Page 7 of Working the Lode

Getting a devilish idea, from the shanty Bowmaker fetched three horns and a bottle of whiskey. Handing Quartus a horn as the fellow sat on a tree stump, he explained, “To gratify your dry.”

“Oh, my.” Quartus took one sip and nearly expectorated upon the ground, but he maintained his composure with watery eyes. “What sort of juice is this?”

Taking large “manly” swallows from his own horn, Erskine truly did laugh then. “Juice?”

“Bug juice, more like it,” Bowmaker said politely into his own horn. Sitting on his square rock, he confronted the silly man respectfully. “Mr. Stringfellow, my old hoss.” Quartus chortled at being called an old horse. “What is this message from Miss Sparks that you bring?”

Pleased at having something important to do, Quartus sobered. “The message is. You are to come immediately to the Fort, and to meet Zelnora at her cabin.” Turning to Erskine, he explained, “She shares a cabin with Sister Narrimore, another of our brethren from New York.” He swiveled back to Bowmaker and continued, “Since Elder Brannagh is out of town and back in San Francisco for the next couple of weeks, Zelnora deems it appropriate that you visit her when Brannagh cannot…”

Bowmaker filled in. “Cannot rain his wrath down upon me?”

Quartus nodded stiffly. “Something like that, yes.”

Bowmaker shared a glance with Erskine, angry and intrigued at the same time. “All right here, Stringfellow. Let me get this straight. I’m prepared to strike out at once for the Fort, only I’d like a few questions answered. First of all, if you’re her husband, then Brannagh can’t possibly be her husband, am I correct?”

“Hard doings when it comes to that,” Erskine commented helpfully.

Quartus nodded. “Correct. Brannagh is merely her benefactor who agreed to employ her when we reached the Far West.”

Erskine harrumphed. “A slave.”

Ignoring him, Bowmaker enquired, “Then there should be no reason Brannagh would lift any hair were some fellow to come courting Miss Sparks?”

Losing his professional decorum, Quartus burst into another round of giggles and slapped his knee. “’Lift hair’! Oh, I do love the colorful way you backwoodsmen speak!”

Bowmaker frowned in annoyance, swallowed the remainder of his horn, and pointed at Quartus with it. “Now you. Suddenly she has a brand new husband I’ve never heard of, yet she wants an assignation with me? You can understand my puzzlement. This seems to be quite a fix. I mean, there’s damp powder and no fire to dry it, you take my meaning?”

Apparently the “juice” was affecting poor Quartus, for he began to belt out a queer song. “’Down the centre, hands across! You, Jake Herring, thump it! Now you all go right ahead, every one of you hump it’!”

“Stringfellow!” cried Bowmaker, gripping him by the shoulder and giving him a little shake. “You. Zelnora’s husband. Why would she want an assignation with me if she’s married to you?”

Quartus’ eyes became large and round. “Oh. Why, that’s ludicrous! Why wouldn’t she want an assignation with you? You’re handsome and muscular, and I’m frivolous and, well, smaller.” He waved a limp hand at Bowmaker. “I’m not her real husband. I’m what they call a nominal husband, a husband in name only. Another sort of protector like Brannagh, to ward off the undesirable suitors.” Leaning in confidentially to Bowmaker, Quartus imparted, “We’ve never even slept in the same bed together!”

Bowmaker and Erskine both leaned back, exhaling with relief. So Bowmaker must be a desirable suitor! That explained why Quartus came on this distant adventure of forty miles to deliver that message! Bowmaker nearly leapt to his feet to grab his possible bag and jump on his horse, but he remembered his compañero. “Quartus! Does this mean that Miss Mercy Narrimore is also—“

“Bowmaker! Bowmaker!” A fellow, name of Bigler, streaked it up the hill cupping in his hand something very fragile like a tiny fish that he didn’t want to maim. “Look at this, will you? Tell me what you think!” Nearly bowling over the pathetically oiled Quartus, Bigler stepped between the three men, bending down to open his palm and reveal his treasure. Some gold bits gleamed warmly in the sun, floating in the crystal water of the American River. “Gold, right? I just found it in the tailrace when Marshall shut the floodgates.”

Bowmaker stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t say for certain that ain’t fool’s gold, pyrite, do you take my meaning? But you might be onto something there. Those little chunks seem to shine more brightly than pyrite.”

“’Every one of you hump it’…” Quartus continued serenading himself. “Gold? I can find gold with my divining rod.”

Bigler glanced at Quartus and guffawed. “Anyway, Bowmaker, what do you make of this? Should I bring it down to Sutter and have him take a look?”

“No, no!” cried Erskine. “Remember, Cormack, what Sutter told us about the bandits? Bigler, don’t say a word about this to anyone. There’s got to be a way to find out if it’s really gold before we go spreading the word all about the camps. Bigler, do you think you can find some more without letting anyone know what you’re doing?”

“Why, sure, Erskine. Me and my boys’ll just—“

“No! No boys!”

Bowmaker asked, “Then how can we find out for sure we’re not just going over a sight of ground for no reason?”

Quartus cried, “Gold!” and all heads turned to him. “You think that might be gold?” Hugging himself proudly, he trilled, “I know who would know if that’s gold. Zelnora! She’s a mining expert. She worked in the Georgia mines as a youth, before Barton Sparks came along and—“

“That’s right, Zelnora!” Erskine proclaimed. “Brannagh was talking about her expertise in the area of mining.”

This time, Bowmaker did race into the cabin for his possible bag.

Zelnora Sparks. Once again, the bousparksntiful woman seemed the answer to his dreams.