California Gold by John Jakes Read Free Book Online Page A

until.”
    “You’re ridiculous, both of you,” Carla said, nudging her horse forward with her boot heels. Her hips were broad, Mack noticed; she had the kind of billowy figure very much in fashion. Despite the heat and tension and the pointed pistol, he felt a distinct physical attraction to the girl. He licked his parched mouth as she walked her black horse between him and her father.
    “Go ahead and drink all you want,” she said. “He won’t shoot me.”
    As Mack started to thank her, Hellman leaned out and snatched at her bridle. The spirited glossy black shied away. “C’mere, damn you,” Hellman yelled, swatting with the S&W. The gunsight nicked the horse’s head and it reared unexpectedly. Carla slid off and fell in the water on her billowy rear, letting out a cry.
    Whether she was really hurt didn’t matter. Mack jumped forward just as Fairbanks dismounted, but Mack reached her first in the dark brown water, splashing Carla’s face and partially soaking her shirt; the fabric lay wet and tight on her breasts. Mack leaned down while the lawyer, touching his spotless white trousers, hesitated at the water’s edge.
    Heedless of the muddy water, Mack swept his arms around Carla. “Hold on.” She was delighted to do it. He felt the huge hot pressure of a breast against his shirt. With a stifled grunt—she was not light—he carried her toward the bank. Carla’s deep-blue eyes were close to his, watching him intently. He did see a choice opportunity and took advantage of it: He stomped and splashed a lot, and Fairbanks didn’t retreat fast enough. Mack set the girl on the loamy bank while Fairbanks stared down mutely at his soiled clothes. Impulsively, Mack leaned down and scooped up water with both hands. He drank so hastily, most of it ran down his chin. The little he swallowed was warm, and full of grit, and wonderful.
    Out in the stream, Hellman smirked and grunted, “Well, you don’t mind getting a little dirty, I give you that, Johnny.” Mack saw Fairbanks redden at the jibe. “And you got nerve,” Hellman continued as he caught the bridle of Carla’s skittish mount, “but property’s property. So I’m through talking about this.” Once more he leveled the .45, choosing a larger target, Mack’s chest. “You start walking. Right now.”
    Mack was going to swear at him, but when he saw the humorless determination in Hellman’s eyes he stopped himself. He hated these men, hated the feeling of being dirt to be trod on at their pleasure. This humiliation was something he’d remember.
    “Which way to San Francisco?”
    Fairbanks swooped his hat back in the direction the three had come from. “That way. I’d suggest that you go somewhere else. I don’t know why you came to California, but the Gold Rush was over forty years ago, and we don’t need penniless trash or inferior specimens like you in the City.”
    “Oh, you’ve got some kind of high-toned pedigree, have you?” Mack said.
    That amused the lawyer; perhaps he knew he was back in control. “I don’t have to explain myself to riffraff. But I don’t mind telling you I was born in California. That makes me a native son—something you’ll never be.”
    “Listen, I know what you are. I’d say it, but there’s a lady—”
    “Damn insolent—” Fairbanks began, but it was Hellman who took the play, kicking his gray to the bank with a lot of splashing. Mack turned in response to the noise, but wasn’t prepared for the searing pain as Hellman whipped the end of his rein against Mack’s cheek. He jumped away, hearing Carla cry, “Swampy!” in protest, but Hellman managed to hit him a second time.
    Blood ran down Mack’s right cheek. He wanted to go for Hellman’s throat, but Hellman’s face had changed from merely hard to ugly. The German brandished the S&W. “That’s the road to Frisco,” he said. “I find you on my ranch tonight, you’re a dead man.”
    “Swampy, you’re a bastard sometimes,” Carla said.