T heo and Artie Sinclair had known Katherine Gilbert for nearly their entire lives. As a child, Kat had absolutely insisted she was Theo and Artie’s long-lost cousin. As an adult, she scarcely seemed to have changed her decision.
As Theo tried to dance with her, he couldn’t help noticing her distraction over his brother and the Hodges girl.
“What are you looking at, Kat? You’ve missed four steps!”
“I’ve just never seen Artie with a girl before. Especially one I’ve never met.”
Theo shook his head and tried to lead her back to the beat of the music. “He’s not with her, Kat. It’s business.”
“I don’t see any goats or chickens.”
“Thank goodness!”
She looked up. “Does Artie have a business I’m not aware of?”
“No. Does it matter?”
Kat glared at him and missed another step before looking toward Artie and Dorothy once more.
“You’re an incurable meddler.”
“Apparently not. I haven’t managed to marry either of you off yet!”
Theo rolled his eyes. “You haven’t managed to marry off yourself.”
Kat laughed as he spun her. “You’re no spring chickens! I am. There are perks to being the younger cousin!”
“If ever you find proof of our kinship, you let me know. I want to know where on earth you came from.”
Kat laughed again, stole another glance toward Artie and Dorothy before nearly losing step once again. “I’ll bet she needs a friend.”
“What now?” Theo nearly lost step himself.
“That girl. She looks like she could step out of an 1890s painting. Even her hair is old-fashioned.”
Theo spun her instead of replying, and they didn’t speak again until the dance concluded. Kat clapped for the band, but looked up at Theo.
“I’ve decided!”
“You’ve decided on what , exactly?” Theo had learned to be more leery of Kat’s schemes than even his stepmother’s conversations.
“That I like the Hodges girl.” Kat followed as he led her from the center of the Pavilion.
“After five minutes?”
She nodded, her dark eyes darting back to his face. “I’ve decided to be her friend. Maybe I can bring her into the 20th century a bit. Her clothes are worn, no matter how tidy. I’ll get her to come out of her shell a bit—then she’ll be perfect for Artie!”
Theo choked. “Perfect for Artie? ”
“He needs a girl.” She smiled at his expression. “You could be a bachelor all your born days and be just ducky. Artie is another story.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want help though or maybe you’re wrong!” Theo couldn’t help but wonder what Artie would think if he could hear the conversation.
“Oh, phonus balonus!” Kat laughed yet again, but whether at his suggestion or his expression, he didn’t know. “If he didn’t need my help, he’d have a girl. I know I’m not wrong.”
Theo grimaced, glancing around the crowd. “Does it have to be that girl, Kat?”
“He doesn’t seem particularly interested in anyone else I’ve seen him with.”
Theo crossed his arms. “I told you. His current ‘interest,’ as you call it, is business. He would far rather be at home with his chickens and his goats right now.”
Kat nodded with far too much determination. “That will change. You’ll see.”
* * *
Despite his desire to return home, Artie waited for his brother. Theo would be happiest if they returned home together, even though he could probably catch a ride with Kat.
He had no desire to dance, nor did he have the concentration for it. Instead, he walked the outer edge of the Pavilion, sometimes watching the people, sometimes immersed in his own thoughts. He noticed with surprise that Dorothy stood listening to Kat.
I thought she would have run out of here like she did the last time. She looked startled enough.
Artie couldn’t help noting the contrast between the two women for a moment. Dorothy with her loose, blonde braids, wide blue eyes, and delicate almost narrow features, appeared very opposite Kat with her dark hair, somewhat narrow eyes, and broader features. Kat’s silky hair wouldn’t submit to many of the longer hairstyles of the day—as she had clearly stated or Artie would never have known—so she usually pinned back the side, wearing the rest down. She made up for any hairstyle deprivation by wearing dresses in the brightest colors that she could find in the desert. Dorothy’s dark skirt and dull blouse looked all the more a contrast beside Kat’s brilliant dress.
Artie didn’t dwell long on the differences. He kept walking, his thoughts returning to the leather skin pouch in his coat.
Where does a woman who had nothing to offer two weeks ago besides a ring of little value find gold? How does she find it?
It dawned on him that the pouch could be filled with altogether ordinary rocks, and she could be playing a ruse. He hadn’t actually checked for gold.
After all, she could guess I wouldn’t look at it until I give it to my father. Though I couldn’t guess what she might hope to accomplish.
“Holy Mackerel! I can’t believe that you don’t know how to dance!”
He’d started watching his shoes while he thought but looked up at the sound of Kat’s voice. He nodded as he caught Dorothy’s eye and the flash of fear her recognition ignited caused him to frown. He kept walking.
If she tried to trick me, she wouldn’t be sticking around. Why she is so afraid of me, I can’t imagine, but she’s too frightened to want to see me find a pouch of rocks.
The breeze blew in a refreshing breath of air, though one couldn’t call the weather hot yet. It would be, given another month. Certainly, in two. Still, the number of people crowded into the Pavilion made the fresh breeze a welcome addition.
Artie thought he could smell the blooms of a cacti and it distracted him. He glanced across the desert landscape, squinting for the sight of the white and yellow blooms. He saw a lone man in the distance coming toward the Pavilion instead.
There’s something odd about that man. I can’t work out what it is at this distance. It’s odd though.
Artie shook his head. The oddity of people didn’t concern him, and he had other matters to work through. He continued his walk around the Pavilion.
The band shifted into yet another number. Artie rather enjoyed watching a swing dance, even when he would rather not join it. He liked the movement and the choreography; again, so long as he didn’t have to contribute to it. He nodded to a group of old prospectors, who rarely danced either, but came to watch the show. With another glance toward the dancers, Artie stifled a laugh at Theo’s partner.
She’s having fun, I suppose. Awful dancing and all. I hope that he is.
His thoughts went back to Dorothy and the gold again.
I suppose Fred will deem gold as acceptable payment. I suppose that he might even be expecting it. She did say, “Just as Father promised,” didn’t she?
He kicked at a stray rock. If they knew about the gold, then why on earth didn’t they tell me? Why am I still playing messenger boy anyhow?
He had nearly reached Kat and Dorothy once more. Wondering whether he should go the opposite direction and avoid frightening Dorothy too much again, he glanced past them, noticing the figure of the man he had seen before. The man had drawn closer to the Pavilion, but his gait did not appear steady, and he wove as he made his way. Artie paused to watch.
Is he… drunk? He’s anything but steady.
The man stumbled to the edge of the Pavilion a little distance from Artie, bloodshot and sunken eyes clearly unable to focus looked out from a sunburnt face. His chest heaved. Reaching out to the air, he collapsed onto his hands and knees.
One of the girls screamed and Dorothy ran forward before Artie could reach the man, pulling down her canteen. She knelt beside him, hesitated for a mere second, then touched his shoulder.
“W-water?” The man spoke in a hoarse and hollow voice.
Dorothy nodded, extending her canteen. The man couldn’t take it, so she held it for him as he drank.
Artie bent down beside them. “Is he sick?”
Dorothy looked up at him, quailed for a brief instant, then squared her shoulders. She nodded. “Dehydrated. He’s been without water for too long.”
Artie looked back at the man, who still barely held up his head. “How can you tell?”
“I’ve seen it before.” She helped the man take another sip from the canteen but wouldn’t let him drink much. He seemed too weak to argue just yet. “If I had water with ginger and vinegar, it would help.”
The last words seemed to be spoken to herself more than to him, but Artie nodded. “I’ll see if Mr. Curtis has any in the store.”
George Curtis, or rather his wife, had him packed off with a reused Coca-Cola bottle filled with ginger water in mere minutes, with orders to return for more, if needed. Despite her swift movements, it felt to Artie as if half an hour had passed.
On his return to the Pavilion, the band had silenced, and the dancers stilled. People stood around, obviously unsure what to do, but unwilling to go about as normal. Theo and Kat stood a little distant from Dorothy and sick man.
Artie knelt again beside the two and Dorothy took the bottle, helping the man take a longer drink than before. The man coughed and raised a shaking hand to his forehead.
“Thank you. I… I thought I’d never find people.” He spoke in a hoarse, graveled voice.
“What happened to you?” Artie tried to help the man into a more comfortable sitting position. “It’s not that awful hot out here yet.”
The man shook his head and licked his chapped lips. “Superstition. Lost my burro. Lost myself.”
“Were you alone? No one else is lost out there?”
The man reached for the bottle again. “Just the burro.”
“How much time did you spend in the Superstition Mountains?” Artie realized he probably shouldn’t over question.
The man finished his drink and sighed. “Not sure. Searching. Got lost before I lost the burro.”
“Searching?” Artie glanced toward Dorothy. She still helped the man drink from the bottle when he reached for it, but Artie hadn’t heard her say anything.
The man’s voice went even more hoarse. “Lost Dutchman Goldmine.”
Dorothy’s eyes widened a bit, but she still didn’t speak.
“Old prospector. Sent me wrong. On purpose.”
“Old prospector?” Dorothy’s words came faint, but Artie heard her.
“Near Weaver’s Needle. Days ago.”
Artie saw Dorothy’s shoulders drop in relief.
The man shook his head faintly. “John. Or Joseph. Or… Something.” He took another drink and sagged. “Sent me further. Not out.”
Artie looked at Dorothy again. She glanced back briefly, a puzzled expression on her face mingled with a trace of alarm.
Her father’s name is Joseph. Could he be described as an old prospector? He glanced at her once more. Judging by her face, I should say that he could.