store, where they paid for whiskey with a pinch of gold. Cormack and Zelnora carefully picked their way up and down the pathways.
“A Digger Indian just gave me this,” Cormack said, pulling from his possible bag a large lump of gold encrusted with gravel as big as his fist. “He traded it to me for my scarlet sash.” He shrugged. “If they have no use for gold, hard doings if they prefer my sash.”
“Your sash is rarer to them.” Zelnora studied the gold lump, turning it this way and that in the sun. “Cormack. Just this piece here is enough to buy a fancy house in San Francisco. We simply must get to the fort and trade in all this gold, start an account. It’s not doing anyone any good câching it where it is.” She smiled. “Then we can buy you a new sash.”
Brannagh was not at Bigler’s tent, but Ed Kemble was drinking coffee round the fire with Bigler and several other men who desired news of San Francisco. Ed’s face lit up when he saw Zelnora, and he put down his coffee cup to embrace her. They had met on the ship coming to San Francisco two years earlier and had become awfully fond of each other. Zelnora much preferred working inside the newspaper office or gathering gossip for stories to the work at the fort store, but she had to go where she was most needed.
“I was just about to tell you boys this story, and I think Miss Sparks will enjoy this, as well,” Ed orated loudly to the rapt group. “I was at the anchorage in San Francisco a few weeks ago when suddenly some tomfool fathead in a sombrero commences to rushing up and down Jackson and Montgomery Streets waving a quinine bottle of gold dust, shouting in a bull voice, ‘Gold! Gold! Gold from the American River!’”
“No!” the men cried in unison. “Who was this tomfool blockhead?” the men asked Ed.
“I can guess,” Zelnora muttered.
Ed continued, “Within the fortnight, the population of San Francisco went from several hundred to a dozen or so! I’m probably gonna have to suspend my newspaper,” he told Zelnora sullenly.
“So who was this flatheaded jackass?” a miner demanded. “I’ll drop him in his tracks.”
“Brannagh of course!” Zelnora told the miners irritably. “Advancing his interests.”
To calm the miners’ outraged curses, Ed said, “Brannagh’s a good businessman, you’ve got to give him that. Before he went tearing around the streets shouting about gold, he bought up every pickaxe, shovel, and pan in the entire town.”
A miner slapped his thigh with his hat. “Goddamnit! No wonder that damned pan cost me ten dollars at Brannagh’s store! That pan was worth twenty cents a month ago!”
“Sam Coleridge just traded an ounce of gold for a box of Seidlitz powder at Brannagh’s store!”
There was a general hubbub of disconcerted miners. Mining hubbubs always made one uneasy. Zelnora, Cormack, Bigler, and Ed stepped toward Brannagh when they saw him sliding down a sandy hill in his tall boots, followed by Hudson and Willes, two of his partners who had built the Lion Island store.
“We’d best warn him, his outrageous practices are unsettling the miners,” said Bigler.
Cormack mentioned, “He’s perfectly free to charge whatever they’re willing to pay.”
Bigler raised an eyebrow. “Bowmaker? Defending Brannagh’s trickery? Well, well, here’s the high priest collecting tithes.”
Brannagh tipped his hat, first to Zelnora, then Bigler, then Ed. Lastly, he barely sniffed at Cormack. Brannagh got right down to business.
“Bigler.” Zelnora noted he did not call him “brother” any longer. “I am here to collect the tithes, as you know. Ten percent each for Hudson and Willis by right of discovery, and ten percent for my collection fee.”
“That’s thirty percent! Regular mission tithes are only ten percent. And I thought you had abandoned the mission,” Bigler pointed out cautiously.
Brannagh chuckled. “Whatever made you think that? Yes, these tithes will go to buy
“A Digger Indian just gave me this,” Cormack said, pulling from his possible bag a large lump of gold encrusted with gravel as big as his fist. “He traded it to me for my scarlet sash.” He shrugged. “If they have no use for gold, hard doings if they prefer my sash.”
“Your sash is rarer to them.” Zelnora studied the gold lump, turning it this way and that in the sun. “Cormack. Just this piece here is enough to buy a fancy house in San Francisco. We simply must get to the fort and trade in all this gold, start an account. It’s not doing anyone any good câching it where it is.” She smiled. “Then we can buy you a new sash.”
Brannagh was not at Bigler’s tent, but Ed Kemble was drinking coffee round the fire with Bigler and several other men who desired news of San Francisco. Ed’s face lit up when he saw Zelnora, and he put down his coffee cup to embrace her. They had met on the ship coming to San Francisco two years earlier and had become awfully fond of each other. Zelnora much preferred working inside the newspaper office or gathering gossip for stories to the work at the fort store, but she had to go where she was most needed.
“I was just about to tell you boys this story, and I think Miss Sparks will enjoy this, as well,” Ed orated loudly to the rapt group. “I was at the anchorage in San Francisco a few weeks ago when suddenly some tomfool fathead in a sombrero commences to rushing up and down Jackson and Montgomery Streets waving a quinine bottle of gold dust, shouting in a bull voice, ‘Gold! Gold! Gold from the American River!’”
“No!” the men cried in unison. “Who was this tomfool blockhead?” the men asked Ed.
“I can guess,” Zelnora muttered.
Ed continued, “Within the fortnight, the population of San Francisco went from several hundred to a dozen or so! I’m probably gonna have to suspend my newspaper,” he told Zelnora sullenly.
“So who was this flatheaded jackass?” a miner demanded. “I’ll drop him in his tracks.”
“Brannagh of course!” Zelnora told the miners irritably. “Advancing his interests.”
To calm the miners’ outraged curses, Ed said, “Brannagh’s a good businessman, you’ve got to give him that. Before he went tearing around the streets shouting about gold, he bought up every pickaxe, shovel, and pan in the entire town.”
A miner slapped his thigh with his hat. “Goddamnit! No wonder that damned pan cost me ten dollars at Brannagh’s store! That pan was worth twenty cents a month ago!”
“Sam Coleridge just traded an ounce of gold for a box of Seidlitz powder at Brannagh’s store!”
There was a general hubbub of disconcerted miners. Mining hubbubs always made one uneasy. Zelnora, Cormack, Bigler, and Ed stepped toward Brannagh when they saw him sliding down a sandy hill in his tall boots, followed by Hudson and Willes, two of his partners who had built the Lion Island store.
“We’d best warn him, his outrageous practices are unsettling the miners,” said Bigler.
Cormack mentioned, “He’s perfectly free to charge whatever they’re willing to pay.”
Bigler raised an eyebrow. “Bowmaker? Defending Brannagh’s trickery? Well, well, here’s the high priest collecting tithes.”
Brannagh tipped his hat, first to Zelnora, then Bigler, then Ed. Lastly, he barely sniffed at Cormack. Brannagh got right down to business.
“Bigler.” Zelnora noted he did not call him “brother” any longer. “I am here to collect the tithes, as you know. Ten percent each for Hudson and Willis by right of discovery, and ten percent for my collection fee.”
“That’s thirty percent! Regular mission tithes are only ten percent. And I thought you had abandoned the mission,” Bigler pointed out cautiously.
Brannagh chuckled. “Whatever made you think that? Yes, these tithes will go to buy
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