Chapter Three
So…it was done. She was on her way to Colorado. Jimmie O’Toole could have his supply store! Someday she would be richer than Jimmie O’Toole, richer than most people. She didn’t need a man pawing over her, she didn’t need parents to take care of her. She could care for herself. She hated depending on anyone, and she hated men who thought all women should be available to them. No man would use Harmony Jones that way!
It was then she noticed someone new had boarded the train. He sat across from her, and his appearance fascinated her. Surely he was one of those cowboys she had read about—men who herded cattle, captured mustangs, and broke horses. They were wild, roamers, she’d always heard. This one must have got on board at the little town where the train had stopped for breakfast, or he had been in one of the other cars. At any rate, she had not noticed him before.
She stole quick glances at him out of purely childish curiosity, for he did not wear a suit and vest like the other men on the train. He wore high boots that were well worn and dark blue pants of a strong-looking material. The clean calico shirt that adorned his very broad shoulders was tucked into his waist which was encircled by a wide leather belt that held a beaded sheath in which a huge knife rested. A holster containing a gun with a polished mahogany handle also hung from his belt, and a wide-brimmed hat lay in his lap, held by very big hands that looked as though they had done hard work. His white shirt was decorated with blue designs, and at his neck he wore a bright blue scarf, which accented the very blue eyes that were suddenly looking back at her.
She reddened deeply, angry that she had bothered to look at him at all. Surely he thought she was a loose woman who was giving him the eye, when on the contrary she was not even looking at him as a man or even as a person, but rather as a curious object she had never seen before. But how would she ever explain that? She stared back out the window, determined not to look back for a long time so he would know she had only been curious. But the memory of his face, of that one quick look, stirred something in her she did not understand. She tried to ignore the odd, quick flutter she had felt when she’d met his eyes. His face was rugged and tanned, and from what she could remember in that quick glance, handsomer than that of any man she had ever set eyes on, if she would call any man handsome. She had long ago determined that no man would ever be attractive to her, and that she would never, ever, desire a man. It was not that she had such a feeling for this one. It was just that she had never seen one dressed as he was and wearing weapons, or one with eyes quite so blue set in a face quite so perfect. She wanted to look again, out of sheer curiosity, but could not bring herself to do it for she was sure his own eyes were still on her.
She felt suddenly overdressed for the country into which she was headed. She wore an expensive green velvet skirt and jacket, the jacket short and tight fitting flattered her lovely shape. Her blonde hair was coiffed into sweeping curls that were set off by the elegant velvet hat she wore. At her neck the neat white ruffles of her silk blouse filled the space between the lapels of her jacket, and at her throat a lovely broach decorated the blouse. It had been a gift from Becky O’Toole long ago. Her high-button shoes were shiny and black. She suddenly wondered if people would laugh at her when she disembarked at Cripple Creek. Surely in such a wild town full of itinerant miners, a young, inexperienced, fancily dressed girl from St. Louis would be out of place.
She stared ahead although she still couldn’t get a good view of the western horizon. Then she saw the dark shadow again against the western sky, and suddenly white peaks. The mountains! She leaned forward, her gaze intent now. They must be gigantic, for their tops were covered with snow and this was the first of June! Her heart pounded with anticipation, hope, fear, doubts. What was she doing coming to this land? What awaited her out there?
“Where you headed, cowboy?” a voice asked nearby. It startled her, and she looked up to see a conductor standing near the stranger with the gun and high boots, looking at a ticket.
“Cripple Creek,” came the deep but gentle voice.
Harmony’s heart raced harder. He was going to the same place she was! What a small world it was after all. She stared at her lap, pretending not to listen.
“Another gold-seeker?” the conductor asked with a laugh, punching the ticket.
Harmony dared to glance in the man’s direction again, and he was flashing a wide, handsome grin, his teeth white and even, his blue eyes dancing. Thick, sandy hair was combed in neat waves away from his face, but a few little curls hung over his forehead.
“I’m not that crazy,” the man replied to the conductor. “I wouldn’t waste my time scratching the earth for something I might never find. I’ve seen plenty of men die or go home in broken despair after searching for gold. I make my money an easier way.”
The conductor chuckled. “You a gambler?”
“No, sir. I work for a supply store, and the man I work for is thinking of raising good sturdy pack horses, sent me to Arriba where a man I know raises the best. I’ve got a valuable thoroughbred stud and a good sturdy roan broodmare on board. I’ll be getting off at River Bend and will herd them straight west from there instead of going on into Denver.”
The conductor nodded. “Well, sounds to me like you’ve got a more dependable means of income than panning for gold, I’ll say that. Me, I’d just as soon have a good, steady job. You look more like a cowboy, than a man who’d work for a supply store.”
The stranger shifted in his seat, and Harmony glanced at him again. He was a big man. She guessed that if he stood up he would be a good six feet tall. He looked uncomfortable in the seat, and he stretched one long leg out into the aisle so he could unbend it.
“Not so much use for trailherders anymore, thanks to the railroad,” he answered. “Some ranchers still need cowboys. But it’s hard for me to stay in one place. With this job I do a little traveling, supplying miners. I go up and down into the mountains and back to Cripple Creek. And I meet a lot of people.”
“I’ll bet.” The conductor handed back the ticket, after first studying the name on it. “Raymond Hanner. Glad to meet you, Mister Hanner.”
“Just call me Buck. That’s the only name I go by.”
The conductor grinned. “Well, you have a good trip, Buck. And I hope you get the horses safely to Cripple Creek.”
Buck nodded. “Thank you.”
As the conductor walked farther down the aisle, Harmony stole another glimpse of the stranger called Buck Hanner. What was it about him that attracted her? It wasn’t just his rough, powerful frame and the different way he dressed, or the ruggedly handsome face and intriguing blue eyes. There was a sureness about him, a power, the air of a man who controlled his own life. She wished she could be a man, be one like Buck Hanner, a man who did what he pleased, went where he wanted, took orders from no one. If she were a man, life could be so different for her. She wouldn’t have to be afraid of everything and pretend that she was not. Perhaps that was why most women thought they needed a man, to be all the things they could not be—to do the protecting, to be in control. But not her. She would be different. She needed no man. She would control her own life.
Buck Hanner glanced at her again, flashing that handsome smile and nodding. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said.
Her face went crimson again. She knew it would be polite to answer, but she must not do it! What would he think! She quickly looked away again, then moved to the seat opposite her so that her back would be to him and she would not accidentally meet his eyes again. Doing so meant she couldn’t watch the mountains looming on the horizon, but that didn’t matter. It was better than feeling his eyes on her, better than not being able to look up without seeing him. She was glad he was getting off at River Bend. That was the next stop. Buck Hanner would be gone then. She would go on by train to Denver, then come down to Cripple Creek on the Denver & Rio Grande, for there was no other easy way to get there, unless one was a horse-riding cowboy like Buck Hanner.
Horse riding! She just then realized she couldn’t even ride a horse. Surely everyone at a place like Cripple Creek knew how to ride. How would she get around? She suddenly felt like crying. She didn’t know anything about the place to which she was going, knew nothing about riding, nothing about mining. What had made her think she could do this? She breathed deeply. She must not falter now. She must not let negative thoughts overtake her. She owned property in Colorado—gold! She would go there and she would learn what she needed to know. Anyone could learn, and she was smarter than most people. She had learned other things. She would learn to ride, learn about panning for gold; and she would be all right.
She sighed deeply, imagining herself falling into that abyss that had swallowed others who had come to this land. How she wished she had one friend—just one! And what about Buck Hanner? He was going to Cripple Creek too. What if she saw him there? What would she say or do, after so rudely turning her back on him? She’d had no reason in the world not to give him a nod or a good afternoon. He seemed nice enough, and what harm could any stranger do her on a train full of passengers? If she had answered him, she might have struck up a conversation and discovered some things about Cripple Creek. Surely he could have told her anything she needed to know.
But it was too late now. She had ruined her chance, but it was probably just as well. If she had conversed with him, he’d have thought less of her, and then if he saw her in Cripple Creek, he’d think he had a right to talk to her. Perhaps he would approach her rudely or try to attack her as Jimmie had done, just because she had spoken to him. No. It was better this way. This way he knew she was a proper lady.
The train rumbled on for two more hours, then came to a stop for lunch. Harmony did not get off. She couldn’t eat. She was too nervous now, too excited. In a few more hours she would be in Denver, a city that was a mystery to her, although she’d heard many things about it. It was difficult to believe there could be such a thing as a big, thriving city in this desolate, endless land. She would not believe it until she saw it for herself.
Several minutes later she saw him—Buck Hanner. The wide-brimmed hat was on his head, and he led a saddled horse. A rifle rested in a boot at the side of the saddle. He tied the horse at a hitching post, then left, returning a few minutes later with two grand-looking horses, one a deep brown, the other a reddish color. He mounted the saddled horse with such ease it was obvious that riding was as familiar to him as walking. Then picking up the lead ropes that were tied to the bridles of the other two horses, he took the reins of his own horse and turned it.
For a brief moment he glanced up and caught her at the window, watching him. He smiled and nodded again, and she turned away. Why, oh why, did she feel so drawn to him? Why was she so fascinated? Surely it was just that his rugged manliness was what she’d pictured men in these places to be like. And it was all the more reason for her to be alert. Such men were probably as rude and demanding as Jimmie—surely much worse! After all, they were men who took charge of their own lives, and she was going to a place where young ladies were a rare sight. She must be very, very careful.
After several minutes she dared to glance out the window again, but Buck Hanner was gone. Why did that disappoint her? Never had she felt so confused by her own feelings. She rose from her seat, walking out to the platform and leaning out to try to see him. Far in the distance she spied a little cloud of dust. She could see three horses and barely make out one rider. Surely it was him. Why did she have a ridiculous urge to call him back? Never in her whole life had she felt or acted so foolishly.
She went back to her seat. Soon the train would be off again, heading north toward Denver. Buck Hanner was heading directly west and would probably get to Cripple Creek before she did. It felt strange to think that when she got to that town, there would actually be one person there that she knew. Yet she didn’t know him at all—had not even spoken to him. He did not even know her name. But she knew his. Buck. Buck Hanner. It had a nice ring to it, a solid sound.
She sighed disgustedly then, angry with herself. Solid? He’d said himself he didn’t like being in one place for too long. He was a drifter, a loner, that was sure. He probably had a woman in every town. And what if he did? Why did she care? She didn’t. She was simply curious about that strange creature called a cowboy. Until now she had only read about them. And she was fascinated by the fact that he, too, was on his way to Cripple Creek. But a character like Buck Hanner would probably already be gone by the time she got there. That was just as well. She totally ignored and denied the truth, for it was too ridiculous and inexcusable to be acknowledged. Nonetheless, it lay deep inside her, creating disturbing new feelings in her young body and mind. She’d been attracted to him, something that had never happened to her, something she did not want to happen. She determined that she would not let it happen again. She would remember her purpose—to go to Cripple Creek, get a map of Brian’s claim, and get supplies. Then she would seek out the claim and pan for gold. She would become wealthy, and forever after she would be in charge of her own life.
She settled back as the train rumbled toward Denver. But every time she closed her eyes to rest, she saw a handsome, tanned face with unusually blue eyes. It angered her. She moved to the other side of the car, where the windows faced the mountains now. She watched the peaks, allowing her thoughts to be lost in the great Rockies so she would forget about a man she would probably never see again.
Denver was bigger than Harmony had thought it would be—a sprawling raw city, booming with growth, but lacking the quiet refinement of St. Louis. In the short time she was there, Harmony could tell that although Denver had its large buildings, its theaters and schools and museums, it did not have the flavor and warmth of a city that had aged. It reminded her of a child not yet fully wise and mature. But there was no doubt that Denver was well established, a city that would not die off as she’d heard many western towns had, especially the mining towns. Denver was the center of all mining activity. It had banks, investors, and mining company headquarters. Even though mining towns came and went with the rising and setting of the sun, this city would remain the central point for the mining business, for gold or silver or copper or any new mineral that might be found in the vast expanse of the Rocky Mountains.
She boarded a Denver & Rio Grande coach, proud of how well she had so far accomplished her journey. She had spoken to few people and had made her way by asking questions and keeping to herself. She had spent most of her journey reading the books on mining she had purchased, but reading explanations and studying diagrams couldn’t possibly be as helpful as physically panning for gold. Much as she hated to admit it, someone would have to show her how, and she didn’t like the idea of having to rely on anyone to do that. But she would worry about that when she got to Cripple Creek.
Steam hissed from the black engine of the narrow gauge railroad, and they were underway. Now she had a grand view of the blue and purple mountains, their snow-covered peaks fascinating her. She felt a little light-headed, and realized that was because she was not accustomed to the altitude. Or was it simply her excitement? She wondered how far the range of mountains stretched. And how had man managed to get across them? Now he not only crossed them, but railroads had been built over them. Men even lived among the peaks, mining for gold, silver, lead, copper, and all sorts of mineral wealth. And she was going to be a part of all this. It was a wonderful, exciting feeling. She would belong to a special place, own a little piece of land, be her own person. She was no longer dependent and helpless, no longer lost. She knew exactly where she was going, and so far she’d done a good job of getting there. She would ride the D&RG south to Colorado Springs, where she would board a stagecoach that would take her to Cripple Creek. There she would see the assayer and announce her arrival, after which she would buy the necessary supplies, find a trustworthy guide, and go to Brian’s claim.
Brian. Her heart fell a little. She had been so busy and excited, she had not thought of him for a while. It hit her with sudden agony that she would never see him again. Her throat ached, her eyes filled with tears. The kind man with the red hair and brown eyes who had fought off the men at the pier was dead. His lovely Becky, whom he’d been so happy to marry, was dead. Both had been kind to her, had given her a home. If only Brian hadn’t left, if only Becky could have had a baby, things might have been so different. She’d be cozy and warm and safe in St. Louis. She wouldn’t be out here in this wild, strange land, walking among strangers, depending on strangers to help her. She would miss Brian O’Toole, the only father she had ever had. She would even miss the store. She’d gladly have worked there forever if Brian had been there to run it.
But Brian O’Toole was dead—nothing could change that—and it felt good to be away from Jimmie’s evil stares and the constant fear of another attack. She didn’t care what happened to him; she even hoped his business went bankrupt. It would serve him right. Without Brian the store meant nothing to her; St. Louis meant nothing to her. She had learned not to trust others, not to depend too heavily on any one person. Her experiences there had hardened her, trained her for what was now to come, made her independent. She now had stamina and determination. She would rely on her own know-how and judgment. She had decided that she could do anything she set her mind to, and there was no more wonderful feeling than believing that she could, that she would be successful on her own terms, paying her way with good hard work and intelligence and no other way. She knew that she must never show fear in front of others. She must always appear determined, sure, stubborn. She must be proud and forward, demanding and fighting for what belonged to Harmony Jones.
It seemed only a short time until she disembarked from the D&RG and her luggage was being tied onto the top of a stagecoach into which she climbed, settling into a creaky leather seat. Moments later a heavily painted woman climbed into the coach, feathers dancing in her hat, her large bosom billowing over the low neckline of her dress. Harmony could not help but stare wide-eyed at her, for judging by the woman’s shadowed eyes, brightly painted lips, and her garish attire, she was certain this was one of the many prostitutes who came west to make a living off the cowboys and miners.
The painted woman met her stare with kind brown eyes, and she smiled. “Hi, honey. Where you headed?”
Harmony could not find her voice at first, and the woman frowned, looking outside.
“Where’s your ma and pa?” she asked.
Harmony straightened. Was it proper to speak to such a woman? How could any woman take money to be with a man, doing the ugly things Jimmie had once described to her during his vicious attack? She shuddered, and her stomach felt uneasy. She had no choice but to answer the woman, who looked genuinely concerned, and she could not deny that her fellow passenger’s eyes were truly kind.
“I…I have no parents,” she replied. “I’m traveling alone.” She held up her chin, feeling more grown-up with every word. It was time to start being strong and unafraid. “I’m traveling to Cripple Creek, to take over a gold claim my stepfather left me. He’s dead, and—”
“Cripple Creek! You?” The woman laughed lightly, running knowing eyes over Harmony’s prim attire, studying the youthful face and sensing the fear that lay beneath the proud eyes. “You’re just a kid, and a female besides. How do you think you’re going to fare in a place like Cripple Creek, and what do you know about mining for gold?”
Harmony held the woman’s eyes steadily. “I can learn all I need to know, and I will do just fine. I do not intend to stay in town for long. I will leave for Pike’s Peak right away. The claim is mine, and I intend to keep it that way.”
The woman frowned. “Well, I gotta admire your courage, kid. But there’s a lot more enjoyable way to get rich at Cripple Creek. I can attest to that. I’ve just been to Denver and made some big investments, all with…uh…hard-earned money, if you know what I mean.”
Harmony reddened, and the woman chuckled.
“I guess that sounds pretty terrible to the likes of you, but out here it’s considered quite a legitimate way of making a living. Why, one of my best customers is Wade Tillis, the richest man in Cripple Creek. Owns half the town. And he’s a handsome cuss to boot. The only problem is, more and more wives are coming out every year, making a fuss about women like me, wanting to chase us out of town. But they haven’t been able to yet. We have a right to be there. There’s no law against it—yet.” She grinned. “Say, honey, if you have problems or anybody gives you trouble, you come to me. I don’t bite. I’d see that you was safe and sound and well took care of. I live with some other girls in rooms above the Mother Lode, one of the fanciest saloons in Cripple Creek. Wade owns it. If anybody gives you trouble, I’ll send them hopping.”
Harmony reddened, believing the woman was sincere, but she was too kind to tell her she wouldn’t be caught dead running to a whore for help. Everyone might think that she was “one of the girls.”
“Thank you,” she said aloud. “You’re very kind.”
“That’s okay. I was once an innocent thing like you, till my old man up and ran off to the gold fields, leaving me with big debts to pay. Me, I was never very smart, didn’t have any skills. I did the only thing I knew would pay off the debts and keep me from going to prison. Then I came out here. Never heard from my old man again, but I swore I’d never be poor again either. By God, I haven’t been. I’m good at what I do, and I don’t care who knows it.”
Harmony fingered the strings of her purse nervously. “Do you…do you know a man named Buck Hanner?”
“Buck? Sure. He’s about the best-looking drifter that ever landed in Cripple Creek. I’d like to get that one between my sheets, but I’ve never had the honor. Far as I know, neither have the other girls. Buck’s the quiet type, kind of mysterious, you know. He just sort of appeared one day, works at a supply store. He comes over and gambles once in a while, but he don’t drink much, and he don’t say much. He’s well liked, far as I know, but nobody knows much about him. Say, you know Buck Hanner?”
Harmony shook her head. “No, I…I saw him on a train…overheard him tell a porter he was headed for Cripple Creek. I was just curious, since I know no one there.”
The woman laughed lightly. “I don’t suppose you’re curious because he’s the best-looking hunk of man in these parts, are you?”
Harmony frowned. “I don’t think of men that way,” she answered tartly. “He just seemed like an interesting person.” She scowled and looked out the window of the coach at what someone had told her was Pike’s Peak. It was difficult to tell how far away it was. She had learned already that in this land something that appeared to be twenty miles away could be a hundred miles off, and vice versa. This truly was a strange land, full of strange people.
“Well, maybe you don’t look at men that way, but someday you will, honey; and you’ll find out what you’ve been missing. I’ve got to say, you’re sure pretty. You’d better be careful. ’Course, the men in mining towns have a lot of respect for us women, even the ones like me. Women are a rare sight, although, like I said, more and more wives are coming out now. But there’s a certain code out here that says any man who’d violate or hurt a nice young girl, or even a favored prostitute, ought to be hung for a yellow-bellied coward. I’ve seen it happen. You just keep up that pride and properness, and you’ll be all right. But you’d better be prepared for a lot of remarks and a hell of a lot of stares. You’ll be a tempting sight, I’ll say that.”
Harmony held her chin proudly, folding her arms. “The last thing I care about is men. I just want to get to my claim and be left alone. I intend to be totally independent for the rest of my life.”
A wry grin passed over the woman’s face. “Sure. By the way, my name is Dora May Harper. What’s yours?”
“Harmony. Harmony Jones.”
The woman scrutinized her closely. “Sixteen?”
“Seventeen.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Oh my! You’re all grown-up then, aren’t you?” She laughed lightly and a man boarded the coach, much to Harmony’s consternation. She wished no one had boarded. She would much rather have finished the trip alone, especially in the cramped quarters of the coach. It was obvious that Dora May Harper was going to babble all the way to Cripple Creek, and her attention turned immediately to the man, who was soon telling the woman all about himself, his eyes on her bosom more often than on her face. At least Dora May kept the man’s attentions on herself and off of Harmony. She was glad of that much.
The coach lurched forward and Harmony grasped a hand grip to steady herself. They hadn’t gone three miles before the man had practically told Dora May his life story, explaining that he was headed for Cripple Creek on behalf of a real-estate firm based in Colorado Springs, and that he hoped to see more of her when they arrived.
Dora May smiled and winked. “As much as you want, honey,” she replied.
Harmony reddened deeply, feeling sick, from Dora May’s attitude toward a complete stranger and from the motion of the coach, both of which mingled with her own excitement and fear so that her stomach actually ached. They rode for several hours, up hills, down hills, past rocky hills patched with sage and small cactus plants, around amazingly huge boulders, through canyons with walls hundreds of feet high.
Harmony soon forgot her concern over the prostitute and the realtor. She practically hung out of the window, gawking at scenery far surpassing what she had imagined. There were waterfalls and forests of pine. Always in the distance, disappearing and reappearing, were the mountains, always changing, seemingly moving, yet ever the same. To her right would be a certain snow-capped peak, then suddenly it would be behind her, on the other side of her, then to her right again. Or was it a different one? How on earth did a person find his way in this maze of rocks and canyons and forests? Yes, she would most certainly need a guide. Had she gotten in over her head? Could she really do this? Had she come to this land to be forever lost, perhaps raped and murdered and thrown over a cliff to be crushed in the fall? Would someone shoot her for her claim? Would a bear eat her, a boulder fall on her? How was she, Harmony Jones, who knew nothing about this land, to survive in it?
Dora May laughed then, and when Harmony looked at her, the man was nuzzling the prostitute’s neck, a small bottle of whiskey in his hand, which lay against her billowing bosom, partly touching the woman’s breasts. Harmony thought of the night Jimmie had dared to touch her own breast, and a chill went down her spine. How ugly! She was repulsed and mortified. She looked away again.
She would survive. Looking at Dora May made her more determined than ever. She would survive in this land and be a successful businesswoman, and she would not do so in the way Dora May was doing it. She would die first. Watching the woman gave her more determination. The memory of her terror of being helpless and alone on the docks made her even stronger. She could do it and she would. Let everyone think whatever they wanted, laugh as much as they wanted, chide her, ridicule her, dare her. She didn’t care. She’d show them all! She had property! She had gold! She had courage and strength. She was Harmony Jones, and she had made it this far. Soon she would be in Cripple Creek, and on her way to her own piece of land.
The trip took two days, and the intervening night was spent at a small stage depot deep in the mountains west of Pike’s Peak. Harmony kept to herself, sleeping on a bench in the corner, but not sleeping well. She was too aware of the distant howl of coyotes and the strange, moaning wind. She told herself she must get used to such things, for soon she would be in her own little cabin on her own property—alone amidst the animals and the elements. She would have to get used to these mountains, learn how to survive here. She suddenly wondered if there was even a cabin at her claim. Surely there was, but what if there was not? She certainly didn’t know how to build one, and she certainly did not intend to sleep outside.
The coyotes barked and howled again, and in another corner Dora May giggled and whispered with the realtor. What kind of a place had she come to? Perhaps this land was much more lawless, much more wild and dangerous than she had anticipated. Still, she was here, and there was no going back. Harmony buried her fear, her loneliness. Again the awful feeling she’d experienced as a little girl on the docks swept through her, and she wanted to cry. But she dared not. If she cried now, she’d never stop. She’d turn around and run back to St. Louis. She couldn’t do that. There was nothing there for her. All she owned, all that could keep her independent and give her security, was here in this place called Colorado.
Morning finally came, and she raised her aching body, sore from lying all night on the hard bench. She boarded the coach, saying nothing to Dora May and the realtor, who both had red eyes and seemed to be suffering from headaches. They slept most of the way the next day, and when the coach rattled into Cripple Creek, only Harmony was awake to watch. The muddy main street was thronged with men, but she couldn’t see a woman anywhere. The coach clattered by a sign that said Assayer’s Office, and she made a mental note of its location as they headed farther down the street, stopping in front of the stage station.
Harmony put a hand to her chest. She was here. She was really in Cripple Creek! The driver walked around and opened the door, and she ducked her head and stepped out. Several men went thundering by on horseback, mud flying; and she could hear the tinkle of piano music from a nearby saloon.