Page 10 of Working the Lode

CHAPTER SIX

Bowmaker

Bowmaker swaggered down the hill with Zelnora on his arm.

He had nearly forced her to take his arm. He needed to prove there was no shame in their courtship. Knowing the gossipy ways of the settlements, sooner or later someone would squawk like an old hen to Brannagh anyway. Folk were half-froze for entertainment on the frontier.

He knew he beamed with satisfaction, though his cock was still at half-mast, for he had succeeded in pleasuring the woman in the most intimate way possible. He cared not, really, for his own gratification—he had just told Zelnora he wanted to fuck to avoid the even more vexing truth that he was a love-sick booby. The way her dark brown curls slid over his face and neck when she straddled him and bucked against his prick, why, he was gone beaver. And ho boy, how her pussy tasted when she gushed against his face, like a sweet porridge of cinnamon and apples—he had never seen a woman come that long or strenuously. He’d been almost afraid she would suffer a seizure the way she bucked and snorted and convulsed. Was it possible no man had ever licked her pussy before? Bowmaker shuddered when the briefest imagining of Brannagh doing that crossed his mind. That fellow was of “bad medicine” notoriety.

“I’m awful fond of you,” he said lamely, holding her forearm close to his chest.

“Fond?” was all Zelnora said.

Bigler came racing forward before they even reached the store, brandishing the eagle feather quill in his hand. “Sister Sparks! I do believe I’ve found gold at the mill!”

“Keep your hollering down,” Bowmaker reminded him.

He was proud of the calm way Zelnora took this news. “Well, Brother Bigler, we’ll just have to do some investigation then, won’t we?”

She released his arm when they entered the store. Erskine, Quartus, and the red-head Miss Mercy Narrimore canoodled by the counter, drinking whiskey from the looks of it, and paying no mind to the gold as Zelnora marched into a back room and came back with some items that she slapped onto the counter.

“The Indians I’ve spoken to here at the Fort have known about gold in these parts for many generations,” Zelnora said, accepting the eagle quill from Bigler. “The gold is supposed to be guarded by evil spirits. There’s a lake not far from here with plenty of gold but there is a fearful animal, a sort of dragon who likes human flesh.” She poured the little nuggets onto a tray which she carried to the only window, turning it this way and that with one eye closed. Next, she took out an eyepiece to examine the crystals more closely.

Bowmaker and Bigler exchanged greedy looks. “Can you find out where this lake is located?” Bowmaker asked Zelnora.

“I sure can try.”

Bringing the tray back to the counter, she said, “I spoke to one of Sutter’s workers not long ago. From Hermosillo in Mexico. He told me we can find pounds of gold in quartz veins in the Sierra. One would only need a batea, which as far as I can tell is just a simple wooden bowl for washing the gold. He just kept saying batea, batea.”

“Can you locate this fellow?” Bigler asked tremulously.

Zelnora, eyes still affixed to the gold nuggets, blindly reached for Bowmaker’s bowie knife on his belt. He assisted by handing it to her. “I sure can try,” she said quietly, vaguely, holding one of the tiny nuggets on the counter and scratching its surface with the knife blade.

Quartus came wobbling over now, curious. “I can find gold with my divining rod!” he again declared, bolstered by a healthy application of “bug juice.” He fell silent then, fascinated by the doings of his wife. Her next step was to vigorously rub a nugget against the wooden countertop, then sniff it. The men became alarmed when she reached for a steel hammer and with one bang, flattened a nugget on the tray.

Bigler cried, “What are you doing?”

A slow smile radiated across her face as she gradually stood to an upright position. Her eyes were fixed only on Bowmaker, however, when she said in a reverent tone, “This is gold.”

Bigler let out a walloping yee-haw to the heavens above while Quartus leaped up and down clapping his hands, twirling around in little circles chanting, “Gold! Gold! Gold!” to the same tune as the earlier song about Jake Herring thumping it. Even Erskine and Mercy ceased their canoodling and swiveled their heads with interest toward all the commotion.

Without tearing her shining wide eyes from Bowmaker, Zelnora came round the counter and grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists. She fairly stood on tiptoes in her zeal. She resembled a lovely Madonna with her round brown eyes, her gleaming curls escaping from the mantle of her rebozo. “Cormack,” she whispered. He could barely hear her under the ecclesiastical hollering of the two gold-crazed converts. Now even Erskine was clapping Bigler on the back as Mercy set out more tin cups for whiskey. “Gold. Gold. Do you know what this means? From the size and character of those specimens, that area seems to be much richer than the gold fields of Georgia! It must have washed down from the mountains during the recent torrents. Where descending waters meet an obstacle or projecting rock, in the riverbed and also the declivities, we can find pockets of gold. Gold!”

Gold. Bowmaker kissed Zelnora, sweetly and gently, loving her with his mouth. He kissed her again and again as she grasped his shirt-front, nearly melting into him. Ho, boy, was he a perverted old hard case to get an erection when they had just discovered gold? He should be more concerned about his future riches. Gold, gold, gold…

As Quartus was now performing some new movement of polka steps, Zelnora broke away and walloped her husband a backhand across the chest. “Cheese it, Quartus! Captain Sutter told us to keep quiet any news of a mineral strike—there are bandits roaming the countryside ready to stick knives in us like porcupines if they hear of this.”

At the mention of “bandits” Quartus stopped his dance. His round eyes behind the spectacles spoke of his romantic reverence for highwaymen. “Bandits? Bear’s ass!” And he stumbled off to get some more bug juice.

“Sister Sparks!” bellowed Bigler, holding his tin cup up on high. “You are absolutely certain of this, then?”

“Oh, yes, Henry! This gold is of the finest quality, perhaps twenty-three carats. Give me some of that whiskey!”

At that moment the door’s bell tinkled, and a local corncracker and a Californio entered, beaming from ear to ear in puzzlement at the spontaneous spree in Brannagh’s store. “Miss Sparks!” the farmer called. “What’s all the hubbub? Did we get a new supply of Forty Rod?”

Ho, boy, Forty Rod. Just a whiff of that firewater would kill a man at that distance, even around a corner. To distract the farmer, Zelnora went into the back room with the tray of gold, and brought forth a presumably good bottle of some liquor.

Shoving it at the farmer, Zelnora said, “This brandy is of the quality that the Duke of Orleans drinks, Mr. Leese. Try some. Mercy, give the men cups.” Returning to Bowmaker’s side, she whispered fiercely, “Cormack. We simply must go back to Coloma and see to what extent this gold pans out. If we discover it’s worth pursuing, we build what’s known as a rocker, a sort of cradle to facilitate the process. But we can’t let anyone see what we’re doing. How will you hide it from Marshall?”

Bowmaker tipped his head to one side. Marshall? Who gave a flying fuck about Marshall? It was easy enough to hide the gold signs from him. “More to the point, Zelnora…What about Brannagh? If you come up to Coloma, what will you tell him?”

“He’s away for yet another week and a half. That’s plenty of time, right?”

Bowmaker thought, and nodded.

“Viva Carlos Quinto!” the Californio cried at the taste of the Duke of Orleans’ brandy.

Death or glory!