The Dead Spend No Gold Page 26

  Virginia found the entrance to the cave easily, and once inside, the stench of the Skoocooms was overwhelming, but it did not deter her. The fuses and matches were exactly as James had described, as was the cavern narrowing toward the back. He’d been right: a small amount of gunpowder would close in the Skoocooms forever.

  She stopped and listened. She could sense them below her, but perceived no movement. She went back for one of the barrels of gunpowder. She drew her bowie knife and hacked away the branches at the entrance.

  The late afternoon sun hit the entrance of the cave just right, and a blinding light flashed from inside it. Virginia held her hand up to shield her eyes, avoiding the worst of the glare, and slowly, her eyes adjusted.

  The sight that greeted her was so beautiful that for once she didn’t question mankind’s lust for gold. Until then, she’d managed to ignore or dismiss the fact that gold was the reason for everything that had happened. Oh, she’d been aware that it existed, of course, but it had seemed unimportant. Now she grasped the full extent of its power. She caressed the shining wall, and it felt so soothing, so seductive, that she understood at last. The walls were almost solid metal on both sides, reflecting the light so that the cave glowed. The expanse of yellow metal continued on deeper into the cave, and if anything, it looked to get broader, extending to the ceiling and floors.

  This is going to attract hordes of miners, Virginia thought, hefting a nugget the size of her palm and rubbing it with her thumb—not a few hundred men scratching for gold in the creek bed, but hundreds, thousands of men, and their families, and all those who supplied, transported, fed, and clothed them. It would create, and bring, big money, and huge businesses from back East.

  This mountain would be whittled away to nothing. It would change, she sensed, not only this small part of the state, but the entire breadth of the land, drawing men from all over the world. With more miners arriving every day, the cave would inevitably be found. There were rumors that the Oregon Trail was full of wagons heading their way. Discovery of Grendel’s cave would only hasten that change.

  Virginia tossed the nugget into the debris littering the cave floor. The glittering metal caused too much death and destruction. She wanted none of it.

  She carried the barrel of gunpowder into the cave, setting it near the opening in back. She took one of the matches in hand…and then hesitated.

  It was all too easy, somehow. With a spark of fire, she would destroy these creatures and their threat to humans once and for all. But she could not lift her hand to strike the match.

  They aren’t evil, James’s voice echoed in her memory. She remembered the look of determination on the face of Grendel’s Mother. There had been no anger, no hate in her expression. There had been something almost resigned in her face, as if she only did what she felt she must.

  Clutching a handful of matches, Virginia ducked into the narrow opening at the back of the cave.

  The golden path was slippery and strewn with bones. She went slowly, bracing herself against the slick cavern walls with one hand. As the floor leveled out, it widened slightly. She drew her bowie knife with her other hand.

  What am I doing? Virginia wondered. She probably had no chance against the Skoocooms, even with their injuries. Why was she risking everything to see them one more time?

  But she went on. Ever since her first heart-pounding experience facing monstrous, impossible creatures along the dangerous Oregon Trail, she’d learned to trust her instincts, learned that her destiny was somehow different than others’.

  Unlike the front of the cave, the back was clean and clear of refuse. Even the smell seemed to fade into the background. Virginia hesitated, quieting her breath. Her heart pounded, but from excitement as much as fear. There was no other sound. She sensed the creatures were waiting for her.

  She lit another match and continued on. The cavern seemed almost to have been constructed, like the hallway of a building. The floor was flat, as if worn down by generations of very large feet. The walls were smooth, and the gold shone with a soft, almost comforting light. The temperature was warmer, as comfortable as the inside of a home.

  It is a home, she realized. The thought reassured her.

  She glimpsed the white fur of the child first, and then his red eyes reflecting the light. Behind the child was the huge shape of Grendel’s Mother on the floor. Trying to stand was Grendel himself, but he was struggling. Hrothgar charged at Virginia, and she raised the bowie knife, hoping that the match in her other hand would last long enough for her to fend him off.

  Then it went out, and she was blind. She waved the knife back and forth, and could sense the albino circling her, looking for an opening.

  From the back of the cave came a loud barking sound. It sounded like a word, but like none Virginia knew. The small Ts’emekwes moved away. As she squinted, trying to peer into the darkness, she realized that it wasn’t completely black. Slowly, her eyes adjusted and she saw that a thin streak of light was penetrating the chamber, the gold in the walls reflecting and amplifying the light. Once again, she could make out the three shadowy shapes against the shining gold that surrounded them.

  The floor was covered by a soft layer of needles and moss. There were blankets or skins against one wall, and squared-off rocks and flattened spaces, evidently where the creatures sat. She wondered what they did here. Did they tell stories to each other? Did they play games?

  She was certain now that these were thinking and reasoning creatures. But more importantly, they were feeling beings. They loved each other, and wanted to protect each other from the threats from outside their home.

  From her.

  She approached them slowly, lowering her knife. She held out her other hand, and even though Hrothgar growled at her, he didn’t attack. Then she stood above the Mother.

  The female Ts’semekwes was in a bad way. Some of her burns were inflamed. Mud and mosses had been applied, as if they were medicine. Virginia looked into the Mother’s eyes…

  …and fell into them. The Mother’s thoughts enveloped her in warmth, and Virginia almost fled from the emotional depth that filled her consciousness.

  This creature was long lived, far beyond human years. Virginia saw the years pass in her mind’s eye as if she was reading the Mother’s thoughts and memories. There came a vision of the Mother as a young child, part of a large family, happy among her brothers and sisters. There had been many more of them then, and there had been gatherings, and the changing of mates, and things brought from far away.

  Then the Quiet Ones had come, and at first there had been war, but eventually the two sides learned to live with each other. But the others of her kind, the ones that had come from far to the east, no longer came. The Loud Ones came, and there were no more gatherings, and her brothers and sisters died, one by one. Always before, there had been young ones to take their places, but that was no longer so.

  Then, a miracle: a lone male appeared, primitive and almost feral. He stayed long enough to mate, and then the youngest one had come. Then new men had invaded the cave and wounded her young son, and she had sent her older son, who was as old as the oldest man, to warn them to stay away.

  He had been too zealous, too aggressive, she saw that now, and she had tried to rein him in, but his anger could not be controlled. Then he too was injured.

  They were at Virginia’s mercy. They had met humans such as her before. Some brought them death, but others looked into their eyes and hearts to see and understand. Moomaa, for that is what her name was, hoped this was such a Hunter.

  More visions came, images of a long life, dangerous and always on edge, yet also fulfilling, filled with love for her children and hope that there were still others of her kind out in the world.

  And then the visions ended.

  Virginia blinked. How long had she been standing there? The light from the small crack was dim, almost gone, but she could still see, as if she had been granted the same vision as the Skoocooms.

  S
he bowed her head to Mother in respect. “You must hide from us. You mustn’t attack us, for you cannot win.” Her voice rose emphatically. “Hide, and never let them see you. Disappear into the woodlands and high into the mountains, or you will never survive.”

  She felt the Mother’s acceptance of her words.

  “Disappear and become myth,” Virginia said, and turned away, sheathing her bowie knife.

  She climbed back up the corridor and through the front chamber of the cavern. She gathered up the matches and gunpowder, still in its barrel, and carried them outside. It was almost dark. She led the packhorse to the entrance of the canyon, where she unloaded both barrels and set them on either side of the rocky enclosure. She set the fuses again, lighting them from the torch she still carried, and leapt onto the horse and galloped away.

  The explosion lit up the twilight skies, and Virginia was pelted with small rocks, though she had ridden as fast as she dared. When the dust finally settled, she wheeled the horse around and went back. The opening to the canyon was gone. From the outside, it looked as though it was a sheer cliff all the way up the mountain.

  She found Frank and James not far down the trail. They hadn’t made much of an effort to get away. Frank hurried toward her. “You blew up the entrance to the canyon?” he asked. “Not the cave?”

  Virginia didn’t answer.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “I think those creatures are capable of climbing out.”

  She nodded. “Of course they are. I expect they probably will. But I didn’t close off the canyon to keep them in. I closed the entrance to keep us out.”

  He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  She smiled and approached him, and draped his arms around her.

  “Hold me, Frank. It’s over.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Litonya ministered to Jean Baptiste until he regained his mobility. He was weak, but in time, he recovered. The townspeople were generous, giving them a spacious room, food, and medicine.

  At first, Jean wasn’t aware that Virginia had left. When he discovered it, he was alarmed. “You should have gone with her!” he cried, nearly getting out of bed.

  “Frank is her helper now,” Litonya informed him.

  “But how can the two of them alone hope to defeat the Skoocoom?”

  “She is a Canowiki,” Litonya said. “She will do what is necessary.”

  Jean didn’t have much choice but to accept her judgment, for he couldn’t get around without her help.

  To distract him, Litonya shared some of the tales of her people, including the myth of Coyote and Lizard creating the world and the little story of how Coyote, in his anger, created a small world of his own, hidden from all.

  “I searched for it when I left San Francisco,” she said offhandedly. “I wanted nothing to do with white men, and I was too afraid to join my own people, for I did not believe they would accept me. So I wasted time seeking a place that does not exist. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  Jean Baptiste was riveted by the story. “Did you find any hint of the place?”

  Litonya hesitated, and he caught it. “Tell me, Feath…Litonya,” he insisted.

  So she recounted the story of the day she’d almost been ready to give up looking. She was north of Thompson Peak, outside the territory of the Miwok. She’d discovered that the tribe that had once inhabited the area was gone. No one would say why, though from the averted eyes of the white people, she suspected the worst. For some reason, the white men left her alone. A single “squaw,” as they called her, was not a threat.

  On the highest pass, she found a man perched on a rock as if he was waiting for her. He wore a strange hat, round and wide, and Litonya remembered seeing drawings on rocks of such a thing. His age was impossible to determine. At first glance, he seemed but a boy; when she looked again, he appeared to be ancient. His eyes were deep and sad, and yet she felt him laughing at her.

  She asked him the usual questions, and he listened for a time without speaking. “I have seen this place,” he said finally.

  Litonya was so stunned that it took her several seconds to respond. When she did, she couldn’t hide her excitement. “Where is it? Will you tell me?” she cried.

  He held up one smooth hand. “You are not ready,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  But he didn’t answer. His head sank to his chest, and the wide hat completely covered his face. When he looked up again, he had the aspect of an old man. “Come back when it is time,” he said.

  He rose and walked away. Just as he was about to disappear around a bend in the path, he turned and pointed to the peak of a mountain whose name she didn’t know.

  “Did you keep looking?” Jean Baptiste asked.

  “I spent a week looking in every canyon, every little cave. I found nothing.”

  Litonya thought that was the end of the conversation, but a few days later, when Jean Baptiste was finally back on his feet and able to get around, he looked at her and said, “We must search for Coyote’s Land.”

  “Jean, it is just a myth.”

  “As is the Skoocoom,” he said. “As are Skinwalkers.”

  Litonya shook her head. She’d had enough of adventures. She had done her duty, finding the Canowiki and helping her make her way. Now she wanted to settle down with this man and live the rest of her life in peace.

  “Where else can we go?” Jean asked abruptly.

  She didn’t have an answer. As kind as the people of Bidwell’s Bar were to them now, she didn’t want to stay. Nor could she join her own tribe in the mountains, not as long as Roman was chief. Lokni, she corrected herself—and that was part of the problem, for she often responded as a white woman would respond. She still thought of herself as Feather, not Litonya. And yet, there were times when she looked at the way white women acted and couldn’t understand them at all.

  “Very well,” she said. “We shall go. Perhaps we will find Coyote’s Land, or perhaps we will find some other place where we can make our home.”

  She did not speak her secret thought, that Jean’s answering smile was all the home she’d ever need.

  They set out together, just the two of them. They avoided the territory of the Miwok, journeying north to the place where Litonya had met the old man. They asked questions of those they encountered, and a few of the aimless Indians who had lost their own lands joined them in the search.

  Word got out among the scattered tribes, and more and more people showed up every day, speaking every language, so that English became the common tongue, to Litonya’s chagrin. They became a new tribe, one that they dubbed Coyote.

  They searched the hills and they searched the valleys, but always they returned to the place to which the Old Man of the Mountain, as he was now called, had pointed.

  One day, the youngest of them, a five-year-old girl, came running.

  “I’ve found it!” she cried. “I’ve found it!”

  EPILOGUE

  “Hello, Bidwell,” Virginia kept her voice soft. “We have unfinished business.”

  He turned around, and when he saw who it was, he gave her a slow grin. He started to take off his clothes, and she let him.

  “It took me some time to track you down,” she said conversationally.

  He snarled, no doubt saying something nasty in werewolf.

  “Here you are again, pretending to be a barkeep again, in another town.” She’d waited until after closing, when he was alone in saloon’s back room.

  The floor was covered with the gory, rotting remains of the bar’s previous owner. It was the same thing he’d done in Bidwell’s Bar, and Virginia wondered how many times this scenario had played out across the country.

  Frank thought she was visiting her family in San Francisco. She often made up excuses about why he couldn’t accompany her. There were things she needed to do that he could not help her with.

  He always volunteered to help, he wanted to come with her, but she needed him to be at
the ranch, comforting and supportive, taking care of what needed to be done at home. She would handle Bidwell herself. She just needed to trust her instincts.

  Visions of the Ts’emekwes came back to her. That’s when she’d truly known that Litonya was right: she was a Canowiki, a Hunter. When the compulsion came to intervene, she had to embrace it.

  “Ready?” She smiled grimly at the slavering, growling werewolf before her. He was even bigger than she remembered.

  In reply, the beast leapt at her.

  Virginia raised her bowie knife, embracing the rush of energy that came with a righteous task.

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