第 14 页

"Mister!" A bubble of laughter shook his throat. "Hell, miss, I'm just Digger." He glanced over toward the counter. "Hiya Stone Man, how ya doing?"

Stone Man didn't look up. "Fine."

Devon tapped Cornstalk on the shoulder. When he looked her way, she shot a pointed glance toward her pies and tarts.

"Holy cow, Digger, look at them pies!"

Digger's eyes rounded as he looked at Devon's display. "God almighty, fresh pies. What do we gotta do to get one?"

Devon weighed each word, mentally culling the unnecessary ones. "Piece is one dollar. Tarts free with ten-dollar purchase."

At that Stone Man's head shot up. "Free?"

She nodded, frowning as ten more matchsticks landed in the jar.

"Holy cow," Cornstalk said, gulping. "There's lots of stuff I need. I was gonna wait and get everything in Circle City, but them pies sure look good."

Digger grabbed the boy's arm."Come on, kid. Let's stock up for winter."

For the next half hour Devon bustled around after her customers like a mother hen herding her chicks. She clucked, she nodded, she pointed. She did everything but speak, for she was determined to show Stone Man that she could be a useful-and silent-partner. When Digger and Cornstalk had collected everything they needed, she followed them up to the counter.

Sashaying past her partner, she settled in front of the scales.

Stone Man immediately stood. "I'll handle the gold."

She shot him a quelling glance. "No."

They all stared at each other for a long moment. Then Stone Man dropped a matchstick into the jar and eased back onto his stool. "Okay, lady, you do it."

Smiling brightly she turned her attention back to the boys. "Now, what have we got?" One by one she plucked up their purchases, checked the price list, and wrote down the correct price on a piece of cloth. Bacon, two pounds, 80 cents; beans, five pounds, 75 cents; sugar, ten pounds, 2 dollars and 50 cents; coffee, three pounds, 3 dollars; jam, two jars, 2 dollars. The last item was a small bright-orange box. She picked it up, turning it around in her hand as she looked for some indication of the contents.

She frowned. There wasn't a single word on the box. Cornstalk's cough caught her attention, and she looked up. The young man's face was beet red, and his Adam's apple was bobbing uncontrollably. He was staring bug-eyed at the box in her hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded, coughing again.

Digger slapped him on the back. "He's okay, miss," he said, grinning.

Devon turned her attention back to the box in her hand. What was it? She glanced at Stone Man's price list, searching for something, anything, that might aid her.

Cornstalk coughed again. "Them're a dollar, Miss Devon."

"But what are they?"

This time Cornstalk's cough seemed more like an apoplectic fit. She glanced up quickly and immediately frowned in concern. The poor boy was barely breathing, and his face looked ready to explode. "Goodness, Corn-"

Her sentence snapped in half as Stone Man lurched to his feet and grabbed the box from her grasp. "That'll be ten dollars and five cents, boys." He tossed the box onto the pile of purchases.

She bristled. "Now, just a-"

"Trust me."

The strange catch in his voice stopped her cold. He sounded almost... happy. She shot him a sidelong glance, and sure enough his eyes were crinkled up in barely suppressed laughter. A smile hovered in the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Miss Devon, do we get a tart?"

Smiling at Digger's question, she nodded. "And two free pieces of pie. Just spread the word, boys."

As the two men left the post, Devon heard the sound of matchsticks hitting glass again, but even that couldn't dim her enthusiasm. She'd done a good job; her foodstuffs had increased business.

When she turned back around she found Stone Man staring at her oddly. He was smiling, and there was a softness in his eyes she'd never seen before. Never expected.

"What is it?" she asked uncertainly.

"I'd forgotten women like you existed."

He smiled, an honest-to-God smile that Devon felt all the way down to her toes. "What do you mean, women like me?"

"Ladies," he said softly.

Remembering Midas's diatribe on the evils of ladies, she eyed him suspiciously. "Meaning what?"

His lips twitched. "The orange box was full of gold beater's skins." At her blank look he added, "French letters. You know, little-"

"I know what french letters are!" Crimson splashed her face. Her hands flew to her hot cheeks.

She remembered distinctly reading about contraceptive devices in Dr. Cowan's book, Science of a New Life. A groan worked its way up her throat.

Stop it! She jerked her hands from her face. She was a post operator, not some silly husband-hunting socialite. There was no room for feminine sensibilities in the Yukon.

Tilting her chin, she dug deep in her soul for a cool stare. Finding one, she leveled it on her partner. "Gold beater's skins." She forced out the crude words to prove they didn't embarrass her.

His lips twitched again. "Very good."

She nodded smartly. "If you'd had them displayed properly, I would have figured out what they were."

One eyebrow shot up. "Oh? How's that?"

"They hardly belong between the socks and the gloves."

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "It seems as good a place as any to me. And a damn sight better than most. Where would you suggest? With the hand tools maybe?"

"I should've known better than to discuss logic with you." She plucked up her skirts and headed for the shelf nearest her.

His warm, throaty laughter filled the tent. Its rich timbre sent unexpected shivers down her stiffened spine. She forced herself not to look at him, but it didn't do any good. In her mind's eye she held the picture of his face lit up by laughter.

Ignoring him completely, she bundled the orange boxes up in her apron and walked purposely toward the shelf containing P-Z. He was still chuckling as she cleared a space between the picks and the rice.

"Oh, Devon," came his warm, lilting voice.

She glanced up. He was waving the jar full of matchsticks. The little wooden sticks were clinking softly against the glass. "Bye, Dev."

Dam! She opened her mouth to speak then slammed it shut. Rules were rules.

Without a backward glance she stormed out of the tent.

Stone Man checked the time and smiled.

Chapter Ten

Glancing around the post, Devon frowned. It was so de-pressingly quiet. The only sound in the tent was the impatient tap, tap, tap of her toe.

Oh well, she thought philosophically, at least she hadn't spoken. The jar beside the scales was empty, and it was already eleven.

If only there were more to do...

Suddenly a stranger burst into the post. Stumbling wearily over to the table, he yanked out a stool and dropped onto the hard surface. His shoulders sagged forward, and a sigh escaped his lips. It was a long, low sigh that told the world a chair felt mighty good.

Devon stared in horror at the trail of mud left by the man's filthy gumboots.

He flipped off his hat. "Stone Man, how the hell are you?"

"Well, if it isn't Lying George, back from the dead."

The man laughed, a big, good-natured sound that set his heavy jowls to rocking. "I ain't lying this time. I found it. The big strike."

"Yeah, and I'm president of the United States."

George's quick grin made his long, droopy mustache bunch up under his big nose. Stuffing his hands in the oversized pockets of his coat, he pulled out a Winchester shotgun shell and threw it on the counter. It landed on the wooden surface with a loud thunk. Stone Man stared as if he expected the shell to bite him.

His eyebrows drew together, and a dark frown settled across his rawboned features as he picked it up.

Devon watched, fascinated, as Stone Man tugged the til off the shell and turned it upside down. Coarse gold flakes streamed onto the counter.

It was a long moment before Stone Man looked up at George. "This gold isn't from a river around here."

"Rabbit Creek."

Stone Man let out his breath slowly. "Shit..."

George grinned. "Yep. I staked my discovery claim. Now I'm on my way to find Ogilvy to record it. Just thought I'd pass by here and let you know so's you can pass the word."

"Sure," Stone Man answered in a voice so tired and old Devon barely recognized it. Without another word he swept the gold back into the empty shell and handed it to George.

Devon stood off to the side, uncertain as to what to do. Stone Man obviously didn't like George's news. But why? The discovery of gold in the valley, that was a good thing... wasn't it? And a customer with a shell full of gold; well, that simply had to be a good thing.

"Wait," she said as George started to leave, "would you like to buy some tarts or a piece of pie?"

"No, thanks, my Injun wife does just fine by me, missy."

Disappointed, Devon watched him leave. As she headed up to the counter, she noticed that Stone Man hadn't counted her words. That was a first. "Stone Man?"

"There goes Fortymile."

"What do you mean?"

"In the Yukon it doesn't take more than ten minutes to go from deserted valley to boom town. That's why we use tents- they go up and down quickly. Hell, the minute word of George's strike hits, there'll be men pulling up stakes from Fairbanks to Nome. They'll settle in so fast, my peaceful valley-"

"Customers!" Her face lit up. "Our post will be full every day."

"They won't all be miners. A few of the men headed this way will be store owners. By spring this valley'll be a goddamn town."

She chewed on her lower lip. Competition they couldn't really afford-not with Stone Man's personality. "Well, we'll just have to be the best. I could maybe make some more-"

"That's it," he said tiredly, plunking forty matchsticks in the jar. "Go home."

"But-"

His fist slammed onto the counter. "Now!"

Devon spun on her heels and barreled for the door. Midas entered at the same time, and they rammed into each other. His contemptuous laughter rang in her ears as she stumbled backward.

"Leaving?" he mocked. "So soon?"

Forcing her chin a notch higher, she sailed past him without a word.

His hate-filled voice followed her outside. "Well, Stoney-man, ya got rid o' the bitch early today. Good goin'."

Devon stopped, waiting for Stone Man's response. There was none.

She clenched her fists in frustration. When was that man going to realize that partners stood up for each other?

Sitting across the supper table from Stone Man, Devon watched him push his food around on his plate. He was staring at his supper through wide, unseeing eyes. Not once had he lifted his gaze from the plate.

Her heart went out to him. He was so obviously upset. How, she wondered, could anyone get so upset over a little handful of gold?

But in her heart she knew. It wasn't the small amount found that bothered him. It was what it represented. A thousand greedy men coming to rape the land, and every one of them looking for that handful of golden dust.

For the hundredth time she pondered his prediction. Would the moose pasture be a town by spring? A town with real streets, real stores, real people?

Dare she hope?

"Stone Man," she began cautiously.

He lurched to his feet. Belching loudly, he backhanded the leftover food from his beard and threw his unused napkin onto the table. "I've got to go."

He grabbed his mackinaw off its hook and headed for the door. Devon jumped up and blocked his path. "Where?"

He looked down at her, and she could see a glimmer of something-maybe fear, maybe pain-in his eyes. It flashed for a heartbeat before the well-used shutters slipped back into place.

"Out."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't go."

He flinched at her touch. "Why not? All you're going to do is babble in my ear. I can't take it tonight."

"I won't babble."

His eyes narrowed. "Promise?"

"I promise. But..."Her voice fell to a whisper. "Some times talking a problem through shrinks it."

His eyes seemed to bore through her face. The silence in the tent expanded. Their breaths mingled, punching through the quiet like a pair of fists. Outside the wind picked up. The narrow wooden door rattled on its hinges, and the tent shuddered. Rain thumped a hollow tattoo on the sagging canv roof.

"Please don't go."

The tension eased from his face. His big shoulders sagged! "All right. I don't have anywhere to go anyway. Bear's gone trapping."

Her hand slid down the length of his arm to his wrist. She led him back to the table, pouring two cups of coffee as he sat down. Sitting across from him, she took a quick sip, then '{ ventured, "It's a matter of perspective. All bad things are."

"What do you mean?"

"You think it's bad that your valley will become a boon town, correct?"

He nodded.

"That's because you're looking at it from the wrong perspective. Look at it this way. An influx of people means an influx of customers. More customers mean more dollars, and more dollars mean more photographic supplies."

He took a long drink. "I guess you're right," he murmured. "Still..."

"And there's something better than money. You'll be the first photographer here. Your pictures could become the diary 107 of a great strike, and when it's all over you can move on to the next great wilderness."

He glanced up at her. Over the rim of his cup, their eyes locked. "How the hell do you know me so well?"

The warmth of his mahogany-gold stare sent a spider-quick tingle down her spine. She smiled.

"You can't live with a man for three weeks and not learn something about him- no matter how hard he tries to shield himself."