Chapter 33: The Beast and the Beauty

 

Mac left for his claim the day after he talked to Nate, traveling more quickly on the return trip than he had on the way to Sacramento. The weather was hot and humid along the American River, but cooled as he climbed into the hills. Soon he rode along sparkling mountain streams instead of the placid American.

On his second day out, as Mac approached the valley where he and his partners mined, he spotted Smith riding the ridge above him.

He’d had enough of the man following him. Mac turned Valiente up the hill and stopped within hailing distance. “What’re you looking for?” he called.

Smith rode over, halting his horse about ten paces from Valiente. The man’s ugly face hadn’t improved in the months since Mac had seen him. “Been prospecting. Like every other man around here.”

“Have you staked a claim yet?” Mac asked.

“No reason I should tell you.”

Mac shrugged. “Why do you keep following me?”

“You sought me out this time. How come you high-tailed it away from the posse afore we was done?”

“Done murdering Indians, you mean?” Mac knew he was letting the scoundrel get to him, but the aftermath of Murderer’s Bar still upset him. According to Joel, Smith had been one of the men most eager to go after the Indians, and the brute had reveled in the slaughter at Coloma.

Smith grinned. “Call it what you like. Need more of that kind of killing. And ain’t no reason to limit it to Indians.”

“Where’s your partner?” Mac still wanted to know who had attacked their claim with Smith and Jones the summer before.

“I told you, I ain’t got no partner.”

“I suppose if you were teamed up with anyone, you’d have ambushed us again,” Mac said. “I’m warning you—stay away. If you step foot on our claim, my partners and I—we won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Mac arrived at the claim and told Joel and Huntington of his encounter with Smith.

“He ain’t bothered us in a year now,” Joel said. “Without men to back him up, he’s all bluster. I seen that when we was in the posse together.”

“Don’t go into conniptions over that bully,” Huntington advised Mac. “We’s more’n a match for the likes of him.”

But for days Mac kept his rifle handy and a watchful eye on the hills above their claim.

He wrote one evening:

 

May 30, 1849. The valleys are more crowded this year than last, though the emigrants from the East have yet to arrive. Soon the hills will swarm with more men than they can support. The thrill of mining is gone. Perhaps Father is right—it may be time to sell out.

A week later on Thursday evening, a boy rode into the partners’ camp with a message from Nate to Mac. “She’s here, Mr. McDougall,” the boy said. “Mr. Peabody wants you to come meet his granddaughter.”

Mac sent the lad into the cabin to get a meal from Huntington, then read the note the boy had handed him:

 

Mac,

I would appreciate your return to Sacramento at your earliest convenience. Susan arrived in San Francisco on the Panama on the 4th of this month, and took the ferry to Sacramento on the 5th.

I have lost all ability to charm a young lady, if I ever had such, and I require your assistance.

Nathan Peabody

 

“Damn.” Mac liked Nate, but the man was presuming. After two years away from Boston, he didn’t trust his own ability to charm a lady. And he didn’t have any desire to entertain a young chit from New York.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked. He dropped the load of tools he carried in a heap beside the cabin.

“Nate wants me to meet his granddaughter.”

“The one from New York?” Joel asked with a grin.

“I think she’s the only one he has,” Mac said.

“What’s the problem?”

“I just returned from Sacramento.”

“I could go,” Joel said, still grinning.

“You?” Mac knew Nate didn’t have much liking for Joel. “I don’t think she’s your kind of woman.”

“You mean, she ain’t a whore?” Joel’s smile grew wider.

“That’s what I mean.” Mac grimaced. “I’ll leave with the messenger boy in the morning.”

Mac and the boy made the trip to Sacramento in a day and a half, reaching Nate’s shop around noon on June 9.

“Am I glad to see you,” Nate said, pumping Mac’s hand.

“Where’s your granddaughter?” Mac asked.

“I put her up in the hotel nearby,” Nate said. “My rooms aren’t good enough for her, nor is the Golden Nugget.” He sighed. “You’ll see when you meet her. But we have to get you cleaned up first. Did you bring a suit?”

A suit? There was no reason to wear a suit in Sacramento. “No.”

“You go to the bathhouse. I’ll bring clothes around for you.”

“Nate—”

“You’ll want to make a good impression on her.”

Mac gave up. He could afford a bath and a suit of clothes.

He’d finished with a bath and a shave, when Nate arrived with his new clothes. They fit reasonably well, considering they weren’t tailored. The wool was decent, the waistcoat a pale blue silk. He’d seen worse.

Mac dressed, then walked with Nate to the hotel lobby. Nate sent a clerk upstairs to find his granddaughter. A few minutes later, a fine lady glided down the staircase, and Mac understood why Nate had fussed.

She was beautiful. Blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, diamond ear bobs, and a dark gray dress that made her creamy skin even paler. A fine figure, which her small waist emphasized, top and bottom.

Mac swallowed.

“Grandfather,” she said, kissing the old man on the cheek.

“Susan, my dear,” Nate said. “I want you to meet Caleb McDougall. The Boston lawyer I’ve been telling you about. Mac, this is my granddaughter, Susan Abbott.”

Mac bowed over the slim fingers she extended toward him. “At your service, Miss Abbott.”