Granville and Trent rode in silence, shadows wavering ahead of them in the odd light of pre-dawn. A thick mist wound among the trees and sat heavily along the river.
“Are we going to stay at Katzie until Mr. Scott can ride?” Trent finally asked, his voice barely carrying above the soft clinking of their horse’s bridles.
“Perhaps. It depends how quickly he’s healing.”
“I still don’t see why we had to leave town so early.”
“You’d rather have waited for daylight, made it easy for our pursuer?”
““He’s in jail,” Trent said. “It was a nice trick, tying him to the robberies in the West End.”
“He’d been seen there, hadn’t he, wandering the residential streets, as if checking out his next target?”
“Only because he was following us, and that’s where you led him. It was brilliant!”
“Thank you. It was, however, a trick, and like all tricks only good for a time. We needed to vanish before he was released from jail, or able to get word out.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Good of you to say so.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Only a little.”
“Oh, well, so long as it’s only a little.”
He heard the laugh in Trent’s voice, and grinned.
At least the boy had kept his sense of humor, even if someone was trying to kill them.
It just made him angry, but he hadn’t been sure about the boy. Trent was proving to be made of tougher stuff than he’d imagined. He’d probably had to be, to survive.
“Why the sudden return to Katzie?” Trent asked. “It’s about that telegram, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It was veiled, but the threat was there.”
“Threat?”
“Against Scott. Injured, he’d be easy pickings if they decided to kill us one by one. Besides, now that I have Emily’s promise not to put herself in danger, we have some unfinished business in Katzie.”
The sky was lightening in the east by the time they crossed the Pitt River bridge and Granville could see the tide running, creating little ripples that glittered on the wide spread of the Fraser. The Katzie village was hazed with smoke from a number of fires, under a lowering gray sky. It looked small, cold and far from welcoming.
“Where can we leave the horses?” he asked.
“Follow me.”
As they rounded the corner of a small wooden building, he was surprised and rather amused to see their two mules. “Too stubborn to die,” he muttered.
The one Trent had named John turned and regarded him for a moment, then brayed. He’d swear he heard derision in the sound. “Easy for you to say. You cost me a pretty penny at the livery.”
“What’s that?” Trent turned to look at him.
Granville pointed to the two mules. “Those are ours.”
“I figured they’d make it down eventually—they’re pretty tough. And I bet old man Devoy will be glad to get them back.”
“Except they’re no longer his mules. After the amount I paid him for their loss, those are now our mules.”
Trent looked from the mules to Granville, his expression considering. “We going after the gold?”
“Yes. Eventually.”
Trent’s eyes searched Granville’s face, then his nose twitched. “I smell bannock,” he said. “Nothing beats the taste of fresh bannock, and I’m starved. Let’s go.”
“They may not be too happy to feed you.”
“C’mon, you never heard of hospitality? Course they’ll feed me. Us. And if we’re lucky, they’ll have dried salmon, too. You’ve never tasted anything like it—they catch a half ton of it every fall, when the salmon run up the Fraser, then dry it in the sun, to preserve it, and mmmm.” He rolled his eyes and smacked his lips, an expression of such delight on his face that Granville laughed.
“Then for your sake I hope they serve us some dried salmon with the bannock.”
“You’ll see,” Trent said as he opened the wooden door and preceded him into the longhouse.
Granville had a confused impression of sound and movement.
Ignoring the commotion in the center, he ran his eye along the empty bunks on the far wall to where he’d last seen Scott. He spotted a still form, swathed in blankets and his breath caught in a suddenly tight throat.
Had Scott’s wound gone putrid? It’d only been two days, but he’d seen men take ill and die more quickly than that. He’d also seen them linger in agony for weeks.
He made his way to where his friend lay and stooped down. A loud rattling sounded and the blankets stirred violently. He froze.
With a second raucous snore Scott flung the blanket away from his face, then turned on his side and covered his head again. With a relieved grin Granville turned back towards the center of the longhouse. The brief glimpse of Scott’s fever-free face was enough to reassure him.
“Granville, Mr. Moore from New West wants to talk to us,” Trent was saying. “Seems he has some questions about Mr. Cole’s murder.”
“And who is Mr. Moore?”
“I’m a detective with the New Westminster police.”
Granville turned to see a tall, gaunt-faced man with thick dark eyebrows, a shock of wiry black hair and an aggrieved expression.
“You’re the one reported the death?”
“Yes.”
“Report says you think it was deliberate, not hunters with very poor aim. You sure about that?”
“Given that they managed to shoot three out of the four of us, I think we have to make that assumption.”
“Hmmm. And you don’t have descriptions?
“I never saw more than dark shadows in the trees. Trent?”
“No.”
One of Moore’s thick eyebrows went up, and he made a note. “And you’ve no idea who your pursuers were?”
“None.”
“Or why they were shooting at you?”
Granville shook his head, hoping that Trent wouldn’t choose this moment to contribute to the conversation. “I’m afraid not. Unless they had a grudge against our client that extended to the rest of the party.”
“The murdered man, Cole, was your client, then?”
“Yes.”
“And what was it he hired you to do?”
“He hired my partner and myself to…”
“Your partner?”
Granville indicated the blanket wrapped lump that was Scott. “My partner.”
Moore’s eyebrows climbed. “No-one mentioned two murders.”
A grin split Trent’s face.
“He’s injured, not dead,” Granville said. “As I was saying, Cole…”
“Injured?”
“Shot. He received two bullets, I was shot once. Our assistant here,” he indicated Trent, who beamed, “received a concussion and a broken arm in trying to escape the avalanche they created.”
“An avalanche?”
Granville gave up trying to keep the story simple, and explained the ambush.
Moore’s eyebrows inched higher and his pencil flew. “So why were you hired?”
“My late client heard rumors of a lost mine, and hired us to assist him in finding it,” he said.
“In January?”
“There are no other miners prospecting in January. Cole was paranoid about being followed.”
“Hmmm. He may’ve had a point, given how he died.”
Granville gave Moore a sharp look. The officer was jotting something in his notebook, his thick brows drawn slightly together. Not even a hint of a smile. “So what happens now?”
“I’ll need to examine the body. Where is it?”
Granville and Trent exchanged glances. “We cached it during the attack,” Granville said. “Perhaps it’d be best if we brought it here.”
“I’ll accompany you,” Moore said.
He couldn’t allow that, not while the body was hidden with the gold from the cache, though Moore’s presence might deter any further attacks. “Of course. But first I need to see to my partner’s well-being.”
“I’ll wait.” And with a nod and another sharp look at Granville, he ambled off in the direction the scent of fresh baking was coming from.
No doubt he would wait.
Granville’s eyes searched the crowd for the shaman, when he realized someone was staring at him. He turned his head slowly.
Scott’s gray eyes were fixed on him. The big man was half-slumped against the rough board wall, but he was upright and his eyes were clear. Catching Granville’s look, Scott levered himself upright, wavered a moment, then sauntered over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for leaving me behind.”
Granville winced.
“That the shoulder got shot?”
He nodded. He’d thought the arm was healing well, but Scott’s arm was nearly back to its old power, roughly similar to a swipe from a grizzly. Obviously he was feeling better. “You look pretty good.”
“Yeah. How is Emily?”
“She’s just fine.”
“So how did she find out about the ambush?”
“Oddly enough, her classmates at the typewriting school have fathers who appear to be involved. They also have loose lips.”
“Can we follow that connection?”
“She’s already done so. And it seems Gipson may be involved; he’s in partnership with one of the men.”
“Him again. Too bad they can’t just run him out of town.”
Granville smiled. “Ah, but we are in civilization now. No frontier justice here.”
“I liked the Klondike better.”
In some ways, so had he. Life there was stripped to the essentials. You knew what mattered, when it took everything you had to survive. “That isn’t what you said when we only took enough gold out of Rabbit Creek to buy food for two weeks.”
“We’d have been just fine if we hadn’t been at the back of beyond, with bread costing a dollar a loaf and coffee even more,” Scott retorted.
“Ah, but the back of beyond was where the gold was.”
“That’s what I like about our new mine. It’s close to civilization.”
“There wasn’t much civilized about that valley. We’re lucky we found our way out again.”
“Yeah, but that’s winter. And this time, there’s no permafrost to deal with, so we can dig in the summer, like sane people.”
“Except that it isn’t our mine.”
Scott gave him a look that said he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve got the map, haven’t you? And the rightful owner is dead? Not that I’m sure Cole was the rightful owner, but there’s no one else around, so that leaves us. And a gold mine. All’s we have to do is register it.”
Granville realized he hadn’t told Scott the details of his last conversation with their former client. “Before he died, Cole hired us to find the heir to the mine.”
“What heir?”
“I don’t have a name—the old man died before he could get the words out.”
“That makes it easy. By default the map’s ours. And the mine too.”
“We do have a photo.”
“A photo? You’re foolin’ with me, right?”
He grinned at Scott’s tone, and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I gave my word of honor.”
Scott snorted. “I don’t see why we should put all the effort into tracking down some fool doesn’t deserve it more than we do.”
“We’re doing it for another five percent of the mine. We’ll be entitled to ten percent of everything that comes out of the ground, and without doing any of the work.”
“Ten percent sounds pretty small compared to the hundred percent we’ve got now. You really want to hand off ninety percent of a gold mine to some dude neither of us know?”
“I gave my word. And the dude is a woman.”
“A woman?”
“A girl, really, judging by the photo. And one in need of money, from what Cole said.”
“A girl.” Scott shook his shaggy head as if to clear it.
“And a pretty girl at that.”
“Ah, you’re just tryin’ to get to me. It’s not a girl.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“So where’s the picture?”
“Emily has it, to help her find the photographer. There’s also part of a letter. Remind me to show you later.”
“Hah. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to trick me out of my share. So what are you really up to?”
Granville raised his right hand. “My word of honor. The map belongs to a girl named Mary, except for the ten percent that is ours.”
“It really belongs to a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Well, damn. It was a nice dream while it lasted.”
“Are you forgetting our cut?”
“No, but no young girl’s going to be able to get that gold out. Probably won’t even know how to register it.”
“She will if we help her.”
“I thought we were out of the mining business.”
“We are. Now we’re in the mining exploration business.”
Scott’s eyebrows drew together. “And that’s different how?”
“We provide the advice, someone else does the digging.”
“So who pays for the digging?”
“She will, of course, as the owner.”
“I thought she was broke.”
“Not once she gets her share of the gold Cole was carrying out.”
Scott’s frown gradually lifted, and a grin stretched across his face. “So once we get that cache safely in a bank, we’re set.”
“Precisely. Assuming we can manage not to be killed before we find the heiress and help her to register the mine.”
“We’ve survived this long,” Scott said, then shot Granville a suspicious look. “So why aren’t you still in Vancouver, anyway?
“I thought you might have had visitors.”
“Visitors? You mean like those polecats who were after us?”
“Exactly like them.”
“Nope, haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. In this crowd, I would have noticed.”
“Is it my imagination, or is it more crowded in here than it was the last time I was here?”
“There’s a bunch of visitors here, mostly from the Island.”
Granville raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
“Vancouver Island,” Scott clarified. “Bout thirty miles away, most of it open ocean. Anyway, they all showed up day before yesterday. I think they’re planning some kind of dance.”
Visions of these solemn people clad in ball gowns and tuxedos and swirling to the strains of a Viennese waltz glided through Granville’s mind, and his lips quirked. “Dance?”
“Some kind of a celebration and healing ceremony, I gather. Supposed to be quite something, according to Arbuthnot. Isn’t something non-Indians usually get to see, but until they decide I’m well, they’re not about to kick me out.”
“So what does the shaman say about you?”
“He tends to shake his head and mutter a lot.”
“Not surprising. But what does he say about your injuries?”
Scott ignored him. “As I was saying, on the whole he seems pleased with how I’m doing. So I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
Granville looked closely at Scott, seeing the small beads of sweat that had popped out on his upper lip, and the way he’d gradually leaned more solidly against the pillar as they’d talked. “I’m thinking about making this my base for awhile.”
“Why? And don’t be thinking I’m not up to riding.”
Remembering Scott bent forward, hauling fifty pound loads ups the steep Chilkoot Trail, then going back and doing it again and again and again, all the while suffering from the remains of a persistent bout of influenza, Granville had no doubt his partner could do anything he set his mind to. “I’m worried Benton may be involved.”
“Benton? Why?”
“He didn’t give me any names for our pursuers, but he did give me a veiled warning. And he tried to hire me.”
“Hire you?” Scott thought about that for a moment. “That’s either a compliment or a bad sign. And why now?”
“Probably both. And I confess it’s the timing that worries me.”
Granville could see Scott digesting this piece of information, examining its implications. “They send someone after you?”
“Trent and I had a tail the entire time. He made no effort to shoot at us, though.”
“So they’re after information.”
“That’s my thought. They aren’t sure which of us has the map.”
Scott nodded slowly. “Did you talk to Frances?”
“Yes. She hadn’t heard anything.”
“And Lizzie?” There was reluctance in Scott’s tone, as if he was bracing himself for bad news.
“Frances says she’s eating. And has stopped smoking opium.” Granville hoped that heartening news would distract Scott, keep him from asking about his niece.
“And little Sarah? Any news?” Scott asked.
He couldn’t lie. Reluctantly, Granville pulled out the crumpled telegram, handed it over.
Scott’s eyes scanned the few lines, met Granville’s. “So that’s what you’re doing back here.”
Granville grabbed back the paper, scanned it. He’d given Scott the wrong telegram; he hadn’t meant to tell his partner about the threat on his life.
Scott was watching him closely. “You might as well give me the other one,” he said, holding out a hand.
Silently Granville handed over the telegram Emily had kept for him, watching his friend’s face pale as he read it. When he’d finished, Scott’s big hand fisted around the flimsy paper. “If you have this, why aren’t you on the train to Denver?”
“We’re no good to little Sarah if we’re dead.”
Scott gave him a hard stare. “I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the issue. I don’t think they’ll give up easily, not with a gold mine at stake. If I thought it’d draw them out after me, I’d be on the next train to Denver.”
“You think it wouldn’t.”
“Not as long as you’re here.”
“I’m good to ride.”
No, he wasn’t. “We’ll need money first, which means the gold. And I think we’ll have to produce Cole’s body before long, since there’s a detective here. We can’t get to Denver if we’re in jail.”
Scott ignored his attempt at humor. “So what’s the plan?”
“I thought I’d hand the body over to the law, get out enough gold to look for little Sarah and re-hide the rest. Then we’ll take ourselves and the map to Denver.”
Not fooled by the explanation, Scott reached out and gripped his partner’s shoulder hard. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just tired of being shot at.”
A commotion on the other side of the room captured Granville’s attention. Scott followed his gaze.
“It looks like the dancing’s about to start.”
“Now?”
“Yup. They’ve been feasting and preparing for two days. Look.”
Granville watched in fascination as first one and then several gray haired Indian matrons stood up and began to sway, chanting as they did so. Nothing further from the waltz could be imagined, yet there was a stately grace to this form of dance. “Are they Katzie?” he asked.
Scott squinted his eyes to see better down the length of the hall. “The middle one is. The others are relations from the Island. Sisters, cousins, who knows.”
“The clans are closely related?”
“Tribes. And you’re asking me?” He gave Granville a quick grin.
“Well, if you’ve been spending any time talking to Arbuthnot, I thought you might have picked up something.”
“How do you think I know as much as I do? And that’s another thing. What’ d’you mean by inflicting him on me when I was too weak to get away?”
“Mr. Arbuthnot struck me as a very convivial gentleman,” Granville said with a straight face.
“Huh. The man loves to talk. And he’s fascinated with everything to do with the Indians in this region of the world, really a fount of knowledge on the subject. Problem is, the man’s also a prosy bore.”
He grinned. “I rather thought he might be. But for all that he’s the epitome of the upright Victorian gentleman; I knew if you needed something he’d see to it.”
“Hmmmph,” Scott said. “Well, if you want to know about these dances, you can ask him yourself. The lecture you’ll get will serve you right.”
“This is fascinating,” Granville said, his eyes on the slowly spinning figures.
“Yup, sure is. But I’m happy to watch it; I don’t need to know the ins and outs of it all.”
Granville watched as the women swayed and chanted. “I think I’ll have that chat with Arbuthnot.”
“You have that look in your eye again. I don’t think it’s dancing you’re going to be asking about, is it?”
“I might start by asking about dancing.”
“Hmmpf. Last time you got that look in your eye, you tricked a bunch of tenderfeet that had their eye on our claim into prospecting up the other end of Rabbit Creek. And look how well that turned out.”
Granville glanced sideways at Scott. “You know full well it wasn’t my fault they hit pay dirt on that supposedly worthless claim.”
“All I know is our digging got us nothing but gravel and more gravel.”
“We found enough color to buy our food. Most of the time.”
“Well, I’m hoping you can do better this time. Maybe you can even avoid the black eye that you got as part of those negotiations.”
“I hardly think Arbuthnot is going to punch me in the eye.”
“Nope, but the ones you’re hopin’ to trick will probably do worse to you.”
“Not likely.”
Scott chortled, but Granville noted in concern how pale he was under the weathered tan his face wore even in winter.