Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,11

in his heart. The killers of Tom Johnson would pay. Preferably by a long drop on a short rope.

Later in the early evening, just before sundown, as he checked himself into the hotel, he thought back to Becky. His heart ached thinking of what she had gone through. Her life seemed so unfair. A protectiveness just naturally filled him every time he thought about her.

After tossing his saddlebags onto the bed he looked at them and winced. All he owned in this world. Three Army shirts issued to him ten months ago when he received his commission. A heavy blue coat and the gun on his hip. Four years of war and that was it. An anger began to build inside of him. Not at any one person or thing. But at the way of the world. The war had taken him from his family and hardened his heart. The world had taken Becky’s family and home.

Then his mind drifted back to the Army and the things he’d done and seen. Becky might be the only purely good thing in this world and he should be careful to make sure none of his darkness washed over onto her.

No. it wasn’t right and it was time he started making things better for her. But where? How?

He pulled the lace curtain back and stared down the dusty street. Silver Creek, Nevada. Tucked in at the lower end of the open-ended valley. Not much different than most of the towns he’d passed through on the way. Three saloons, two churches, the smithy sitting between Becky’s restaurant and the Livery stables. On the other side of the stables, the stage station, and the assay office.

Across the street, a general store, the sheriff's office and jail made out of adobe. One of the churches and two of the saloons. On the corner, a sign announcing John McAdam, Barber, Dentist, and Undertaker. An enterprising man, Luke thought with a shudder as he remembered the field hospitals after every battle.

Taking a deep breath, he continued to examine the town. Mostly men. But more than a few women. That was different he thought to himself. The country was getting more women than when he left. Maybe it was the stage lines. Either that or things had settled down enough. Regardless of why. It seemed strange seeing almost a dozen honorable women in town. Especially in a hard place like this.

Pulling his gaze away from the people in the street he looked out further. Shacks and cabins were sprinkled at the outskirts and up on the valley walls. At the far end of the town, beside the creek, a large stamp mill for the mines sat next to a wobbly bunkhouse for the miners.

A hint of dust hung in the air. Trees, mostly cedar and scrub pine along the creek that meandered down the valley. From a map in the stage office, he’d learned the creek traveled another dozen miles southeast before spilling into the Humboldt. Her uncle’s ranch was about ten miles northwest straddling the creek.

From what Becky told him, the valley spread out at that point and was one of the few flat areas for miles around with good bottomland. Good for corn, her uncle had claimed.

Luke grimaced at the thought of the man being shot in the back. Robbed of everything. If he was the same man he remembered, he’d done it all for Becky. Built something worth leaving to her. To have it stolen was so wrong.

Once again that burning anger boiled inside of him. It had taken everything within him to contain it when he confronted that Felton fellow. It was only Becky’s look of shock that stopped him from shooting both men where they stood.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to refocus on what he already knew.

The stagecoach guard, Chester Polk, had told him that there were six mines in the area, mostly up in the hills outside of town. Nothing major. Silver with a touch of gold occasionally. Some with only a dozen men working them.

Was that it? Had someone discovered mineral on the Johnson’s place? Concocted this massive deceit, killed a good man. It wouldn’t be the first. But something told him that wasn’t the case. It’d been six months and no one was proving out the area.

One thing he knew. Men didn’t leave valuable silver laying in the ground when they could get to it.

What then? Why buy a ranch just to use it as a line shack? The creek