California Gold by John Jakes Read Free Book Online Page B

“You too, Walter.”
    Fairbanks responded only by glaring at Mack, but Hellman shouted, “Shut up, goddamn it!”
    What was it Wyatt Paul had said about a closed door? Mack licked his lips, already dry again, then turned and started walking. He passed the buxom girl, who was standing there muddy and sweaty and beautiful; he didn’t miss the look she gave him, hot with admiration.
    The attorney didn’t miss it either.

4
    T HAT EVENING MACK RESTED in a grove of immense eucalyptus trees. From Hellman’s stream he had followed a rutted dirt pike that led toward the coastal mountains, crossing flat land broken by many little waterways with stands of cattail growing along them. At dusk the fog had come down, and though he wasn’t sure he was off Hellman’s land, he decided to risk stopping for the night. He was almost out of his mind with hunger, a condition he tried to forget by studying the fog. It was soft, white, unbelievably chilly—the thickest he’d ever seen.
    Suddenly he heard a horse coming from the east. He dodged behind the trunk of a eucalyptus with the clasp knife in his hand and watched the broad dirt pike, or what he could see of it. His mouth was dusty dry again, now from fear. Was the rider someone sent to make good on Hellman’s threat?
    The fog swirled, agitated by the horse and rider, who emerged from it like specters. For a moment Mack saw nothing except a dark mass. The rider wore some kind of flapping cape. When he saw long hair, he knew it was no assassin.
    “Miss Hellman,” he called, stepping from cover.
    She reined the black horse sharply and trotted back. The cape hung down over her back, shoulders, and breasts; it was a Mexican serape. “Is that you?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Good. I knew Swampy’s ranch hands would be too lazy to search very hard when the tule fog came down. But I’m not—if I want something. May I dismount?”
    There was a certain archness in that question. He knew she was very much more worldly than he was, accustomed to playing games with men—she’d been married to a count, hadn’t she? Still, her presence excited him. She flung off the serape and tethered her horse. She wore a clean white shirt and pants and the gold scarf.
    “This is the main road west. I thought you still might be on it, and on the ranch.”
    “Is this a ranch? It looks like a farm.”
    She laughed. “You have a great deal to learn about California. Farms are ranches out here. See here, I don’t know your name.”
    “James Macklin Chance.”
    “Jim—”
    “No, I go by Mack,” he said as she extended her hand. It was a soft feminine hand, yet he felt strength in it. She held his hand longer than necessary.
    “Mack, then. May I sit for a little?”
    “Why, absolutely. Over here.” He led her to where he’d put his bandanna on the ground. “I’m sorry I don’t have a blanket.”
    “No need for one.” She spread the serape and sat down easily, gracefully. Mack was sharply aware of their isolation in the still, white fog. She patted the ground and he knelt beside her, leaving a proper space between.
    “Your father told me to get off his land but I don’t know where it ends.” He gestured west. “China?”
    She laughed again. “Almost. Would you have gotten off if you knew the boundaries?”
    He shook his head.
    “I didn’t think so. I really do admire you. Papa’s a powerful man. And as you saw, he can be dangerous. Frankly, I can’t think of another person, young or old, who ever stood up to Swampy quite the way you did. You have remarkable courage.”
    “I was thirsty—and I just didn’t know any better.” But he liked the praise, especially from her.
    “Walter was very jealous of what you did. Walter would never oppose my father.”
    “He’s your father’s lawyer, isn’t he?”
    “One of them. Walter impresses Swampy because he’s very old-line California. Swampy’s chasing after respectability in San Francisco like an old bull at stud.”
    The words