first fine day, searching for that elusive strike that would crown him king and taking Frank with him.

“Little boys playing Columbus,” Becca said with a sniff. “And they’re supposed to take care of us.”

I attacked the pile of laundry the men had left me that morning, each piece worth fifty cents—in cash or its equivalent in gold. “We’re not helpless.”

She chuckled. “Lord, no. I even shot a branch off a tree last week. Maybe I should join a circus.”

“Maybe you could help me finish this and get it hung out.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, then turned and squinted up the muddy road. “Somebody’s coming.”

The riderless mule came at a trot, stirrups flapping, and at the sight my heart sank. Only a few days before, Hank Packard had set off for Denver, his gold in his saddlebags.

“Back soon as I’ve spent it,” he had said with a wink. “It’s been a hard winter. Now it’s time to have me some fun.”

I ran out into the road. Seeing me, the mule shied and came to a stop, its sides heaving. Along one flank was a raw wound, red against black hide. I walked up, stroked his sweaty neck, and grabbed what was left of a rein, feeling sick at heart. Hank had been a friend from the first. The thought of him, wounded or dead, robbed of his treasure, cast a pall on the bright morning, on the entire gulch where we, all of us, lived on the edge, balanced between life and death though we did our best to ignore it. The way over the mountains was filled with hazards, not the least of which were the outlaws, men without conscience or scruples, who lay in wait for those like Hank, saddlebags filled with gold.

“Something’s happened to Hank,” I said, stating the obvious. “We’ll have to get somebody to go look for him.”

“And, of course, Haw’s not here to help.” In an instant, Becca had reverted to her old self.

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