Auraria: A Novel by Tim Westover Read Free Book Online Page A

strike?”
    Abigail flashed back into the room, a whirlwind of motion. With what seems like a hundred hands, she collected the plates, polished the table, swept the floor, and put their chairs back into the tiny grooves that they’d worn for themselves. It was the first whirlwind Holtzclaw had ever seen that had cleaned and righted—a flurry of order, not disorder. It was not a duty for the elegance and charm of a lady, but Holtzclaw was touched with admiration for an unpleasant task perfectly performed. The fat man and the thin man watched her too.
    When the motion settled, Abigail floated in to the conversation. “Are you asking after gold, Mr. Holtzclaw? Already?”
    “I didn’t realize the subject was taboo.”
    “Only that it’s not nearly as exciting as strangers would suppose. If you must know, six months ago, Ode Peppers found that nugget the size of a squirrel turd.”
    This gave everyone pause.
    The silence was broken by the thin man, speaking up for the first time. “Did you know,” that a turkey’s foot makes an excellent raking tool and a thousand turkeys’ feet so much the better? That after a herd of turkeys is driven over a promising area—say, the wet bank of a creek—that the sand is churned up, loosened, made ready for the wise man who comes back later with a pan or, better still, a rocker box to wash that sand away and find a little gold left behind?”
    It was too complicated to raise turkeys just to make gold mining easier. But Holtzclaw did not share his doubts with his companions. “Well, that’s quite clever,” he said.
    “Not half as clever as how we really use them,” said the thin man. At this, the fat man walloped the thin man with his hat.
    “Are you still looking for that cave, gentlemen?” said Abigail.
    “Maybe we are, and maybe we aren’t,” said the fat man.
    “Spanish caves! Soldiers’ caves! Miners’ caves! Misers’ caves! If every story about treasure caves were true, you’d all have gold nuggets the size of squirrel turds,” said Abigail.
    “Course they’re not all true,” said the thin man. “Just a few of them are. That’s all we need. Only two or three fabulous fortunes, not six or ten.”
    “Well, it’s good to know you’re not greedy,” said Abigail. She tallied up their bill. The fat man withdrew a small pouch and poured out a quantity of gold dust onto a set of balances. Holtzclaw had seen its like only among jewelers and herbalists, never in a tavern.
    “They are good men,” said Abigail to Holtzclaw, after the turkey drovers left, “and hardworking, even when they’re digging for gold.”
    “Nothing wrong with people trying to find their fortune in the world, is there?”
    “Only if they dream of nothing else.”
    The piano in the corner began an up-tempo number that had been popular a decade ago. It wasn’t suited to the mood, and it stirred Holtzclaw out of his thoughts.
    “I should be on my way to McTavish’s,” he said. He paid for his supper in ordinary federal coins, which Abigail accepted without complaint. At the threshold of the house, he turned back and called to Abigail. “I think your player piano may be a bit out of tune. May I take a look?”
    “It’s not a player piano,” said Abigail. “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you. Mr. Bad Thing is a little jealous.”
    Ignoring her, Holtzclaw lifted the lid of the upright piano. Inside, there were no gears, no mechanisms at all—just the ordinary contents of a piano. “How can this possibly work, Ms. Thompson?”
    “Just because you don’t know how it works,” said Abigail, “doesn’t mean that it can’t work. Mr. Bad Thing plays just fine.”
    The tune jumped to a minor key, then cut off. A shiver ran over the crown of Holtzclaw’s head. A pale fear tickled at his feet; they cried out for him to flee.
    “See, you shouldn’t have touched it,” said Abigail.
     
    #
     
    Outside, Holtzclaw’s head swam with claret and discomfort. The night air cut into his