Page 18 of Working the Lode

To calm the miners’ outraged curses, Ed said, “Brannagh’s a good businessman, you’ve got to give him that. Before he went tearing around the streets shouting about gold, he bought up every pickaxe, shovel, and pan in the entire town.”

A miner slapped his thigh with his hat. “God damnit! No wonder that damned pan cost me ten dollars at Brannagh’s store! That pan was worth twenty cents a month ago!”

“Sam Coleridge just traded an ounce of gold for a box of Seidlitz powder at Brannagh’s store!”

There was a general hubbub of disconcerted miners. Mining hubbubs always made one uneasy. Zelnora, Cormack, Bigler, and Ed stepped toward Brannagh when they saw him sliding down a sandy hill in his tall boots, followed by Hudson and Willes, two of his partners who had built the Lion Island store.

“We’d best warn him, his outrageous practices are unsettling the miners,” said Bigler.

Cormack mentioned, “He’s perfectly free to charge whatever they’re willing to pay.”

Bigler raised an eyebrow. “Bowmaker? Defending Brannagh’s trickery? Well, well, here’s the high priest collecting tithes.”

Brannagh tipped his hat, first to Zelnora, then Bigler, then Ed. Lastly, he barely sniffed at Cormack. Brannagh got right down to business.

“Bigler.” Zelnora noted he did not call him “brother” any longer. “I am here to collect the tithes, as you know. Ten percent each for Hudson and Willis by right of discovery, and ten percent for my collection fee.”

“That’s thirty percent! Regular mission tithes are only ten percent. And I thought you had abandoned the mission,” Bigler pointed out cautiously.

Brannagh chuckled. “Whatever made you think that? Yes, these tithes will go to buy young cattle here, and send them to Elder Pickett at the Colorado River. There is more gold here than all the people of California can take out in fifty years.”

Bigler stepped up to Brannagh, confrontational. “You expect me to believe that? That you’d even buy cattle, much less ship ‘em to the Colorado River? I’ve seen enough of your tricks—Pickett will never see any cattle brought to him by that channel. What business do you have to collect tithes here, anyway?”

Cormack beat Brannagh to it. “Bigler, he has a right to collect the tax if you are fool enough to pay it.”

Zelnora had seen Brannagh erupt like this many times—on the ship, in San Francisco, at his Fort store—so it didn’t shake her a bit to see how instantly red his face flushed, like a radish, how he attempted to draw himself up and loom over Cormack, nearly bumping the taller man with his chest like a puffed-up rooster. “Bowmaker, I’ve just about had enough—“

Zelnora did not even see Cormack’s hand at his holster, but suddenly Brannagh was looking cross-eyed down the barrel of his Colt revolver. Taking a couple of steps back from the businessman, Cormack’s hand was steady, and he narrowed his unblinking eyes at Brannagh. “And I’ve had just about enough from you, sir.”

Unaware that his two partners were backing slowly off, crawling in horror up the sandy hill behind him, Brannagh gulped and regained some composure, though the barrel was three inches from his nose. He attempted a chuckle. “I see that stealing my helpmate is not enough for a man of such voracious appetites as you, Bowmaker. Now you must incite my followers to mutiny?” He stepped into his preacher’s voice now. “Where will it all stop, Bowmaker, this clodhopping persecution you perpetrate on me? What is it about a pious man that sends you to such heights of uneducated irrationality? Oh, but I have heard you style yourself a doctor.”

Cormack’s growl was so murderous Zelnora could barely hear his words. “I don’t style myself anything.”

Brannagh blathered on with confidence. “What does the Bible say? ‘Physician heal thyself.’ Oh, perhaps you’d know that if you could read.”

Cormack cocked the hammer. Zelnora had never seen such rage in his beautiful clear eyes before. Yet he was calm, still, as though his temper propelled him to an even higher sense of peace. “Perhaps if you kept your Thomas in your pants, you wouldn’t have driven Miss Sparks into my uneducated arms.”

Oh dear Lord. The childish tiffs men got into, as though she were a toy! Zelnora leaped to Cormack’s side, putting a soothing hand on the arm that didn’t hold the pistol. “It’s all right, Cormack. Please holster your revolver.” Slowly and seemingly reluctantly, Cormack did so, but he didn’t remove his level, steely gaze upon Brannagh’s sweaty face. “Ward. It is true. I shall have to tender my resignation from your employ. Quartus and I shall work with Bowmaker and Erskine from now on. While I do thank you most gratefully for the opportunities—“ Cormack cast her a sharp look, and Zelnora swallowed hard. “I need to separate myself from your influence, and I believe I can be most fruitful with Mr. Bowmaker.”

With no pistol barrel in his face, Brannagh burst forth in oratorical splendor. “Ah, the frivolities of youth, when one imagines one’s circumstances will change for the better by throwing caution to the breeze. You’ll see. You’ll see that this gold fever is but a flash in the pan, the gold mining pan such as it is, and the real money is to be made in the restaurant, hotel, the pick and axe trade. Why, I could make more money selling vegetables to these pickled spirits, these maggots of society, seeing as how I’ve never laid eyes on a single green comestible out here in the gold mines! And such choice and pickled spirits you’ve chosen to align yourself with, Miss Sparks!”

Brannagh revolted her. She said, “That’s fine talk coming from one who is always corned himself, sir.”

Brannagh opened his mouth to bray some more, but Cormack said calmly, “Go, Brannagh. Your collection services are no longer required at Lion Island.”

Brannagh stomped downhill, shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll just see what Wimmer, Sly and Mowry have to say about this! And all of you are ejected from the mission!”

“Is that so?” Bigler bellowed. “I’d rather be ejected than to pray alongside a hypocrite such as you!”

Cormack put a protective arm around Zelnora as he led her back to the river.

“Will Quartus be upset to be ejected?” Cormack asked her.

She smiled. “Apparently his mother will be extremely upset.” She was stupefied at how free she felt, having been cast into the same kettle as these “pickled spirits” who mined the gold camps of California. Far better the maggots of society than the hypocritical shylocks of the “civilized” settlements.

Cormack squinted at the sky. “Well, fortunately it takes about four months for a letter to get overland, so he’s got time to plan what to say to her.”

“Yes, or six months round the Cape.” Zelnora agreed happily.

Cormack pointed at her. “He should send the letter that way.”

Zelnora laid her head upon his shoulder as they came within sight of their claim. Aaron and Quartus, a hundred yards downstream, waved as they worked Aaron’s rocker.