Doc Holliday shook his head, but Bronx insisted. “You can shoot the crow this time. This one’s on me. And I thank you for the company. But I got a job to do and a new horse to feed.”
Doc Holliday’s eyes widened. The black shadows didn’t seem as deep and dark as yesterday. “You have been a busy man today. Seems like you don’t intend to leave with me after all, as evidenced by your purchase of a new mount. But I highly recommend your departure. Someone smelling like a Pinkerton was poking around this very Board of Trade last night. He named no names, but the face he wants looks like yours. With a head of lighter hair.”
“And you brought me here today, knowing that?” Bronx’s skin chilled to the marrow of his bones.
Doc Holliday shrugged.
“Well, did he have a poster? A picture?” If swallowing had been hard before, right now Bronx just about choked to death.
“No. Just the one he conjured in my mind. Of course—” Doc Holliday took a long, slow swig, then examined his fingernails even longer. Then he stared Bronx full on. “Of course, not everyone may be as imaginative as I. But I thought it best to inform you. And trust me, friend. We are kindred spirits, so to speak. I reckon your adversary is still sleeping off his stupor. But had I seen him here, now, I’d never have let you darken the door. Just consider how it might be best for you to leave with me.”
“I just got here.” But Bronx had to wonder. Had he more reason to stay than to go?
“Irregardless of danger, Mr. Sanderson, winters are brutal events in the mining fields. Why last winter alone, a snowslide killed ten such hardworking sorts. All sleeping tight when it came, unawares. Three o’clock in the morning. The avalanche stopped an alarm clock as it buried it, so the time is known for sure. I can’t think if the Homestake will ever dig itself out.”
“I’m not mining.” He’d already made the decision, but Doc’s warnings, his advice, surely warmed Bronx’s heart. A long time since anybody had cared much. “I’ll be helping to build the Delaware Hotel.” Bronx fingered the parcel. “I best be off.”
“Well, then, give Miss Lila my regards at suppertime. And my friend.” Doc’s words and stare turned deadly serious. “Keep first in your mind the day I plan on leaving here. I invite you again to accompany me, and in truth, highly recommend such a departure. And, I might add…” His young face turned stern and old. His eyes burned with warning. “Miss Lila Brewster is a woman of worth and conviction. I’d not take it kindly should you...cause her any mischief.”
The insult smacked Bronx hard, but Doc Holliday being a highly-regarded gunfighter prompted him to hold his tongue. And well, likely Bronx deserved the warning. The only other redheaded widow he’d known had caused him nothing but trouble.
“Adios,” he said, tossing back his most brilliant smile and sauntered slow out of the Board of Trade.
The cold, bright sunlight blasted Bronx’s face as he left the saloon. Doc Holliday’s sense rattled him, but Bronx’s belly rumbled more, specially now sloshing with whiskey. A noon meal might be fine, but he hesitated upon facing Miz Frieda again. Nothing about her bore the kindness he recalled of the old lady’s face and manners.
Well, he mounted Chadwell and started toward the boardinghouse anyway, needing to find a private place to change his clothes. Passing McCarthy’s Hardware on the Avenue he considered stopping in for a hammer and other equipment all his own, but decided against it. His pocketbook was empty enough as it was, and Asa hadn’t said a word about needing his own supplies.
Somehow, he wasn’t used to the throngs of folks hustling around him, much less the greetings coming from the mouths of complete strangers. A coach passed him and waving hands outstretched the windows. He touched his brim in politeness more times than he could count.
Amazing how civilized the downtown of Leadville was, its opera houses and dignified churches and shops just like anywhere else. Excepting all took place at the top of the world. He reined in Chadwell west onto Fourth, figured the blocks of property on the Avenue were too valuable as enterprises to allow family life. Miz Frieda’s house had once been the home of a rich mining engineer, but she’d explained upon signing him up how the man leased it to her for her business venture. Already, Bronx knew the top third floor housed mostly schoolmarms expecting propriety.
Chadwell stopped like he knew where he belonged. The boardinghouse was a pretty gray thing, tall, with a tower wearing a pointy hat of dark red shingles. And framed by the cold mountains Asa claimed were as fine as a woman’s bosom.
Bosom. Bronx dismounted and calmed his wild thoughts. Because there she was, when he got inside. Lila. Sitting calm and lovely at the dining room table, with a few schoolteachers, eating lunch.
Why did he feel as unsteady as a new colt? Doc Holliday had advised him to leave this place and start a new life. But all Lila did was smile at Bronx Sanderson with a teacup held to her angel’s mouth, and his heart plunged to the toes of his boots.
Chapter Eight