Page 22 of Red Hawk's Woman

“Yes, it was. And he quit because…well, because he is not a brave man, and when something happened last night that⁠—”

Again, Mr. Herman leaned in close to her. “Heard tell your room was broke into.”

“Yes,” said Effie, wondering why the man’s knowledge of her personal affairs had surprised her. Apparently one had no privacy in this town. “But you see, I can explain that, and I⁠—”

“Don’t envy you none, ma’am, poor little thing that you are. It’s gonna be awful hard to find someone to help you now.”

“But why? There are lots of men in this town, and among them I should be able to find one who⁠—”

“You see, it’s like this,” said Mr. Herman. “When one of the fellas quits, it’s as good as sayin’ that they all quit. We’re a mining town, ma’am. Close-knit.”

“But—”

“See, there’s precious metal that’s been found in these here hills—all around Virginia City—and a man’s gotta protect his stake. If’n you want him to walk away from his means of livelihood, then…” He left the rest unsaid, as though anything else that followed were self-evident.

Effie cleared her throat. Then, strictly on the off chance the sheriff was right, she leaned over the counter, and as though seeking a tête-à-tête, she said, “Are you certain that protecting their livelihood is the real reason I might have trouble finding someone to help me? It wouldn’t be, perchance, that the men here have been told that my project is jinxed?”

The man gulped. “It might’ve been said a time or two, but me? I don’t believe in jinxes.”

Tightening her lips, Effie nodded slowly. “I’m certain you don’t,” she said, but her meaning was clearly the opposite.

For an instant Mr. Herman appeared uncomfortable, and straightening up, he adjusted his collar. “Look, ma’am, I’d like to help you, but I can’t. I run a store, that’s all. Have you tried over at the sheriff’s office?”

“Yes, I have,” said Effie. “Most certainly.”

“Well…” The proprietor let the word trail away, as if the rest of the sentence didn’t need saying. However, as though he’d only realized this, he added brightly, “Are there more in your party?”

“I am not alone in this venture, if you think that might make a difference. There are four others traveling with me who can shoot.”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Herman hesitated, scratched his chin, then gazed at her over the rim of his spectacles. “And are all your crew female?”

“Why, no,” said Effie. “Does it matter?”

“It might.”

“Well, then, I have one male and one female student; they are a married couple. And there are two other friends, who are also married. Why do you ask?”

“More superstition, I’m afraid, miss.” The proprietor looked downright crestfallen. “The more women in a party, the more likely that party is to get wiped out.”

“What?” Effie stared at the man, uncertain she had heard that correctly. When the clerk didn’t elaborate or say anything else, she replied, “Why, that’s ridiculous. I can assure you that we have been on several expeditions throughout the States, and⁠—”

“It’s also Blackfeet country you’re lookin’ to travel into, ma’am. Them Indians is just plain mean. Around here…” he glanced behind him, “…them Injuns is called the tigers of the plains.”

“Are they? But…sir, this expedition is not about those Indians, it’s about… I…” Effie’s voice trailed away. What was the point? Mr. Herman had made it clear that not only couldn’t he help her, he wouldn’t.

With a sigh that spoke of frustration, Effie said, “Well, I thank you anyway, but I guess I’d better be going.”

The clerk nodded, smiled and turned away to wait on another customer.

Effie spun around, one arm coming down to sweep her blue-striped silk skirt with her. Unwarranted, the swishing sound of her dress as it grazed over the hardwood floor reminded Effie of the sounds of her intruder last night.

For a moment she froze. After a short while reason returned, and picking up the front of her dress, she stepped toward the door.

Mr. Herman—at once the gentleman—met her at the entrance, and opening the door for her, he smiled a final apology. “Wish I could have given you better news.”

Effie returned the smile and was on the verge of adding a further comment, when she realized it was unproductive. Holding out her gloved hand once again, she said, “I thank you, Mr. Herman.”

She beamed up at the man, suspecting that because of the way she was dressed, because of the shapeless peplum thrown over her dress, she had identified herself as a woman of “masculine” taste. She had heard of this before—hadn’t her mother said as much several years ago? But perhaps the misidentification wasn’t the fault of the men in Virginia City. Perhaps the fault, if there were one, lay in the fact that women were few in these parts, and those who were here were generally the “for hire” girls, with their curvy figures and high-combed hair.