Page 26 of Working the Lode

Quartus’ face was a blank. “Why, I saw him on the Fourth of July at the Fort. We had a very nice discussion. After he danced with you he walked right up to me and complimented my drumming.”

Mercy’s mouth was an O. “You danced with him?”

Quartus continued, “We discussed drumming, and…things…”

Zelnora slapped Quartus on the hand. “’Things’? What sort of ‘things’?” As an aside, she told Mercy, “I didn’t know who he was. He introduced himself as Señor Carillo.”

Quartus looked perplexed. “Why…We discussed gold. He said he was looking for a nice strike. He was planning on heading down to Sonoran Camp—say, isn’t that the place you and Cormack have talked about going?”

“Yes, yes, did he introduce himself as Joaquin Valenzuela? He just walked right up and said nice meeting you, I’m Joaquin Valenzuela?”

“Why, yes, why not? I suppose he wasn’t ashamed of it.” Quartus’ eyes gleamed with idealism. “Why would he be ashamed? After all, he’s the most widely renowned bandit in California. It’s so dashing and romantic.”

“Romantic?” Mercy said, shocked. “What’s so romantic about shooting innocent people and stealing their hard-earned money?”

“It’s just so dashing,” Quartus repeated, looking glassy-eyed up at the oaks that formed a canopy over their heads.

“So he had nothing to do with General Vallejo’s ranchero?”

Quartus shook his head. “Not that I know of, unless he was robbing Vallejo.”

At the Fort, Cormack went off to get new boot soles. Mercy was saying her goodbyes to Aaron in the assayer’s office, and Zel had some gold dust to trade for new Californio skirts and a chemise that wasn’t torn to tatters. Quartus, bosom compañero to the murderous brigand Joaquin Valenzuela, trotted along at her side. He pointed out various lethal weapons, holstered or not, about the persons of alleged cutthroats and mercenaries, all of whom Quartus was suddenly well-acquainted with.

“See that horse pistol Dan Carlton is wearing? You can take the head off a moose with that thing!”

Zelnora rolled her eyes. “Quartus. Dan Carlton is a farrier. He makes better money than most miners. He hardly needs to resort to shooting moose. Besides, the closest moose is two thous—“

“Ooo, there’s Reyes Feliz!” Quartus trilled, grabbing hold of Zelnora’s arm.

“And who is Reyes Feliz,” Zelnora said flatly.

“Who is Reyes Feliz? Why, he’s only one of Valenzuela’s main accomplices! I heard that Feliz was in jail in Calaveras County once, and Valenzuela pretended to be this fellow he’d just killed in San José. He walked right into the jail, presented the dead fellow’s papers, and sprang Feliz!”

“My, my,” Zelnora said. Yet the black silk kerchief tied in back of his head reminded her of one of the bandits who had accosted her and Cormack, and the ball and chain buttons that closed the sides of his calzoneras confirmed this. She had an idea.

“Quartus, we’re going to play a game with the bandits,” she whispered into his ear, then took him by the arm to saunter close to where Feliz lounged against an adobe wall. Louder, she said, “My, Quartus. Can you believe we’re taking five hundred dollars a day out of our claim at Lion Island? But I heard the gold from around Sonoran Camp is even better.” She elbowed Quartus for his cue.

“Sonoran Camp? Why, yes, Zelnora, I have heard the same thing, also.” He spoke very woodenly as though reading from a script. “There is some very pleasant gold around Sonoran Camp.”

They had caught Feliz’ attention. “I’ve heard of one fellow near Sonoran Camp mining a mass of twenty pounds, mixed with quartz. There must be a giant quartz vein around there.”

Quartus was warming to his topic. “Yes, we must make a plan to head down to Sonoran Camp.”

Zelnora continued loudly, “It is fortunate we are not going with those missionaries over the Sierra Nevada, for they live in poverty, and have absolutely no gold at all.” Feliz’ eyes were intent upon a spot about two feet beyond Zelnora’s shoes. He held himself still as a listening deer, not even breathing.

Quartus flung a dramatic arm. “My, yes! How destitute those ignorant missionaries are! What fools to start over the mountains in late July! Why, remember the Donner company, their bones discovered at their cheerless fires! Where oh where were the green and flowery plains of which they had dreamt?”

“Cheese it, Quartus,” Zelnora muttered from the corner of her mouth. Louder, she proclaimed, “All right, then, it’s decided. We leave for Sonoran Camp in four days. It is too unlucky we aren’t acquainted with anyone who can partner up with us, someone with valuable mining experience such as I have.”

Quartus was still orating about the Donner company’s fate. “They left their happy, happy homes with buoyant hopes and fond anticipations! So changed had the emigrants become, when the party sent out arrived with food, some of them cast it aside, preferring putrid human flesh!”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard Sonoran Camp is also loaded to the muzzle with vagabonds,” Zelnora said, to distract him from his cannibalistic fervor. “Scoundrels from nowhere, rascals from Oregon—“

“Pickpockets from New York!”

“Yes, and accomplished gentlemen from Europe, interlopers from Lima and Chile, and assassins—“

Quartus pointed excitedly. “Assassins manufactured in hell to convert highways into theaters of blood!”

Zelnora smiled widely. “Yes, exactly!” Taking Quartus’ arm again, she felt she had gained sufficient attention from Feliz, so she strolled out of earshot. “We shall fit right in there, don’t you agree?”