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CHAPTER 14

      THE WAY down the hill from the back of Nugent's house was thickly wooded with aspens, and as Purdy threaded his way through them, the sorrel was wading through drifts of snow and piles of gold aspen leaves.

      The wind whistled past him, and made the leaves that still clung to branches rustle to its tune. About a hundred yards down, Purdy came upon a timbered dugout with a sod-covered roof. The young Chinese girl who had served them the other evening was washing clothes in a clearing, boiling them in a large iron pot. Smoke and the smell of cooking came from the house.

      Purdy watched for a moment, then hurried on unseen, continuing his way downhill by a circuitous route. Neither he nor Nugent, who was prudently returning home the back way, knew they had passed each other going in opposite directions. They were both a disappointment to Hopper and Amhearst, who had been waiting behind a rocky outcrop to shoot either or both of them as they came along the wagon road in front of the house.

      When Purdy reached the river, he followed it upstream past several miners working sluice boxes and a couple of loners, panning. He came to the tent where he thought he had seen Lem Beeme, but it was unoccupied. A burly miner wearing a sheepskin coat came up on him while he was looking into the tent. He raised his rifle at Purdy. "Freeze, mister, and tell me what you're doing here," he said curtly.

      "I'm looking for Lem Beeme," Purdy said.

      "What would you be wantin' him for?"

      "I'm not after his claim, if that's what you're thinking. I mean him no harm."

      The miner took a long time making up his mind, then said brusquely, "Then leave your horse and guns here, and walk ahead of me."

      Purdy tied the sorrel to a tree and put the Smith & Wesson in a saddlebag next to the Spencer carbine. The miner, a man in his 50s who was built like a bear, pointed upstream, and Purdy began walking ahead of him. The morning had turned cold, and gray clouds obscured the sun. It was a gloomy day, and the realization that in playing the Sidewinders against each other he had set both sides against himself made Purdy feel gloomier than the weather. And having a man walking behind him with a rifle didn't help any.

      He picked his way through the trees along a narrow footpath, listening to the man's heavy breathing a few feet behind him. He hoped that the miner didn't think he was one of Nugent's men, and shoot him somewhere along the trail.

      After walking about ten minutes, they headed away from the river until they came into a clearing where pines had been chopped down. A crude forge, open to the air, had been built there, and inside the firepit a charcoal fire glowed bright red, fed by the breeze from a bellows that was being cranked by one of the miners. Lem Beeme, tall and gangly and with a handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth, was tending something that was being heated in the forge, while several other men stood back watching him. When they saw Purdy a couple of the men reached for their guns, and others moved between Purdy and the hearth.

      Beeme looked up and said quietly, "I know him. Name's Priddy, or something."

      "It's Purdy. And I want to talk to you."

      Beeme walked toward him to keep him from approaching the fire and pulled down the handkerchief. His scowl left no doubt that he didn't think Purdy had ever done much to deserve his help. "What about?"

      In Watson's store Beeme had looked nervous and weak, but now, in familiar surroundings, with his well-armed friends, he was the confident one, and Purdy the one who felt ill at ease.

      "I need your help. I got all of Nugent's pals after me."

      Purdy didn't exactly expect to be welcomed with open arms, and he wasn't disappointed. Beeme looked only mildly curious, and he gave no indication that he had heard what Purdy said.

      One of the miners said, "I seen him with the undertaker, and that makes him one of them — far's I'm concerned."

      "The undertaker's one of the ones who's trying to make me into his customer," Purdy said.

      Beeme said, "That's what you get when you run around with a bad crowd. You know we have no love here for Nugent and his hellfire and damnation society, but if you think we're going to ride against him, you're crazy mister."

      "All I want is a place to sleep for a couple of days, and maybe something to eat. I'll pay for it. But I can't go back to Tres Marias, and I don't want to camp in these mountains without even a blanket."

      Beeme hesitated, "I can see the force of that. So, well, we'll do that much for you. But if you cause us any trouble . . ." He gestured to the men with the guns and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

      "No trouble." Purdy was shivering and he edged closer to the hearth. A couple of the miners moved to block his view, but not before he saw the heavy metal pot embedded in the glowing charcoal. He knew that under its dirty crust must be several pounds of molten gold.

      "Nice stew," Purdy said.

      "We like it," Beeme said dryly. "Take him back to the camp, Mr. Pike," he said to the grizzled miner who had brought him. To Purdy he said, "If you're truly an enemy of Nugent and his gang, we won't harm you. They can't hate us any more than they already do — and I wouldn't turn a dog out in these mountains in this weather. So . . . you can just curl up right outside of my tent, providing you give a yelp if a stranger steps on you."

      The others laughed. Purdy's face grew hot despite the cold.

      Back at the tent Pike said roughly, "If it was me that had the say — I'd have sent you off, Mister. You'll bring them down on us: Watson wants an excuse to kill us and take our claims. Amhearst came up here yesterday with his deputy, and we run him off, but they'll be back. Better sleep with your gun tonight."

      "I don't think Sheriff Amhearst is doing Mr. Watson's bidding now." Purdy said. He put on his gunbelt and slid the carbine out of its scabbard. "I'm going down the river a ways. If I see any of them coming, you'll know."

      "Do that," Pike said laconically.

      "Did they name Pike's Peak after one of your kinfolks," Purdy asked.

      "I don't know. Maybe my grandfather or somebody." Pike said.

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