The Dead Spend No Gold Read online

  “We must go,” she said. She hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged Jean Baptiste.

  He froze, and then his arms went around her.

  “You were my first kiss,” she whispered in his ear.

  He nodded, his chin on her shoulder. “I loved you,” he whispered back.

  Feather watched the street, pretending to hear nothing. Virginia let go of Jean Baptiste and descended the steps of the saloon. Feather was caught off guard by the abrupt leave-taking, but followed. In a short time, they’d left Bidwell’s Bar behind and were climbing out of the canyon. About halfway up, Virginia took the bag of food, opened it, and stared into it. Her mouth watered, and her belly ached from hunger.

  She swung the bag back and threw it down the hillside as far as she could chuck it.

  “What are you doing?” Feather cried.

  “I won’t eat anything that man gives me,” Virginia said, turning and continuing her march up the hill. “No matter how hungry I am.”

  * * *

  Jean Baptiste waited until Virginia was out of sight, then followed her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her blonde hair seemed lighter, her eyes an even deeper blue. The soft roundness of her face was gone, and she had a refinement that he didn’t remember from before. But he’d known even when he’d courted her that she would never settle for him.

  He followed them, two small women alone in the wilderness. He watched Virginia chuck the food down the hillside. He looked around before removing his clothing and Turning. He wrapped his clothing into a bundle that he could carry in his teeth. In his new form, he trotted over to the food. His heightened senses told him it was only roast beef and carrots, but he understood why Virginia had abandoned the meal. He wasn’t so fastidious. He gobbled it down.

  Then, still in his wolf form, he stalked the two girls as they climbed out of the canyon and followed the trail along its rim, toward the mountains.

  * * *

  Bidwell marched through the now-emptying bar. “Brennan, Folkins!” he shouted. Two men standing at the bar followed him into the back room.

  “Did you see that girl who was in here earlier? The one that damn fool Pete stole money from?” he asked them. They nodded. They were in human form, but they didn’t look quite human. There was something feral in their movements, the way they licked their lips. “She’s got a squaw friend with her. They’re headed up into the mountains. I want you to follow them.”

  “Who is she, Boss?” Brennan asked.

  “Her name is Virginia Reed,” Bidwell said. “She murdered my brother during the Foregathering of the Clans. She knows about us, and she’s dangerous. She has some kind of unnatural ability to fight us. Keseberg told me to kill her if I ever saw her again.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Jesus, Brennan. In front of everyone?” Bidwell said. “Besides, why should I listen to that fool Keseberg? I lost some packmates to his reckless venture in the mountains. It was a dumb plan, and he shouldn’t have survived it.”

  “You could have killed her quick, outside,” Folkins suggested.

  “Perhaps, but I’d just as soon she die somewhere else. Her father is an important man down in San Francisco. He’d want to know what happened. Follow the girls for a couple days and then kill them. Make sure they are never found.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Oliver could barely lift the golden rock in one hand, it was so heavy. Nonetheless, a triumphant smile played over his face. “See! I told you we’d find gold here!”

  And then his face disappeared…but not his body. Oliver still knelt beside the pool, but now blood fountained from his stump of a neck, and James screamed. He tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. A shadow loomed over him, and again he opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The overpowering smell made him gag. He closed his eyes, waiting for death.

  * * *

  The smell remained when James awoke from his fitful dreams. He was in complete darkness.

  I’m dead and buried, and rotting, he thought. He tried to move and was relieved to feel his arms and legs respond. He stretched out and realized he wasn’t in a coffin, but in an open space. He gagged at the stench, and the sound of the retching echoed. I’m in some kind of chamber, he thought. But the last he remembered, he’d been far from any settlement.

  Oliver. Oliver was gone. Of that, James had no doubt. He was only surprised to find himself alive. He tried to shut out the horror of his friend’s head skipping across the pond. He resigned himself to the fact that though he wasn’t dead yet, he would soon join his friend. So he buried his horror, but a deep sadness took its place. He wanted to mourn Oliver, but he was too frightened for himself.

  James breathed through his mouth, but it was as if he could taste the smell. He gagged again, then rolled over and vomited. His head felt as though it had swelled and broken in half. He fell backward with a cry. He put his hand to his forehead and felt dry, caked blood.

  James tried to sit up, but the pain in his head burst over him again. He lay back down and tried to breathe slowly, and finally the agony subsided to a level where he could think.

  I’m not dying, he thought. Head wounds bleed a lot, but I’m still conscious. I’m still able to move.

  When the pain was manageable, he tried again to rise, only this time he did it very slowly. His head pounded from the effort, but it was a steady escalation rather than a sudden explosion. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that there was an opening to the chamber, though it was blocked by something outside.

  He reached out, and his hand encountered rough rock.

  I’m in a cave. Something grabbed me and took me to its cave. A bear? As soon as he thought it, he dismissed the possibility. No…it had been a giant man, bigger than anyone he’d ever seen.

  James had heard stories of mountain men, who let their hair and beards grow, who dressed in fur and buckskin. He’d always imagined them as big brutes, dirty and smelly.

  But he couldn’t convince himself that was what he’d seen. What he’d seen was something he’d never heard of. Something most people didn’t know about. Something unnatural. He stumbled to his feet, leaning against the cave wall. Slowly, he made his way toward the dim light at the front of the cave. The ground was uneven, loose, and he heard cracking sounds under his feet. He felt a breeze and knew that he was close to the entrance, and yet it was still dark.

  He felt something webbed and loose, which moved when he pushed against it. It was a screen, he realized, woven together from branches. He pushed outward, but the screen immediately stopped. He tried sliding the screen to one side, and this time it moved easily.

  A row of trees blocked the cave entrance from prying eyes, with just enough space and flexibility in their branches for him to move forward. With the screen out of the way, more light made its way into the cave, and he glanced behind him.

  James froze.

  Even his breath stilled within him. Time hung suspended for a moment, like the eternal stars whose light penetrated the cave. There was a solid wall of gold, glowing in the dim light. His mouth hanging open in awe, he stumbled toward it, reaching to touch it, before something rolled under his foot. Waves of pain radiated from his head, but he managed to not to fall. Glancing around, he noticed for the first time that the cave floor was covered in bones. Though numb with horror at the sheer quantity of scattered bones, James nevertheless moved deeper into the cave, his fingertips trailing across the surface of the gleaming gold. Behind the wall of shining metal, the cave went on, and James saw that the silky glow stretched into the darkness.

  This is all the gold ever discovered, he thought. This is enough gold to make every man in California rich.

  He looked for pockets of impurity, but the metal was solid, as if it had been melted and poured into a mold.

  He reached out with trembling fingers and ran his hands over the gilded wall, and it was smooth and solid to his touch. He looked down. The noxious smell was as strong as ever, for
in walking through the bones, coated with bits of rotted meat, he had stirred up the stench of death.

  I need to leave, he thought. Come back with Father and my brothers. Leave now.

  But he couldn’t help it; he reached down and found a jagged piece of bone, and used it to pry out a large, rough nugget. He shoved in his pocket and turned to leave.

  It was then that he saw the other man.

  His heart stopped for a moment, then resumed beating with a huge thump. The man sat propped against a golden boulder, staring at him.

  “Hello?” James offered hesitantly.

  There was no response. The man’s face was in shadow, hiding any sign of life. James crouched beside him, ignoring his continued nausea to examine his fellow prisoner. The skin was dried and stretched across the bones and the eyes were sunken, but James had never seen a dead man so well preserved.

  The man sat as if perfectly comfortable atop some moldy blankets, an open rucksack beside him. Inside was a layer of gold, and on top of that, a leather-bound journal. James slid the journal into his pocket. On the wall next to the body, James noticed small gouges, and he leaned over to see that they were rows of lines in bunches of five. He counted the rows, losing count once, but finally came up with a number. The man had been in this cave for sixty-five days.

  Why didn’t he leave? James wondered. The barrier in front of the cave could hardly have kept him here.

  Near the entrance, he spotted an Indian blanket tossed to one side. James snatched it up and draped it over his shoulders against the cave’s natural chill. He moved toward the front of the cave again, and as he got closer, he started moving faster.

  He had almost reached the entrance when there a sound behind him. He wanted to run without even looking to see what it was. But instead, he looked back—and hesitated.

  Something moved toward him in the darkness at the back of the cave. It looked like a child. Perhaps only the thought of an innocent child being held in that pit of hell could have kept him from running. It shambled toward him, like a child just learning to walk.

  The figure moved into the moonlight, and James saw that this wasn’t a human child. He was nearly as big as a man and was covered with fur, with arms longer in proportion to his body than any human’s, and a large, broad head on thick shoulders. James should have run then, but the eyes in the strange child’s face caught him.

  The gaze was curious, even friendly, and the broad gash that was his mouth twisted into a smile. He moved toward the mummified body, and his broad, square hands, also covered in fur, petted the unmoving head. “Friend,” the creature said, quite clearly. “You be friend?”

  James backed away. He found himself with his back to the trees that guarded the cave. Push through and run, he thought. But some strange fascination kept him focused on the unnatural youngster in front of him. At first, as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing, he saw the dark shape the creature dragged as a doll. But then the child lifted it up and gnawed on it. It was a human arm. On the hand, flopping in the moonlight, was a tattoo in the same shape as the one Oliver had on the back of his hand.

  James heard screaming, and as he turned and ran, he realized it was him. He pushed through the branches, which slashed into his face, but that didn’t stop him. The pool was dead ahead, the small path winding around it, and he ran toward the front of the box canyon, heedless of the throbbing in his head.

  He had nearly reached the narrow pass out of the hidden valley when the opening disappeared, as if a giant boulder had been rolled in front of it. James couldn’t stop in time and ran headlong into the object. Instead of hitting solid stone, he hit something softer, something alive. He fell backward.

  Then all he could see was a huge hand reaching down for him. The horror was too much, and his mind shut down. He scrambled between the towering legs, and then he was out.

  He got to his feet, ready to run again. But as he was getting up, he spotted Oliver’s pistol, glinting only inches away. He grabbed it, whirled around, and fired.

  His pursuer was impossible to miss, but the huge creature didn’t even flinch.

  James turned, racing into the darkness, not caring what was ahead of him, knowing only that he had to escape, to run with all his might. He was running faster than he’d ever run, the downhill slope propelling him. He felt a moment of wild, unreasoning fear.

  And then something grabbed him from behind and swung him into the air. Giant arms enfolded him and squeezed. James gasped for breath and was on the verge of passing out when the creature relented.

  James felt hope die within him, and it was as if the monster understood that. With a giant arm, he swept up the human and slung him under one arm, carrying him almost loosely. James looked up and saw creature’s jutting jaw, its canines stretching down over its lower lip.

  It carried him past the brook and through the branches of the trees to where the monstrous child waited. It dropped him onto the bones with a clatter. The little beast rushed forward, grabbed James’s arms, and wrenched him into a sitting position.

  “Friend!” it cried.

  The larger creature stood over the child, glaring down at James, and it was clear what the message was. Stay or die, the look said. You live only as long as the child wants you to live.

  James heard himself repeating, shakily, “Friend. Friend.”

  “I’m a friend.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The cold mountain air seeped into Virginia’s bones and into her dreams. She awoke to frost and the morning light pouring through the crystals on the trees. This high up the mountains, the air was thin and sharp, every breath a blessing.

  Memories of her ordeal with the Donner Party the previous winter came flooding back. She remembered how innocently excited she’d been at first, when the wagon train had reached this altitude on the far side of the mountains. After months of traveling, it had seemed they were only days away from their destination.

  Then the snows came.

  Then the wolves.

  Virginia looked up at the sky anxiously, but it was clear. It was early fall, and the snows were a month or more away. But that’s what they had believed the past winter, too. They’d nearly died because of those snows.

  This side of the mountain had gentler slopes, and the salvation of the lower valleys was mere hours away. But Virginia knew how quickly that could change. The Donner Party had also thought they had plenty of time. They, too, had thought themselves a short journey from safety.

  Feather walked beside her, unconcerned about the weather or anything else. The Indian girl was stoic, but sometimes in the middle of conversations, she would become surprisingly animated. Her stride was lengthening and her expression was relaxing the farther they climbed up the narrow canyons and trails that wound back and forth across the steep hillside.

  They came to an indentation in the land, a small depression lined by lava rocks that looked like giants’ stairs leading up to the plateau. It was like an amphitheater in the middle of the wilderness, left over from some long-gone civilization.

  They sat on the giants’ steps, and squads of chipmunks took turns watching them, twitching their tails from fear or interest or both. One came close, then froze in surprise, and the girls also froze until the creature ran off chattering, scolding them for blocking his path.

  A half-burned log lay half-buried in the sand. That night, they started a fire for warmth. When it started to die down, the girls didn’t build it back up again. They crawled under their blankets and went to sleep.

  Virginia woke late in the night. It was still dark out, but she felt alert, rested even. More, her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt tense, ready for…a sound. There was something, and she strained her ears to hear it, but heard only the whisper of the wind in the trees, and then… there it was—a soft rustling in the bushes on the hillside above them.

  “It is your friend,” Feather said, not moving from her blankets. There was just enough glow from the dying coals to see he
r glittering eyes. She held Virginia’s rifle. “He has been following us.”

  “Have you slept?” Virginia asked.

  Feather hesitated, and there was a calculating look in her eyes as she considered lying. Then she shook her head.

  “I’ll keep watch,” Virginia said, reaching over and taking the rifle. “Jean Baptiste will not hurt us.”

  “Perhaps he would not harm thee,” Feather muttered. “But I do not know him.”

  But despite her trepidation, she rolled over in the blankets and was soon asleep.

  * * *

  Virginia built up the fire, waiting for dawn. She wanted to invite Jean Baptiste to come join them, but Feather’s feelings were clear, so she held back. What could she say to Jean, anyway? They had parted on awkward terms. She remembered seeing him once on the streets of San Francisco. She’d crossed the street to avoid him. She’d had enough of werewolves—even werewolves who were friends.

  The warmth of the fire was making her sleepy.

  The part of her that was Canowiki dreamed of the attack before it happened.

  When it came, it came from behind. She was instantly awake and turning. There was a wolf leaping through the air toward her. She got halfway to her feet, swinging the rifle barrel around, then realized there was no time for a shot and swung the stock of the rifle into the leaping animal’s head.

  She had a moment of doubt. Is Jean Baptiste attacking us?

  But the fur of the attacking wolf was black, and at any rate, there was no more time for ruminations. It snapped its jaws inches from her shoulder and landed behind her. It slid partway into the fire and howled with pain. Feather was rising, knife in hand, when the second wolf appeared. It was clear that it would have her in its jaws before she could react.