Why didn't he?
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He didn't because he couldn't. Years ago, when he spurned society, he vowed never to look back. It was a vow he'd kept easily, and after a few years, civilization had come to mean hell to him. The thought of going back, of having to fit in, was terrifying. He'd lived on his own, like a wild animal, for the last twenty-two years. How could he possibly go back?
Even more frightening than the thought of trying to be something he wasn't was the thought of disappointing her.
And he would. Oh, sure, he'd mastered the rudiments of table manners, and he'd even given up chewing tobacco, but he wasn't exactly church-social material. He'd embarrass and disappoint her. Then she'd get that pained, pinched expression on her face-the one that said he'd failed.
She was too big-hearted ever to say a word, but he'd know he'd failed, and he'd want to crawl under the nearest rock and die.
He refused to set himself up for that kind of pain. He much preferred one swift stab in the heart to a lingering, drawn-out bloodletting.
"Miss Devon. Miss Devon!" Her name echoed down Front Street.
Stone Man felt a jab of apprehension. His gaze cut to Devon. She was still sitting at the table, knitting on that silly pink tablecloth.
Just outside the tent a shadow loomed. It appeared to be a single man dragging a sled. "Hang on, Miss Devon, I'm a-comin'," yelled the voice again.
Devon turned to Stone Man. "Who was that?"
"How should I know?" Stone Man retorted in a harsher voice than he'd intended. He couldn't help himself; something about the shadow made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
The distorted black figure tossed his pull-lines to the ground then hefted something-a sack, maybe-off the sled. The object hit the boardwalk with a loud thunk.
Digger Haines plowed through the tent flaps, dragging a burlap sack behind him. The sack burped and slid across the uneven plank flooring.
D'gger stopped beside the table. Swiping the sheen of
sweat from his dirty brow, he flashed Devon a bright grin.' "I done it, miss! This here sack's full of gold." s
Devon jumped to her feet. Her knitting needles clattered! on the tabletop, forgotten. "'That's full of gold?"
"Chock-full, and it's all yours."
Devon's jaw dropped. For the first time in her life, she was speechless.
Digger cackled."You didn't think that grubstake'd amount to anything, did you?" "What grubstake?"
Devon heard Stone Man's too-quiet voice, heard the ominous note of warning in it, but she didn't respond. She2 couldn't. She was stunned. Ideas and possibilities and real-j izations crashed together in her mind, tumbling over one] another. She was rich. Rich. 1
"While you were off tramping through the gulch," Digger! answered good-naturedly,"your partner here grubstaked my J claim on Eldorado." "Oh, she did, did she?" "/ didn't," she answered distractedly. "The post did. Good heavens, Stone Man, we're rich." |
"You're both rich!" Digger patted the sack proudly. "And| this ain't all of it. I still got a pile of muck left to sluice and dozens o' shafts left to dig. Hell, we're all gonna be rich as kings. We can live anywhere we want. Paris, London, San Francisco. Hell, miss, you can go to Boston and have your pick o' husbands."
Devon's smile faded. Stone Man's scowl intensified. "Thanks, Digger," Stone Man said evenly,"go buy yourself a drink. You deserve it."
Digger looked from Stone M
an to Devon and back to Stone Man. They were standing like statues, just staring at each other. He loosened his collar, which suddenly felt tight. This was the strangest damn reaction to wealth he'd ever seen. Why, he almost felt bad. . . . "I-I'll just leave it here in the corner. If you got any questions, I'll be stayin' at that new boardinghouse next to the Pioneer Saloon." He turned to leave.
"Digger?" Devon said as he reached the flaps, "thanks. I knew I was right to trust you."
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He beamed. Now that was more like it. "Sure, miss. 'Bye." With that he scurried out of the tent.
"So," came Stone Man's mocking voice, "we can live like kings in San Francisco."