Gabriel's Lady. Ana Seymour

       Chapter Two

      Tin-roofed shacks, brush houses, tents and wagons made into temporary sleeping quarters dotted the steep, wooded sides of Deadwood Gulch like debris scattered after a storm. It was only on the floor of the gulch, the single main street of Deadwood proper, that the structures became real buildings. Amelia stepped down from the lumbering mail coach and looked up and down the block in amazement. It was solid saloons.

      “How many drinking establishments does this town have?” she asked Mattie Smith.

      Mattie smiled. “Twenty-seven, at last count. You temperance workers have your work cut out for you here.”

      Amelia shook her head. “I told you—I’m not a temperance worker. I’m just here to find my brother.”

      “So how come you went off to sleep in that broken-down coach last night the minute Gabe took out his bottle?”

      “I don’t approve of spirits, Mrs. Smith. But I’m not a crusader.”

      “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Miss Prescott, because you’ll find Deadwood a sight easier to take if you don’t start in preaching. The truth is that most of these boys come here thinking they’ll be rich in weeks. Instead they end up broke and homesick. I figure they deserve what little comfort they can get.”

      Amelia looked down at her pleasantly rounded companion. “You’re a compassionate person, Mrs. Smith, I can see that. I promise you that I don’t intend to set about reforming disappointed miners. I just want to find Parker.”

      Amelia felt a sinking sensation as she realized that the task might prove more difficult than she had anticipated. It might even mean going into some of these…drinking establishments. She sighed. Perhaps Morgan would know what to do. He and Mr. Hatch had both left the coach at the edge of town in front of a tall, thin building with narrow letters that spelled out Telegraph squeezed across the front. Morgan was always proud when an occasion arose to show that he had book learning, a skill he had never had a chance to acquire during his childhood in the mines in Wales. He still worked with her father three nights a week after supper, though Morgan had mastered the basics years ago and their lessons had evolved into spirited discussions of various books they read together.

      Mattie cocked her head to one side. “Parker Prescott. Now, that name sounds familiar.”

      Two cowboys with wide leather chaps over their dirty denims came crashing out of a swinging door just a few feet from where the women were standing. Mattie gave them a brief glance, then continued speaking. “Why, that’s Claire’s young man. Of course…Parker.”

      One of the cowboys was holding up a hand of cards. His face was a mottled red, and he was sputtering like a crusted-up teakettle. The other man reached down into his pants and pulled out a revolver. Amelia felt a quick rush through her midsection. “Mrs. Smith, that man has a gun!”

      Mattie Smith took Amelia’s arm and drew her around the back of the stagecoach. “We’ll just stay out of the way back here,” she said as calmly as if she were discussing dress patterns.

      Amelia leaned against a thick leather luggage rack. “That man pulled a gun,” she repeated in a shaky voice.

      “Lordy, child. You’re pea green. We’ve got to toughen you up, I reckon. Everyone’s got guns in Deadwood. But they don’t do much harm. Most of these boys can’t hit the side of a barn with their eyes open.”

      “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

      “We don’t have any police. No sheriff, either. Why do you think Deadwood’s so popular with every no-account west of the Mississippi?”

      Amelia gripped the edge of the stagecoach and peered cautiously around the corner. The cowboy who had pulled the gun was sprawled on the ground. The other man, cards still clutched in one hand, was sitting on top of him with his free hand pressed down on his opponent’s neck. Several feet away, the revolver lay discarded in the dusty street, sun glinting off its steely barrel.

      “Come on,” Mattie urged. “Let’s get out of here. Charlie will take care of your bag until you come back for it.”

      Amelia let herself be led down the street. “There’s no law in Deadwood?” she asked, her head turned back to the scene behind them. A burly redhead was trying to separate the two combatants as the sidewalk filled up with onlookers.

      “There’s all kinds of law—the law of the gun, the law of the best hand, the law of the almighty dollar,” Mattie continued. “But if you mean real law…nope. Not in Deadwood.”

      “I was hoping to ask the police to help me find Parker.”

      Mattie gave a snort. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, child. I can take you to your brother. Come on with me to my place.”

      Amelia’s eyes followed Mattie Smith’s hand as she pointed across the street and down a short distance. Nestled between two rough board saloons was a neatly painted clapboard house, looking for all the world like a little piece of New England. A trimmed row of bushes dotted with pink primroses edged the railing of a small front porch. Pink curtains showed at each of the six real glass windows.

      “You live right here in the middle of town?”

      Mattie didn’t answer. She waited until a buckboard had rattled past them, then took Amelia’s hand and led her across the street.

      Amelia followed along, asking in some confusion, “How do you know my brother, Mrs. Smith?”

      It wasn’t until they stood directly in front of the tidy yellow house that Amelia saw the discreet sign. Female Companions. Cleanliness Guaranteed. Mattie Smith, Proprietor.

      Amelia pulled back with a kind of horror as Mrs. Smith said cheerfully, “Here we are.”

      “I can’t go in there,” Amelia said stiffly.

      A gleam of sympathy appeared in Mattie Smith’s soft gray eyes. “I don’t mean to go against your sensibilities, Miss Prescott, but you did say you wanted to locate your brother, right?”

      “Yes, but—”

      “Then you’d better follow me. Because the odds are ten to one that this is where you’ll find him.”

      Amelia settled into the feathery softness of the rose damask sofa and closed her eyes. In her wildest dreams she would never have imagined that she would find herself in such a place. Although, except for a cloying scent that was fast bringing on a megrim, the little parlor of Mattie Smith’s…house…was not really much different than the sitting rooms back home where she and her mother would take tea with the other ladies of middle-echelon New York society. But when she had entered the front door she had had a direct view up the stairs to a room bathed in red light. Glowing red. She didn’t even dare think about the type of activity that might take place in such a room.

      “Hey, sis.” The soft voice coming from the doorway popped her eyes open.

      In an instant she had jumped to her feet and was caught up in her brother’s arms. “I could kill you,” she said, laughing and hugging him as great tears rolled down her cheeks.

      Parker lifted her off her feet and spun her around. “I’d deserve it,” he said, giving her a sound kiss.

      Amelia put her hands on her brother’s shoulders and pushed herself out of his grasp. “I mean it,” she said through subsiding sniffles.

      Parker’s grin faded. “I do, too. I deserve anything you want to do to me, my darling little sister. But it’s damn good to see you.”

      Amelia’s outburst of tears ended with a final jerky breath. “Don’t