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“You tell me something,” Kincaid said. “You tell me if you were planning on pulling that trigger.”
“Would it make any difference if I told you that I wasn’t?”
“It might make a lot of difference. It might make a lot of difference in how I look at you.”
“Okay, I wasn’t.”
“You telling the truth?”
Aaron was at the point of growling again. “I generally tell the truth, Kincaid.”
“So why were you holding a gun on the marshal’s back, Brown?”
“Because I didn’t want the marshal to shoot me first.”
“You’d be willing to tell me the whole story?”
Aaron hesitated for an instant, thinking of Elizabeth and all the things he wasn’t certain he should say. But he had no other choice now. His plan had backfired on him. And Elizabeth had already proven how much she was willing to risk by making the treacherous journey across the Continental Divide.
“I’d be willing to tell you the whole story.”
“I don’t like Olney’s money, either,” John Kincaid admitted now. “Though I find his gold dust a whole lot more tasteful than I find him. Looks like I won’t be bending to bribes.” John Kincaid pulled out a red law book that looked exactly like the ones Otto Violet and Seth Wood had been thumping earlier. “Let’s get down to business. We’ve got thirty-six hours to come up with a way to keep you from swinging high.”
* * *
Just as Uley was clearing the cobalt-blue tin plates from the table that night, a timid rap came at the front door.
Samuel rose from the table and opened it. There stood Tin Can Laura in the dark, all dressed in red silk, with a huge matching plume on her head and enough kohl on her eyes that Uley almost didn’t recognize her.
“Hello.” She cast her eyes toward the smooth-swept dirt floor. “Gotta get back to Santa Fe Moll’s. But Storm here’s been tellin’ me he wanted to come to his new place and move in. What with spring coming and all the moles coming out, you’ll be needin’ him to do his duties purty soon. Knew you wouldn’t wanta be seen with me in the broad daylight, so I figured I’d better do this tonight.”
Uley’s heart lifted when she saw her new friend.
“Laura. Get in here,” she said. “Have a piece of huckleberry pie. I was just fixing to cut it open.” It suddenly seemed so important to her, treating Laura to sweets, making her feel welcome, letting her know that this was a place she could visit.
“Nope. Can’t do it. Moll will have my hide when she finds out I left the parlor. But Storm’s been caterwaulin’ something awful. He don’t like being locked up in my room anymore. It bothers the customers, having a cat howling next door.”
“Here.” Uley took Storm out of Laura’s skirt and pitched him unceremoniously on the bed. Then she grabbed her coat. “If you’re so set on not staying, then I’ll walk you back.”
“There’s no need of it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do it, anyway.”
“I heard,” Laura said as they marched along through the slush, “that there’s a real lady in town.”
“Yep. She came in on the supply wagon today.”
“Everybody over at Ongewach’s is talking about her. They say she’s got eyes like cornflowers and hair like sunbeams and a waist no bigger around than a willow tree.”
“That’s what they say, all right. Everybody’s talking about her everywhere you go.”
“Wish somebody would talk about me like that,” Laura said longingly.
Uley sighed. It was a deep, hollow sigh that reached down to her very soul.
* * *
The Gold Cup Mine, owned by Captain Hall and Carl Hord of the Bald Mountain Mining Company, was the first of the fifty-six mines in the valley to call off operations on Thursday. All the miners wanted to be at the Tin Cup Town Hall, supporting Uley Kirkland as the kid testified against the man who’d tried to murder the marshal.
Hord announced the Gold Cup’s schedule at 9:20 on Wednesday morning. An hour later, others were announcing the plan, as well. The Spotted Tail would be closed. The Little Fred would be closed. So would the Ontario, the Jimmy Mack and the Anna Parallel.
“Can’t believe the Bullion King won’t be open tomorrow,” Sam said as they all worked underground on Wednesday trying to get things ready so that they could leave for two days. “Doc Gillette doesn’t even like to come out of his mine when somebody’s dying. Remember when Pete Wiley caught his beard on fire? He had to wait four hours before Doc Gillette would come up out of the Bullion King and treat his burns.”
“Well,” Charlie Sparks said, “that just goes to show you how thankful everyone in this town is to Uley. This is one important trial around here.”
“Three cheers for Uley!” someone else joined in. “Hip-hip-hooray!”
Uley kept her eye on the timber, pegging it into the corner of the rocks with hammer blows so fierce they made the granite shiver. “I don’t like being the entertainment for the rest of this town. I’d just as soon I didn’t have to go down there tomorrow.” That was the understatement of the year. “Wish somebody else could go down there and testify in my place.”
“There isn’t anyone else can tell the jury what you saw, Uley,” her pa said.
She went after the pegs even harder. “I know that.”
On Wednesday afternoon, just when Uley thought all the hoopla was about to die down, Marshal Harris Olney himself came up shaft eleven wagging a lantern out in front of him. “Uley?” he shouted so loud that loose rocks fell off the ledges above them. “Is Uley Kirkland back here?”
Back here? Back here? Back here? The sound echoed all the way up the shaft.
“I’m standing right beneath your nose, Marshal. If you holler much louder than that, you’re going to make the whole shaft cave in.”
“I need you to come outside with me, Uley. You and me, we need to have a talk.”
“I don’t see as we have anything to talk about.”
“Oh, but we do.” Olney wrapped his arm around her shoulder and propelled Uley forward. “You saved my life, remember? I’m here to offer you compensation for all your trouble.”
“And what might that compensation be?”
“I’ll tell you when we reach daylight, son,” he said.
Then, at the mouth of shaft eleven, Olney began to lay out his plan.
“I know you are just as eager to do away with that foul murderer as I am, Uley. I know you have eyewitness testimony against Aaron Brown. I’m here to encourage you not to falter in any of it. I have a hefty reward waiting for you in my office for the day Aaron Brown is hanged.”
“I don’t need a reward, Marshal,” she said, feeling an odd twinge of guilt when she thought how Aaron’s hanging would absolve her of a problem, too. “I’ll just be glad to know that justice has been done.”
* * *
It was seven o’clock that night, and Uley was finishing up her father’s washing in the tub beside the warm wood stove, when there came a sharp knock at the cabin door. Uley straightened, leaving one last flannel shirt in the water to soak, and poked all the tendrils of hair up beneath her hat.
Sam opened the door and stuck his head out into the darkness. “Hello?”
Aaron stood on the rickety porch, his Stetson brim crumpled in his fists. “I’d like to see Uley, if I may.”
Samuel cocked his head, not quite knowing if he should let the man in or coax him off the porch with his shotgun. “Why on earth would you want to see Uley on the eve of your trial?”
“If you don’t mind, sir. It’s a matter of great importance. I need some private time with her, sir.”
When Aaron said “her,” Samuel’s eyes grew as big around as the twelve-and-a-half-bit pieces everybody used for exchange down at Frenchy’s.
“Yes,” Aaron said, still wringing his hat. “I know about Uley. Didn’t mean to find out, sir, I can assure you.”
Uley stood right behind Sam in the doorway.
Clouds hid the moon and the lacy formations of stars that hung over Tin Cup when the night stayed clear. It was as dark outside as a cast-iron kettle.
“Please, Uley,” Aaron said. “Come on out. Just for a minute.”
Uley stepped around her father awkwardly, knowing that he, too, was uncertain how to deal with this. Her entire life, she’d never had a gentleman caller.
Which was understandable, seeing as how everybody in this town thought she was one herself.
“Pa,” Uley said finally, saving them all. “No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. If Aaron Brown wants to say something to me, this might very well be his last chance to say it.”
Sam looked up at the empty night sky, as if he were expecting to find an answer there.
“It won’t take too long,” Aaron said, jumping on the opportunity. “She’s right. It might be something I’ll never get another chance to say.”
Uley was uncertain as to how she felt about standing out on a dark stoop with a man who’d pulled a gun on the marshal. But she’d already proven once that she could handle Aaron Brown if he gave her trouble.
Sam turned to the man on the porch. “I warn you, I’ll be waitin’ right inside this door, with my shotgun cocked and loaded.”
“Yes, sir,” Aaron said. “That was what I was expectin’.”
Uley tromped out onto the boards and pulled the door closed behind her.
When the door shut, they couldn’t even see each other, it was so black.
Aaron knew right where she was standing. He could hear her breathing.
Uley knew right where he was standing. She could smell his bay rum.
“Well, I must say,” she told him finally. “You smell a mite nicer than you did the last time I caught a whiff of you.”
“It’s amazing what a washtub will do for a man.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m surprised you were able to leave Elizabeth Calderwood long enough to come out here.”
“Elizabeth’s fine without me,” he said. “She’s safely inside her room at the Pacific Hotel. There are so many men on the lookout for her, she can’t make a move without having a good dozen of them following down the street after her. They’re looking after her like bees protect their queen.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Through the window, Uley could see her father lifting his gun off the rack and wiping down the barrel. “You’d best get on with what you came to say,” she said. “It doesn’t look like he’s going to give you much time.”
At precisely that moment, the moon moved out from behind a cloud and Uley saw his face.
“You make a habit,” she asked out of the blue, “of winking at every girl you see beneath a mule?”
He looked straight up at the night sky and guffawed.
“I was protecting our secret, Uley,” he said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Well,” she said, crossing her arms, “I don’t think that was a very good way of protecting it.”
He stopped fiddling with his hat. He decided just to put it back on his head and go back to the hotel. “Forget it, Uley,” he told her. “I wasn’t winking at you, anyway. I was winking at the mule.”
* * *
Alex Parent rang the Tin Cup town bell in the belfry of the town hall at precisely nine on Thursday morning.
Cher-bong. Cher-bong. Of course, there wasn’t any reason to ring it. Some two hundred men were already jostling for position inside.
Miners and ranchers had been arriving from all over Taylor Park since just after seven. Another wagonload of men had just gotten in over Cumberland Pass from Pitkin. Judge Murphy had sent for them to come. He figured there wasn’t anybody in the town of Tin Cup unbiased enough to give Mr. Brown a fair trial. Those Pitkin miners were the closest thing he was likely to find to a jury in Gunnison County.
The bell echoed off Gold Hill over to Siegel Mountain and American Mountain and back again. Cher-bong. Cher-bong. Cher-bong.
Those who hadn’t been able to find seats were jammed inside the back foyer, standing on tiptoe and boot heels. The men around Uley were all craning their necks to see Elizabeth. Elizabeth Calderwood hadn’t been in town forty-eight hours and the news of her arrival had already traveled as far as Pitkin and St. Elmo. That was almost faster than a good horse could run.
Judge J. M. Murphy sat behind the bench, a massive table of lodgepole planks made by the Beckley brothers, the only two men in town who took the time away from mining to build furniture, houses and coffins. Murphy banged his cup on the wood and did his best to call everyone to order. “Let the record show that I call to order this court on April 27, 1882, the trial of Gunnison County, Colorado, and Marshal Harris John Olney versus defendant Mr. Aaron Talephas Brown.”
Uley about fell out of her tumbledown pine chair. Talephas. Next time he talked to her about winking at mules, she was going to call him Talephas. That ought to put him in his place.
That is, if he lived long enough.
Murphy continued with his speech. “Seth Wood will represent Gunnison County and Marshal Harris Olney in this matter. John Kincaid will represent the accused.”
Commotion broke out in the room.
Murphy pounded the table with the cup again, making little C-shaped dents in the pine planks. “Quiet! Or we won’t go on! Seth,” he hollered over the din, “come on up here and start your case.”
Seth Wood approached the bench and whispered to Murphy while the talking died down. As soon as everyone could hear him, he started calling witnesses.
Carl Hansen came forward, put his hand on the Bible and was sworn in. He sat down beside Murphy and told all about how he’d been on his way to Frenchy’s when somebody hollered, “Uley’s got a man down over there!” He told how he’d run to help Uley and had found the accused—here he pointed at Aaron Talephas Brown—lying beneath Uley in the dirt.
“Thank you, Mr. Hansen,” Seth Wood said. “Next witness, John West.”
West walked to the front and told the same tale.
During the morning hours, Seth called at least a dozen men to the bench. Each one of those dozen men told the judge and jury the exact same story. At about eleven-thirty, Seth Wood stepped up beside Judge Murphy and looked right at Uley.
Everybody knew it was time for the lawyer to call his key witness.
