Page 17 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
She nodded. “And the rest?”
“Owen. He’s our talker, so he’s our foreman. Emmett builds our sluice boxes and rockers and will get our mill up and running. Stoney works the quartz crush, and Ira cooks the mercury. Wu Bing Sun is our connection to Chinese laborers. They’ve worked rice paddies and understand irrigation and water diversion.”
Suddenly, the bridge came into view, and Marigold gasped, “Oh! I’ve never been so glad for a sign of civilization.”
Virgil realized how companionable the journey had become, making it pass more quickly. He hadn’t meant to yammer on about himself and was embarrassed that he had.
“You get out and walk across first,” he said.
“You don’t trust it?” She glanced back as she climbed down.
“I built it, so yeah, I trust it. But we won’t test it more than we have to.” He dropped to the ground on the other side of the wagon and moved to the head of the oxen, waiting for Marigold to reach the other side before he led them across.
The bridge was made of two stalwart logs pounded into the dirt track on either side of the gully. He’d secured sapling rounds across them with lengths of hide, then nailed rough-hewn planks atop that, spaced to form a smooth surface for the wagon’s wheels. The whole thing creaked and groaned as the heavy wagon rolled across, but it held fine.
“Where did you learn to build bridges?” Marigold asked.
“Army.”
“I should have asked what you bring to the company? Engineering?”
“Charm,” he said flatly, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m done cackling like hens. You can walk now.” He chucked his chin at the track. “Next patch is bumpy, and I have to pay attention. I can’t be looking behind, so walk in front.”
…
What a shock that Virgil Gardner wasn’t inundated with women wanting to marry him.
Marigold strode ahead, but she imagined she could feel his gaze comparing her backside to those of the oxen. At least she wasn’t eating the dust of the wagon.
It was pretty here, despite being a rough stretch of loose rocks and potholes that zigzagged back and forth through thinning trees. Eventually the walls of the mountains pushed themselves farther apart and the ground evened out. More sky appeared above the canopy of trees.
She was breathing heavily, even though the climb hadn’t been that steep, and climbed back into the wagon to rest. Virgil took them around a final rocky outcrop, and a wide valley opened dramatically below them.
It was both glorious and…disappointing.
The river meandered back and forth across a grassy plain, but the edges were torn up. Water was diverted into wooden wheels and other contraptions. Men worked in small, muddy groups. Trees had been logged and their stumps left between the drying piles of branches. The late summer sun was turning much of the valley a dull brown.
As they ambled down the hill and rolled between a pair of tall posts set on either side of the track, she noted a painted sign that read:
Venturous Mining Company
Report to Owen or you will be shot
“You’ll introduce me to Owen?” she said, nodding toward the sign.
Virgil’s mouth twitched. “It’s a warning to claim jumpers.”
“You don’treallyshoot people, do you?”
He gave her the look that called her soft.
“Be serious. Don’t you report them and have them arrested? How does one even know if you’re jumping a claim? Where do you register?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“You advertised for an educated woman. How do you think I gained my education? By waiting for someone to decide what I need to know? The only thing you learn that way is that women are thought to have inferior minds to men.” She was taking in the approaching cobble of a camp with appalled astonishment. Where were the signs of society and order? She grew more and more nervous as she failed to find any.
This was worse than Denver! It was nothing but tents and huddled, scruffy men.
