Note:  This story assumes that the Cartwrights are the ages assigned by David Dortort:

Ben was born about 1809 or 1810, Adam in 1830, Hoss in 1836, and Joe in 1842.

It takes place a few months before Joe turns nineteen in 1861.  

For those who are interested, a few historical notes are included at the end.

Disclaimer: The Cartwrights are not mine.

Everyone else, except San Francisco’s Mayor Henry Frederick Teschemacher, is.

Copyright © OCTOBER 2004 as allowed 

Day One

________________________ 

Chapter One 

Backlit by the western sun, the haze over the milling cattle refracted golden columns of light. The lowing of the herd and the shuffle of their hooves as they crowded into the holding pen was lulling; for a moment, Adam Cartwright felt the weariness of the long drive over the mountains, across California to Oakland. He leaned hard on the saddle horn as he swung his leg over his cowpony and dropped to the ground. Several men from the Bradison Cattle Company helped Hoss push the last few stragglers through the gate, and the job was finished.  

A thickset man with gold-rimmed glasses sidled close, his eyes on a clipboard as he scribbled down numbers. “Adam, the price you get for this herd will make it well worth your trouble.” 

Adam looped his reins over the fence rail without looking up. They’d known Cal Graves for years; Bradison had been buying Ponderosa beef for as long as they had had any to sell. “You made a deal that was hard to refuse,” he said. His gaze remained on the herd as he ran a mental count. Just thirty, but all in good condition. Bloodstock for breeding, not slaughter. 

“Yes …” Graves twisted the cap on the board’s small receptacle of ink and dipped his pen. “You’ll recall what I told your father when he brought that bull from back East. I told ’im he’d be the only one this side o’ Kansas City to have this blood, and when he got ready to sell some of it, we’d be ready to buy.” 

Adam nodded.           

“Give you a fair price on the horses, too.” Graves scrawled across the bottom of a sheet and held it out. “Sign there, under my name. Maybe next year, you’ll be willin’ to part with more of ’em. You an’ your brother musta thought it was more play than work, bringin’ this few.”

Hoss dismounted beside them and patted his mare. “Work’s work, Mr. Graves. I ain’t yet got it confused with play.”

Graves grinned. “Well, it’s my guess that play’s comin’ up, boy. Heard about Joe last night, but where’s Ben? I thought he was comin’ with you.”

“He gets in tomorrow,” Adam replied, affixing his signature and handing back the clipboard.  The heat of the day was dying in a lazy breeze, and for the first time, he let himself appreciate the thought of a hot bath and a good dinner.

“He an’ Joe were with us most o’ the way,” Hoss said. “They were bringin’ a stallion to the Olson place down on the peninsula, but Pa had to stop in Sacramento fer some biz’ness. Joe came on with the stud—we’re meetin’ up with ’im tonight.”

Adam looked amused. “What’d you hear about Joe? Is San Francisco still standing?”

“Huh? Oh …” Graves ripped off the page and folded it, then chuckled. “Yeah, last I heard it was, but with your brother, I won’t bet the homestead on it. … Nah, one o’ the boys was over there last night, an’ saw him partyin’. Said he was paintin’ the town, that’s all. Down in the Barbary Coast.”

The silence that greeted his words caused him to peer up over his glasses, and his eyes traveled from one Cartwright brother to the other. “Don’t worry, I heard Frank Darby was with him. Can’t a-got in too much trouble with Frank around.”

The momentary tension faded and Hoss snickered. “Only way Pa’d send Joe on with the horse was if Darby came with ’im.”

Cal Graves turned toward the office. “Boy’s just young, that’s all. How old is he? Twenty yet?”

“Not till next year. He won’t even be nineteen for a lil’ while yet.” Hoss tied the mare to the rail and reached out to punch his brother’s shoulder. “We’d better get movin’, or he won’t a-left us any girls.”

“Molly went and got ferry passes for you this noon,” Cal Graves told them as they fell into step, following the fence line to the company office.  “Knew you’d be wanting to make the six-thirty. Sometimes it fills up.”

As if she had heard him, a slender young woman with an envelope in her hands emerged from the frame building. “Land sakes, you two look like you’ve been on a cattle drive!” she teased them. “If you don’t clean yourselves up, the ladies of San Francisco won’t be batting their lashes at either of you!”

Hoss smiled at her; she was very pretty, with lively blue eyes and red hair that shimmered in the light. “Well, Miss Molly, if you’d bat your eyes a little, maybe we wouldn’t need to get over to San Francisco.” 

“Go on with you, Hoss Cartwright!” she laughed, but she blushed with pleasure. She handed the envelope to Adam and gestured at two worn leather cases standing next to the door. “Davey brought your grips up when they put your pack horse away. Ferry leaves in half an hour, and there’s a fellow at the end of the block who’ll get you to the wharf if you’ll pay his price.”

Adam sighed. “Tonight—any price. Thank you, Molly.”

Cal Graves waved the folded paper. “We’ll have a draft on the Stockmen’s Bank ready for you by the day after tomorrow.”

ii

“Now, Darby—just think seven-thirty. Exactly thirty minutes from now. Consider it. Now, would you rather spend the next hour-and-a-half, maybe two hours—maybe even more, sittin’ here waitin’ for Adam and Hoss? Or would you rather sample a little more San Francisco culture—”

Frank Darby’s eyes twinkled, but he kept a straight face. He was familiar with Joe Cartwright’s brand of reasoning and he knew what was coming. He said nothing, and wondered if anyone in the spacious lobby of the What Cheer House was listening in on their conversation. When Joe got rolling with one of his grand plans, it could be rare entertainment.

Joe paused to reflect on his choice of words. “Well, maybe ‘culture’ is a little too strong, and anyhow, it sounds too much like something Adam would like, which can be kinda scary at times, y’know? Anyhow, the first show at the Bella Union—don’t y’think it has our name on it?”

“Oh, I reckon it might. But maybe we oughta consider our chances o’ gettin’ back here to meet your brothers. You think we can make it by eight-thirty or nine? That’s about the latest they’ll be expectin’ to see you.”

“Why, no trouble at all! It’s not all that far, and if we run late, we can just hire us up a cab.” Joe caught the gleam in his friend’s eye and grew a little more serious, but he couldn’t stop a fleeting grin. “Okay, look … it won’t be one bit of trouble for you to be back here by nine. You’ll just have to see that I’m with you.”

Darby stroked his sideburns and let his fingers appreciate his grey beard, newly trimmed and neat. “Joe, I’m guessin’ that not all his work raisin’ Adam and Hoss was any preparation for yer pa when he commenced to raisin’ you.”

Joe was already leading the way to the door. “Y’know, you got a point there. But y’know what else? Now that he’s done such a good job with me, I’ll betcha my pa could raise anybody, slicker’n a whistle and just about perfect.”

iii

Adam leaned on the ferry railing, watched the city of San Francisco approach across the bay, and savored the thrill. No matter how tired he was, something about the city by the Golden Gate always stirred him, fired his imagination as no other place did. It wasn’t just the end of a cattle drive or a few nights of fun.

Part of it, he reflected, was the ocean, just beyond those hills. He could smell it, see it in his mind’s eye. The sea and the West were very much alike: big and untamed, beautiful beyond measure. They made you believe that all things were possible, or would be soon. They made you think of the future. And San Francisco, in his mind, was where they met.

He sensed a promise in the city that for all its roughneck origins could not help being something special. With the people pouring in from all kinds of places, the rest of the world seemed right there, just over the horizon. Every day ships came into harbor from distant points of the globe, lands such as his father had described in stories of his seafaring days. The very air here was intoxicating.

That was not to say that he was dissatisfied with the Ponderosa or Virginia City; Virginia City was growing at a breakneck pace, and sometimes rivaled San Francisco for amusements. But there, everything revolved around silver. Here, all manner of commerce—of men’s ideas—drove the life, the growth, what was to come. On any street corner, Chinese or Spanish or German or French, or some language not as readily identifiable, might be heard. It reminded him that there was so much to be learned … so many places and possibilities to be explored.

“That’s one right pretty sight,” Hoss said, coming to stand beside his brother. He planted his hands solidly on the rail and leaned into the wind. “Sun goin’ down, and the lights comin’ on.”

Adam nodded … beautiful indeed, in the rose-glow of sunset.

“An’ I’m lookin’ forward to some mighty good times,” Hoss murmured. “We’ve earned ’em.”

Adam smiled, and put away his musings. “That we have.”

iv

Darkness had fallen when Hoss and Adam reached the city. They hired a cab to the hotel on Sacramento Street, where they found the sidewalks jammed with men, all on their way to an evening of pleasure after a day of work. It was impossible to hear above the shouts, the laughter and the din of hooves on the plank roadway.

Hoss, gazing out from the cramped vehicle, read the words ‘What Cheer House’ above the second story of a tall brick building, and was happy to open the door against the rush of humanity.

“Evenin’ Bulletin!” cried a child’s voice from the corner. “Get-chur Bulletin! Judge sez Bloody Luke Parton’ll stan’ trial!”

He muscled a place on the sidewalk, and while his brother paid their fare, reached for their luggage from the roof of the cab. A damp mist was rolling in, clammy on the skin and sharp with salt; he shivered a little, his shirt and vest of little protection. The pale glimmer of the gaslights lent an other-worldly atmosphere to the buildings which rose around them like cliffs, and he needed no urging to shoulder his way to the bright lobby of the hotel.

“Cartwright,” Adam told the desk clerk. “Our brother’s already here—Joe Cartwright.”           

“Yes, sir. Mr. Cartwright just went out a little while ago. I believe he wanted to catch the earliest show at the Bella Union.”

A muscle throbbed briefly in Adam’s cheek. “He was going to meet us.”

“Oh, yes, sir, that’s what he said—I mean, when he turned in his key,” the young man reassured them. “I’m sure he’s just been delayed, sir.” While Adam signed the register, the clerk extracted two keys from the wall of cubbyholes behind him. “Your suite is on the third floor, and you’ll find bathing facilities in the basement. Our dining room is just over there behind the palm tree, and our free library is on the second floor.”

Hoss waited for his brother to speak as they passed through the lobby and went up to their accommodations, but the silence just lengthened, and finally he blurted, “Adam, you ain’t gettin’ worried about Lil’ Joe, are yuh?”

Adam crossed the parlor to the room he would share with his father. “Let’s just say that I wish I weren’t.” He opened his valise on one of the beds.

“Y’know, Joe was here last year, an’ besides, he’s got Darby with ’im. Can’t nothin’ happen.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yeah … sure. I mean, I know Mr. Graves said that fella’d seen Joe down on the Barb’ry Coast, an’ I know that’s where folks get shanghaied—we mixed it up down there the last time we was here. That’s how I know Joe’d be careful of it. He wouldn’t go down there’n get drunk ’r anything like that.”

Adam hung a suit in the wardrobe. “Hoss, remember when I came back from Boston? I stayed over here a couple of days with Judge Blain.”

“Yeah. But that’s been ten years ago.”

“It was back when the Barbary Coast was really rough. They called it Sydney Town then, and it was worth a man’s life to go there.”

“Yeah. Took a Vigilance Committee to clean it up.”

“The only way they got rid of some of the worst criminals this side of St. Louis.”

“Uh-huh.” Hoss nodded, his blue eyes studious.

“And have you been listening to what’s being said about it lately?”

“Can’t say as I have. We don’t get over here real often, so I guess I didn’ figure it was anythin’ I needed to know.”

“Well, they say it’s gotten as bad as it was—a lot worse than when you were here last year.”

Hoss sighed and reached for his own bag; his and Joe’s room was on the other side of the suite.  “Well, ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now. How ’bout we get cleaned up an’ get somethin’ to eat? By the time we get done, maybe Joe’ll be back.”

“I hope so.” 

v

“Darby, have a look at your watch. You think we have time for one more?” 

A pace behind Joe on the sidewalk, Darby shook his head wryly. “One more? We been havin’ one more for the past hour.”

“Yeah, but the Fancy Dog’s in the next block. That’s where we saw that pretty little redhead. Could be she’s there tonight.”

“She’ll still be there if you an’ Hoss wanta come back later,” Darby replied. “What the—?”

In the dim light, it all happened too fast. For a second, Joe didn’t connect the strangled surprise in Darby’s voice with his friend, or with the dark night or anything that could happen to them. And then he felt the rush of air as Darby whirled forcefully.

Joe spun around, only to spin again from a vicious uppercut to the jaw. He pitched backward into a clapboard wall and ricocheted into an alley, gasping frantically for breath.

It didn’t make sense. There had been no warning … and then he heard the hard thomp! of a fist to the gut. Just like the one he’d suffered. And a harsh, winded utterance—and then another sickening strike. But by then, he wasn’t listening; his abdomen was caving in, and his already doubtful vision darkened even more. He couldn’t get enough air. His knees buckled as he tried to stand.

Across the street, three onlookers gathered, mesmerized by the brutality. One gasped at the flash of steel in the dim light, then shoved fearfully at his companions, urging them down the sidewalk. It wasn’t safe to see too much.

vi

Hoss peered into the looking glass and wrinkled his nose. “Dadburnit!”

The attendant in the What Cheer’s expansive room of tub stalls approached with concern, but Hoss waved him away.

“What’s the matter?” Adam knotted his black silk tie and kept his eyes on his own mirror. In the steam from their baths, his wavy black hair had turned curly; he flattened it with the heel of his hand.

“Can’t get my doggone hair to lay right—”

“Here, wait a minute.” Adam appropriated the comb and straightened out the dogleg in Hoss’ center part, then divided the sandy-brown hair into two little curls over his brother’s forehead.

Hoss examined the result. “Just what I was after.” He licked his forefinger and stuck one of the curls down more securely. “Thanks.”

Adam smiled and turned his attention to buttoning his vest. Nearby, two large tubs of water, cool now and blue with soap, bore testimony to their long soaks. Buckets of warm rinse water stood empty, and the attendant was gathering their damp towels. Adam nodded that he could take their work clothes for cleaning, and tossed the old man a coin.

“So what’re you figurin’ on doin’ tonight?” Hoss shrugged into his caramel-colored jacket.

“I think maybe a leisurely dinner, and then the Union Club, where the conversation will be excellent and the cognac second to none.”

“Conversation, huh?”

“As far as I can get from a cattle drive.”

Hoss surveyed Adam’s navy suit. “Yeah, I can see that, but what d’you fellers talk about that’s so all-fired interestin’?”

“Well, things like … ah … what’s likely to happen in this country, with the attack on the garrison at Fort Sumter. Or the likelihood that the price of silver will remain steady.” He warmed to his topic. “Or Whitman’s latest additions to Leaves of Grass—”

“That’s enough!” Hoss’ skeptical expression showed what he thought of his brother’s idea of a good time. “That’s all you’ll do? No wimen ’r nothin’? Just talk?”

Adam arched his brows. “We’ll see what works out.” Then he winked broadly. “But that’s just tonight. I’ll hit the cards and the dance halls tomorrow night. What are you and Joe gonna do?”

Hoss grinned. “Well, not havin’ any burnin’ desire to talk about poets, I reckon we’ll just get right on with the cards and the dance halls. Joe’ll probably have some ideas.”

“Assuming he turns up before dawn.”

“Aw, he’ll turn up. Bet he ’n’ Darby’re upstairs now waitin’ fer us. And I’ll bet they ain’t had any dinner either, so we can start by gettin’ somethin’ to eat.”

But Joe was not upstairs, and he did not return during dinner. They lingered in the hotel dining room through three courses, and neither wanted to admit that it was just to give their brother more time to come back, safe and sound and most likely cackling with the tales of his exploits.

Hoss finally flung his napkin on the table, his patience fading. “What time is it?” 

Adam opened his pocket watch. “Half past ten.”  

Around them, with most of its tables empty, the restaurant began to assume a forlorn air. A couple of waiters hovered discreetly. 

“He oughta be back by now.” Hoss grimaced. “Problem with our younger brother is yuh don’t know when he’s just out funnin’ ’r when he’s gone and got himself in trouble.”

“Well, we’ve got a choice. We can either figure it’s one of his pranks, and do what we want … or we can decide it might not be, and go make sure he gets back all right.”

Hoss regarded his fingernails judiciously. “Adam, the way I see it, we don’t have any choice at all. If it turns out he’s really in trouble, Pa’ll dang-near kill us fer not goin’ to help ’im out. And if it is one o’ his pranks, well, we might as well get in on the fun.”

“Yeah. Fun.”

“Y’re the one who was worried about ’im,” Hoss pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah.” Resignation won out. “Let’s go upstairs and get our guns.”

Chapter Two

Outside the hotel, the crowd had thinned, but the indistinct noise of music, laughter and loud voices confirmed a night’s worth of action nearby. The chill had settled in, with a mist that blurred the yellow glow of the street lamps.

Hoss squenched up his eyes. “Where d’ we start?”

“Why don’t we check every dive and saloon between here and the Bella Union? Joe wouldn’t have spent all night in a music hall.”

“Makes sense.”

“All right, then. Let’s split up. You take—”

“Huh-uh. No splittin’ up.” Hoss’ gruff voice invited no argument. “That’s how we got messed up the last time we was here, an’ Pa gave us hell fer it. Maybe it’ll take us longer, but you an’ me ain’t gettin’ no further apart than we are right now.”

A faint smile softened Adam’s features. “All right. This way.”

“We find Joe quick as we can an’ then we can have ourselves a lil’ fun.”

But an hour later, they were still without a younger brother. They had started a couple of blocks from the hotel at a dance hall called Smiling Maggie’s, located in the cellar of an import company. Smoke hung low against its ceiling, and it reeked so horribly of sweat and stale beer that a cursory glance from the door was all they needed; in a city with so many other options, Joe wouldn’t have chosen this one. They moved on to the Last Chance, a groggery filled with sailors, and then to the Sequoia, a wine and beer den that for a moment looked as if it might attract their brother. The pretty waiter girls were not bad looking, the air was relatively clean, and while a few souls slept off their liquor on a bench at the rear, the rest seemed comparatively sober, upright in chairs at the tables which dotted the room. At the long bar on one wall, they inquired about Joe. But if the bartender was to be believed, a slender young cowboy of their brother’s description hadn’t been seen that night. They moved on.

“So what’s s’ awful about this place?” Hoss asked. He brushed free of the sidewalk crowd and squinted around. “It don’t seem that much different from Virginia City.”

“You could find pieces of the Barbary Coast anywhere,” Adam agreed absently, his attention on the sidewalk ahead. “There’s just something worse here. The Call says someone’s killed every night.” No one on the crowded block so much as resembled their youngest brother.

“The police don’t put a stop to it?” 

“The city officials take their cut. The police just do the best they can.”

Hoss mulled it over. “Well, I just hope we find ’im soon. I’m not in the mood to stay out all night, and I’m sure not in the mood to have to tell Pa that Lil’ Joe’s gone and got himself inta trouble.”

Above them, a board sign that said “The Fancy Dog” creaked from the vibrations of boots descending a flight of stairs to the cellar saloon.

“C’mon,” Hoss said.

Inside, a piano player competed with the shouts of the patrons. The air wasn’t bad, and except for one weathered old woman who was obviously in charge, the pretty waiter girls looked young and comparatively fresh. One of them attached herself to Hoss as soon as he came in, and gazed up into his face with guileless eyes as she ran her hands over the front of his coat. Only when he clasped both of her hands in his—at a distance from any of his pockets—did she make an excuse and move away.

Adam chuckled. “Well done.”

“They think ’cause I’m big, I’m dumb,” Hoss grunted. “I ain’t that dumb.”

They stood at the bar, exchanged pleasantries with the bartender, and ordered two beers. When the man returned with the glasses, Adam asked about their brother.

“Don’t think so,” the barman said, shaking his head. He grinned at them, exhibiting one gold tooth among several rotten ones. “But I get a hundred guys a night in here, maybe more. That’ll be four bits.” He pushed the glasses toward them.

Adam’s eyes strayed to the counter behind the bar; half-concealed under a dingy towel stood a small, open vial. He tossed a few coins on the bar and slanted a warning glance at his brother. “Leave it.”

Hoss nodded and turned around slowly to scan the crowd. “Nice and easy, let’s just get outta here.”

At the far end of the room, two ominous-looking sailors seemed to be watching them. Adam tucked the skirt of his jacket behind the handle of his revolver. “Last row of tables, middle one.”

“I see ’em. Think they’ll do anything?”

“Probably not. We haven’t had a drink.” Even with danger ripe in the air, Adam couldn’t stop a quirky smile. “I don’t think they’ll want to take you on, full strength.”

Hoss offered a mirthless grin. “You might be right at that. An’ tonight, when I’m beginnin’ to get a lil’ bit peeved at my younger brother, they really don’t wanta take me on. C’mon.”

They made their way to the door, amazingly unnoticed as the activity of the saloon swirled around them. The two men in the back of the room did nothing, but on the steps outside, two others materialized—one massive, with the broken nose of a professional fighter, and the other small and lean, with a short, deadly knife.

“You gentlemen play nice and we won’t have to hurt you,” the smaller one said.

“I’m always nice,” Hoss gritted. Without sparing even a second to glance at Adam, he grasped the larger one’s arm and jerked him off balance, then slammed hard with his fist. The man collapsed with a winded groan. Hoss hurled him the last few steps to crash against the door of the Fancy Dog, which bounced noisily off the wall inside.

Caught by surprise, the tough with the knife lost a second of reaction time—just enough for Adam to grab his wrist and slam it hard against the wall. The knife clattered to the steps.

“Not tonight,” Adam said tightly.  Hoss caught the thug by the collar, and launched him after his partner.

Inside, the piano stopped abruptly and everyone came to a sudden halt, riveted by the whack of the door and the two prone figures in the entry. Adam and Hoss stared in at the crowd, and then, hearts suddenly hammering in an excess of delayed nerves, pulled shut the door and climbed the stairs to the street. Two men coming down backed away hastily.

Half a block down the sidewalk, they both realized that they were holding their breath, and exhaled explosively. Adam backed up against the brick front of a tobacconist, Hoss against a support pole of the canopy over the walk.

“Hellfire, Adam, we coulda been on our way to China if that’d gone wrong,” Hoss wheezed. “Why d’yuh figure those guys took us on, when we hadn’ had any o’ that knock-out stuff?”

Adam drew in a long gulp of air. “My guess is they had an order for a man your size. They figured it was worth taking a chance, and they moved fast.”

Hoss shook his head in amazement. “They danged near got away with it.” He pushed himself away from the pole and gestured at the far side of the street. “Let’s try over there.”

ii

Joe swam dizzily to consciousness in a sea of pain. His arms were outstretched, his stomach hurt, and his legs were held together—he was over someone’s shoulder. He tried to still the swinging of his head, but he couldn’t. His whole body shifted with each step of the man who carried him, and the pain seemed to come at him from everywhere.

How? What? He tried to reconstruct a memory … any memory … was it tonight or last night that he’d been in that melodeon near the Bella Union? Darby … across the table … the girl …

Someone walked nearby, but he couldn’t get a glimpse. He wondered where Darby was, if someone was carrying him, too. He wondered how far they were going … wished he could breathe better … wished the searing line across his ribcage would quit stinging so much … wished it would dry up. His damp shirt scraped against it like a piece of sandpaper. He’d been knifed. That was his strength, seeping out against his soaked shirt.

Maybe he could yell … except that there weren’t many people on the street around them. None, actually. He’d seen none. He wanted to struggle, but even in his foggy state of mind, he knew it would do no good.

iii

“There”—the next possibility on Adam and Hoss’ makeshift itinerary—was only half a block away, a gambling hell called the Londonderry. Tables of monte, faro and poker filled the front of the room, a clacking roulette wheel and a table of chuck-a-luck at the rear. Waiter girls threaded their way through the crowds of men, dispensing whiskey and beer, often unnoticed in the heat of play. On a bench at one side of the room, a man clasped a woman against him, freely groping the front of her dress.

“Real high class joint,” Hoss muttered disgustedly.

They found places at the bar, where a well-endowed girl with violently hennaed hair sauntered up to Adam and ran her fingers down his arm. One look into his appraising eyes and she swiveled around to stroke Hoss instead. “Buy me a drink, handsome?”

“What’re yuh havin’, ma’am?” he responded politely.

“A whiskey, Jerry,” the woman told the bartender, and slid one foot up the back of Hoss’ leg. “And a big gorgeous man, if I have my way.”

A dull red stained his cheeks. “Well, I don’t guess a lady oughta have to drink alone, but I’m afraid tonight ain’t my night fer company, ma’am. Gotta meet a fella, and we’re havin’ trouble findin’ him.”

“Oh, yeah?” The redhead pushed closer, allowing her fingertips to rest on his arm before she reached for the ribbons on the front of her violet dress. “Why don’t you tell me about him? Maybe I’ve seen him.” Her eyes were sultry, her mouth half open, her tongue flicking over her lower lip. In spite of himself, Hoss shifted uneasily and cast Adam a quick glance.

“Well, he’s not real old and not real tall, but he’s right nice lookin’, and he has a way with ladies such as yerself. He’s wearin’ a green jacket”—he drew back a little as she ran her hands over the front of his shirt and just managed to stop her as she gripped his belt buckle—“and he’d prob’ly’ve been with an older feller.”

“That sounds real familiar. … How about it, mister?” She slipped loose the ties of her dress, and leaned toward him to peel back her bodice just enough that he couldn’t miss the sight of one plump breast with its round nipple. “Fifty cents’ll get you a full look—a dollar and I’ll give you a lot more than a look.”

Hoss shook his head. “Now, don’t you go startin’ that. Tell yuh what I’ll give yuh fifty cents for, an’ that’s an answer to my question. You seen that kid or not?”

Her smile hardened and she stood up straighter, lacing the front of her dress. “That’s what I get for givin’ you a free peek,” she snapped, “or do you even like girls, big man? Maybe the sight of a woman don’t excite you.” Her eyes lit. “Is that why you’re asking about a real cute fellah?” She tossed off her drink. “Well, here’s your answer then—yeah, I seen him. But you’re just gonna have to wonder where!”

She pushed past him and was surrounded by men in an instant.

Adam grabbed his brother’s arm. “Let her go.”

“Yeah, but she said—”

“She’d have said anything. Let’s get out of here.”

“Ain’t right,” Hoss said when they’d reached the street. “Women feelin’ like they gotta—”

“No, it isn’t, but money speaks. We’ve seen as bad in Virginia City.” 

“Yeah, an’ I don’t like it any better there.” Hoss dusted his hand on his jacket. “I like lookin’ at nekkid women the same as any man,” he added defensively, “but not like that.”

“Not for nothing do they say that the dregs of humanity wash up on the Barbary Coast,” Adam observed cynically.

“Yeah, well, the trouble is, if this isn’t one o’ Joe’s pranks, it’s them dregs we’re gonna be dealin’ with.”

Adam didn’t have an answer. He just hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt and studied the bars up and down the far side of the street. Door after door opened to places as bad or worse than the one they had just left. From down the block came an off-key chorus that only approximated the tune of a tinny piano: “Gwine to run all night, gwine to run all day, I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag, somebody bet on the grey.” Behind the damp haze, the moon cast a cold glow, and up and down the street, the gaslights sputtered in their wrought-iron lanterns. He found his pocket watch and clicked it open: nearly midnight.

“First time on the Coast, gents?” a voice sounded from behind them. A man in a plaid suit and bowler hat lounged on a plank bench, his back to the wall of a wine and beer den next to the Londonderry.

“Can’t say that it is,” Adam replied, his gaze straying to the gloom of an alley a dozen feet away. But the figure on the bench appeared to be alone. “Just first time this trip.”

The man’s eyes followed Adam’s and he nodded at the alley. “You missed it, if you were lookin’ for excitement. Happened just before I got here, or so some fellas said. Shanghai, they reckon, but it got a little rough.”

“You a regular around here?”

“Me? Yeah, sometimes.” The man stretched his arms over his head. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t sober either. “Harry Decker, the Call. Whether I like it or not, news goes on here. Be here prob’ly every night till Bloody Luke’s hanged or set free, one ’r the other.”

“Here last night?”

“Yup. Last night, the night before. Night before that. Place is heatin’ up. What’s left o’ Bloody Luke’s boys are ’round here. From here to Broadway. Barbary Coast’s the breedin’ ground of men like Parton. You in town for the trial?”

“No, we’re here to meet someone.” Adam leaned against a streetlamp. “Maybe you’ve seen him—a kid, eighteen, about five-nine, brown hair, wearing a green jacket. He’d be with an older man, grey beard. They were here last night too.”

The reporter shook his head. “Ain’t seen ’em.” He hauled himself to his feet. “But you’d oughta think about stayin’ for the trial. It’s gonna be big. Bloody Luke’s killed people as far away as the Nevada Territory. They couldn’t get him over there—just got some o’ his people—but here, the mayor’s vowed to make him pay.”

Hoss snorted. “Mister, somebody’s havin’ yuh on. We ain’t never heard of Luke Parton in Nevada.”

“Not as Luke Parton, you haven’t. Over toward Virginia City, he went by the name o’ Willard Arrick. Story goes that he’d’ve owned all the timber on the east slope o’ the Sierras if some rancher hadn’t put the law on him. Hear tell o’ that?”

The silence as Adam and Hoss exchanged surprised glances was eloquent.

“Got yuh there, didn’t I?” Decker congratulated himself. “You have heard o’ Luke Parton, and it don’t look to me like you’re too pleased. Did you know any of the folks he and his boys killed?”

“A few,” Adam replied.

“Well, he killed plenty over here too. Killed ’em or made ’em wish they were dead. The miracle is that our mayor’s turned reform minded, and he says they’ll do what the prosecutin’ attorney over to Virginia City couldn’t. He’ll bring Bloody Luke to justice. Judge Blain’s presiding. You oughta stay for the trial. It’s gonna be a corker.”

Adam shook his head slowly and turned away. “Thanks for the story—”

“I know, you got business. But you’d better tell your friend to be careful, if he’s been hangin’ around the Coast. It ain’t safe on good days, and with Bloody Luke’s folks stirred up, it’s even worse now.”

Chapter Three 

Adam, I ain’t likin’ this one little bit,” Hoss muttered. “Joe’s right careless now and again, but he ain’t stupid. He wouldn’t go takin’ chances in a town like this.”

They had covered three more establishments and finally stopped at a place called the Forum, where an open fireplace in a back corner drove up the temperature after the chill outside. The air thickened with the smells of damp wool and sweat, but no one in the rowdy crowd seemed to notice.

Adam sipped cautiously at his beer. “Yeah.”

“You worried?”

“Yes, I am.”

“More than when we started?”

Adam nodded.

“Pa was the one stopped that Willard Arrick fella. Ain’t like Luke Parton—’r whatever he goes by—don’t know the name Cartwright. He’d figure he’s got reason to hate us.”

“Yeah.” Adam set down his mug and sighed deeply. “Look, let’s not borrow trouble. No one but Judge Blain even knows we’re in town. Chances are if Joe and Darby have run afoul of anything, it’s the crimps. Speaking of which”—he let his glance roam around the room—“other than meeting some firsthand, I haven’t seen any tonight.”

Hoss rumbled a chuckle. “Then you ain’t had your eyes open, big brother. Two fellas was bein’ dragged outta that grog place we looked at two stops back.” He took a long draw on his beer. “Just supposin’ … just supposin’ Joe went and got himself shanghaied. How long d’yuh figure we got to find him?”

“No more than a day.”

“Dadburnit, that’s worse’n—”

A sudden commotion at the end of the bar cut Hoss off. After the latest of a long night of whiskies, a pretty waiter girl collapsed in a heap of dirty silk and feathers and bare skin.

“Yo, Maisie’s drunk!” yelled a patron.

“Get ’er upstairs!” shouted several others.

Someone grabbed the woman by the arms and pulled her up, her head lolling as he managed to load her limp body over the shoulder of a fat man wearing the arm garters of a clerk.

“Oooeeee! Plantin’ time!” cried a skinny man in ancient overalls. His hands scrabbled at a breast pocket; triumphant, he tossed seventy-five cents on the counter and lurched to the front of the procession, which was headed for a staircase at the rear. “I’ll get the door!”

A hail of coinage hit the bar as man after man, drunk or sober, followed the patrons with the woman. The crowd roared appreciatively, feeding off of each other’s cravings.

“Like a pack o’ wild dogs,” Hoss said disgustedly.

By the time they had disappeared into the hall at the top of the stairs, Maisie’s skirt was over her head and her pantalettes had been ripped off. The delirious men nearly toppled her as they shoved closer, trying to touch the skin that shone in the uncertain light.

“With bloodlust.” Adam’s stomach turned at the sight. He’d seen it before—but not usually in cities like San Francisco. Easterners might not want to hear it as they purchased their dime novels, but most people in the city by the bay didn’t live much differently than the residents of New York. The ‘wild west’ was found out on the range and in upstart cow towns where life was cheap and ethics little known. The Barbary Coast, he reflected, was more like those wide-open versions of hell than the city which surrounded it.

He glanced at Hoss and knew that his brother was thinking the same thing. It’s the women, he realized … what it does to them. Around them, Maisie’s associates—friends?—barely glanced up see what was happening; there was no horror, no protest, not even a hint of sadness that upstairs a woman would be stripped and raped again and again. Except they don’t call it rape, since theoretically she would enjoy half of the proceeds. He wondered how many girls, in the pain of the following morning, ever saw the money owed to them.

The bartender swept up the rain of silver. “You fellas want in? Maisie’s kinda old, but you know, spread their legs and they’re all alike.”

“No thanks,” Adam said shortly. He pushed his beer away and turned toward the door.

“Only six bits, mister,” the bartender persisted. “Two bits more an’ you can watch the fella ahead o’ you.”

Hoss’ face was thunderous by the time they reached the street.

“Joe’s not going to wind up in a deadfall like that,” Adam reassured him. “Let’s try something a little more respectable.”

“Yeah …” Hoss murmured derisively, “respectable.” The Bella Union was on Portsmouth Square, less than a block ahead; they were running out of alternatives. “Trouble is, everything’s for sale here. I’m beginnin’ to think maybe even Joe. Ain’t nobody gonna help ’im if he needs it—nothin’s done here just for the good of it.”

Adam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’d better get going,” he finally said, ignoring Hoss’ dark observation. He breathed deeply of the wet air. “I think we’re in for a full-blown San Francisco fog.”

“Yeah. An’ from the looks of it, you could lose somethin’ a whole lot bigger’n a half-crazy kid in this fog.”

“Lose anything in a fog,” a voice said unexpectedly from behind Hoss. A rail-thin old miner leaned toward them from the lamp post which was his only claim to remaining upright. “Trouble is, in San F’erncisco, they ain’t lost. You don’ know whur they are, but sumbuddy does.”

“Y’er talkin’ riddles, mister,” Hoss said irritably.

“Well, lemmee give yuh a lil’ help …” The old man’s voice was losing coherency even as he struggled to speak. “Lose sumbuddy, did yuh? Somethin’ I’d do, if I lost sumbuddy … I’d look at the China Rose, I would.”

“The China Rose? Where’s that?”

“It ain’t a place, boy. It’s a ship. Bound out fer Hong Kong in the mornin’.”

ii

Shanghai. Even though the possibility had hung like a pall over the evening, Hoss hadn’t really believed it. He turned away, stunned, and only half-heard Adam’s voice as his older brother thanked the miner. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, we knew this could be it,” Adam said softly. “Nothing’s changed. We just have to find him, that’s all.”

The next stop was a melodeon named the Mother Lode. It was a little cleaner than the nightspots near it, and the crowd—more of the men in business suits than working gear—was a little better behaved. On a stage at the end of the room, a line of can-can dancers showed off their high kicks to the accompaniment of a small orchestra.

They made space at the bar and watched the bartender pour their beer.

“This isn’t bad,” Hoss said in a low voice. “An’ the Bella Union’s right close. I’d bet money Joe came in here.”

“I would too. But he’s not here now.” Adam turned casually to the bartender. “We were figuring on meeting somebody here tonight. Must’ve missed him.” He offered a careless half-smile. “Kid in a green jacket. Smooth with the ladies. Wonder if he might’ve said where he was going from here?”

The bartender hesitated for a moment, and then, staring fixedly at the shiny counter, shook his head. “Don’t recall him.”

Adam nodded and leaned against the old mahogany bar, but his eyes followed when the barman turned away.

“I’d a-swore …” Hoss breathed, and started to push his beer aside.

“Why don’t we just forget it?” Adam responded in a voice that carried down the bar. “We can find him in the morning.”

Covering his surprise, Hoss reached for his mug and searched his brother’s face for direction. He found none, and finally settled on just watching what went on around him.

Presently the lively tune the orchestra had been playing came to an end and a chorus of voices rose as men shouted to the dancers, who circulated among the tables soliciting drinks. In a moment, the bar around Hoss and Adam was filled with can-can girls.

“Three whiskeys, one for me, Al—”

“A beer, a whiskey, a brandy and one for me—”

But every time Al poured the drink “for me,” he used a different bottle than the one from which he’d poured the customers’ drinks.

“Tea,” Hoss said under his breath when the girls had returned to their patrons.

“That’s good,” Adam replied in an equally low voice. “Means they’re mostly sober—if they have any information to give.”

“Whatcha got on your mind?”

Adam glanced around; Al was at the other end of the bar. “I don’t think that bartender was telling the truth.”

“You think he remembered Joe?”

“Maybe. Keep an eye out for the shanghai boys.”

“You gonna talk to him again?”

“No … let’s try the girls.”

Hoss’ gaze traveled to the young women dotted around the room … a hot pink dress here, a gold one there. A dark blue one by the orchestra pit, a red one nearest to them. A pale pink one across the room, a green one near the door. “Sure are a lot of ’em. An’ that bartender’s gonna hear what we’re doin’. If he’s got somethin’ to hide, he’s gonna make sure they know to hide it too.”

“Yeah.” Adam straightened from his slouch; a group of men had pushed back from a table near the stage. He tossed out a coin for the drinks. “We’ll see what we can do from there.”

Hoss followed him. “Sounds good. But we better not order any more drinks. These beers may be all right, but …”

Before Adam could comment, a girl in a dark blue dress squeezed through the crowd in the aisle by his chair. He caught her hand just as space opened, and worked up a more cheerful expression. “Miss … we’d be glad to buy you a drink if you’d join us.”

“I’m sorry, I’m with—” A look at his face and a sudden realization of the courtesy in his voice stopped her. “I’m sorry,” she began again, this time focusing on him. “I’m with someone at the moment, but I’ll be glad to come over just as soon as we’ve finished our drinks.”

Adam didn’t release her hand. “My brother here was just telling me that he has quite a taste for champagne.”

She hesitated; a bottle of champagne sold for considerably more than a whiskey or two. “I’d be pleased, sir. I’ll send someone to the other table, and I’ll be back.”

“And Miss—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Eliza,” the girl replied.

“Miss Eliza. Will you do my brother a favor and bring the bottle with the cork still in it? He likes to take it out himself.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be glad to.”

She had barely moved on when Hoss whistled under his breath and whispered, “Adam, you’re so full o’ nonsense, it’s times like this I don’t have no trouble believin’ you and Joe’re brothers.”

Adam sat back in his chair. “Would you rather have had the champagne doped?”

“No, ’course not.”

“Nothing else was gonna get her to give up that other table.”

Hoss nodded. “I know. Had to be somethin’ real expensive. I can just see Joe’s face when we make ’im pay for it.”

For a second, they just stared at each other, the humor of Hoss’ remark lost in the growing dread of what might have happened to their brother.

“Gentlemen …” Eliza set a moisture-beaded bottle and three glasses on the table. As Hoss carefully liberated the cork, she eyed him shrewdly. “Do you like this brand? It’s French.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” But when a flush stole inexorably up his cheeks, he added, “Well, truth is, ma’am, I don’t know anything about champagne. Adam here’s the expert.” He sipped. “But it tastes real good.”

Her smile was open, her eyes friendly as they stared into his.

Adam, watching, reflected that there was a hint of freshness about Eliza. But that, he figured, was probably due to his brother. Some women might try to take advantage of Hoss, but still more trusted him. And in trusting him, they were themselves. Eliza was like that.  

Surveying the other girls in the room, he decided that of all the entertainers there, she was probably their best chance for information. Despite her practiced veneer, she lacked the sort of cynicism which would prevent her noticing anything apart from her own profit or pleasure. She was pretty, too, the kind of woman Joe would notice. Her white blonde hair, pinned tightly in a roll in back, had loosed little wraith-like tendrils around her face, framing eyes that were almost as clear-blue as Hoss’. Her breasts were high and firm, her waist tiny, and she moved with the implicit seductiveness of a dancer.

“Where you from, Miss Eliza?” Hoss asked.

She blinked in surprise at a question about herself that wasn’t about what she was doing after the show. “I’m not really sure,” she replied tentatively. “I was born in Ohio, but my pa kept moving us … the last place was the Nebraska Territory.”

Adam tasted his champagne and noticed that she drank little of hers. “Is your family still there?”

“I don’t really know.” She flushed. “I mean … you know, sometimes you have to kind of make your own family.”

“When you don’t see eye to eye with the one you’ve got,” he assented. “Besides, I think my brother and I would say that it just plain shows good taste to come west.”

She flashed him a grateful glance. “Yes. Yes, I like it here. There’s nothing quite like … here.”

“San Francisco, you mean?” 

“Yes. … I mean, not all of it is the Barbary Coast. You can see across the bay. It looks lovely over there …” She blushed. “Now, you didn’t come in here to talk about me—” 

“We sure didn’t come in here to talk about ourselves,” he interrupted her drolly. “I think we’d both rather hear about a pretty lady. I apologize if we were intruding—”

“Oh, no, of course not. It’s just that … well, you know, I wouldn’t want to bore—”

“You’re not, I assure you.” Adam regarded her thoughtfully. The key, he thought, lay in making her trust them enough to tell them what she knew—if she knew anything. “If you’ll forgive me for saying it, you don’t seem like the other girls here.”

She chuckled. “Oh, don’t go thinking I’m somebody’s sweet, fallen sister, gotten trapped in this den of iniquity. It’s true, I don’t do a lot of what some of these girls do”—a faint pink colored her cheeks—“but I’m here by choice. I’ve got my ambitions and my plans.”

“And what are those plans?”

“I’m going to be an actress. I don’t just dance; I sing too, and if I can get on at the Bella Union, I’ll have someplace to go in this world. That’s why I’m here, so don’t you go feeling sorry for me.”

Adam sat back. “I wouldn’t insult you by feeling sorry for you. The Mother Lode is better than most places in the Barbary Coast—”

“It’s second only to the Bella Union.”

“You’re still not like the rest o’ these girls,” Hoss interjected stubbornly.

“And how am I different?” she queried, a mocking smile on her face, but her eyes serious.

“Do any of them have plans?” Adam questioned back soberly. “Or are they just going to knock down the list until they wind up someplace like the Londonderry or the Old Jersey?”

She didn’t speak for a moment; a dull pink stained her cheeks and then faded away. Hoss reached out to pat her hand, and she threw him a quick smile, her expression so sweet and warm that for a second they could see the girl she once had been.

“It’s not a pretty picture, is it?” she finally said. “But that’s just life—at least, around here. It’s all about money … a girl has to sell what she’s got. Some of these girls don’t have anymore than … Well, that’s how it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said quietly.

She feigned nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been this way since time began. And don’t think that just because I have plans, I’m pure as the driven snow.” Then she did change the subject. “Now, good heavens! No need to be so solemn! I’m beginning to think you boys are entirely too nice for the Mother Lode!”

“Well, don’t figure we’re—what d’yuh call ’em, Adam? Knights in them big ol’ tin suits?”

“Right.” Adam allowed a slow half-grin. “We’re not that.”

“Good,” she said, “because I wouldn’t know how to behave—you know, lady fair and all that.” Around the room, the can-can girls were standing up as the orchestra’s drummer tapped a summons to the stage. “Oh, bother! We’re on again. I have to go—”

Adam caught her hand. “Eliza, before you go, we need your help. We were supposed to meet our brother tonight. You might have seen him—a good-looking kid wearing a green jacket—” He felt her arm stiffen and saw the color drain from her face. “You’ve seen him?”

She recovered quickly. “No—no, I haven’t seen him.” Mustering a smile, she disengaged her hand. “For a moment, I thought I might have—it sounded like someone—but I was mixed up. It’s no one to do with you. Thank you very much for the champagne.” She turned and pushed her way through the crowd to the stage.

Hoss frowned. “What d’yuh think, Adam? I could-a sworn she knew somethin’ when you said ‘green jacket.’”

Adam stared after her. “I thought so too. And I think she was scared … but it’s hard to be sure.”

Hoss emptied his glass. “I’ve had about enough of this. How ’bout we get on to the Bella Union? It’s dang-near two o’clock in the mornin’. If we don’t find out something soon—”

iii

Fifty cents each purchased their admission to the Bella Union, where it was clear that two o’clock in the morning meant no slow down of activities. Huge gas chandeliers lit the high-ceiling rooms, casting surreal shadows and glimmering in the clouds of blue smoke that had been building all evening. A bar, thronged with patrons, ran down one wall, and most of the tables that filled the rest of the space were full. A broad archway on the far side of the room led to a theatre, where the sound of an orchestra told them a show was in progress. They ordered beers and drifted closer.

On stage, two thickset girls and a skinny young man presented a comedy routine, augmented by a fanciful score from the band. Rows of seats were filled with laughing, catcalling customers, and on the far wall, burgundy velvet curtains covered the apertures to a series of private booths.

“What’re those?” Hoss asked.

A speculative grin lit Adam’s face. “Hoss, it’s just possible that our brother is fine—or at least, a lot better than he’ll be when we get a-hold of him. I’d forgotten about those. They’re private booths. The performers do the serving, like they do at the Mother Lode, and you’re encouraged to drink with them. If you want to do more …” He trailed off to let his brother’s imagination finish the sentence.

Hoss’ voice was dangerous. “You mean Joe mighta taken up with some dancer and be havin’ himself a real good time over there?”

“Well …” Adam backtracked, “I’m not saying exactly that. I’m just saying that it’s possible, and … well, wouldn’t you rather it be that than have him shanghaied?”

Hoss thought a bit and shrugged. “Yeah, o’course.”

“It’s a longshot.”

“Yeah.” A little grin dawned on Hoss’ face. “But I’m hopin’ it comes in. Just think, brother … Pa gets here tomorrow. How much you figure Joe’d pay us to keep our mouths shut?”

“Don’t get your hopes up. If he’s been here most of the evening, it’ll probably clean us out to pay his bill.”

A portly man in a tweed suit greeted them. “Can I help you gentlemen? Would you like seats for the show?”

“No, thank you,” Adam answered. “We’re looking for someone, and we’d like to know if he’s at one of your private tables.”

The man’s face clouded. “Well, you know, dear sir, there’s a reason that those booths are private. We can’t have just anyone barging in on our customers who—shall we say—desire a little discretion. Now, I’m the manager here. I can provide you with first class seats—I’m sure you gentlemen aren’t the type to cause trouble—perhaps if you’ll let me escort you—”

Hoss glared down at the man’s hand on his sleeve. “I ain’t movin’ an inch, mister,” he said. “I’ve done spent the past four hours in places I never wanted to go and hope I never see again, lookin’ fer my lil’ brother and hopin’ nobody’s shot ’im, shanghaied ’im, or dragged ’im off into some alley. Now, if I were you, I’d be thinkin’ about some way o’ lettin’ me know if he’s over there behind those curtains.”

Their host turned a helpless gaze upon Adam. “And—uh, why—why do you think he might be in one of our private booths?”

“Let’s just say he’s very easy with the ladies, and sometimes not very good about watching the time.”

The manager inhaled gustily, preparatory to puffing out his chest and standing on his authority, but he cut off suddenly in mid-breath and choked out, “Mabel!”

A middle-aged woman in the gaudy dress of a stage performer detoured closer, carrying a tray of drinks. She smiled at them automatically. “How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for someone, and we were told he was here tonight,” Adam said. “Our brother, actually—eighteen, brown hair, green jacket—”

“With an older man, grey beard, not much of a talker. They were in earlier.” She nodded. “They were here last night too. Sweet kid, your brother. Bought me a drink or two.”

“They were in tonight?”

“Real early—I think for our first show. They left—oh … you know, come to think of it, your brother said something about having to meet his brothers. They left about eight-thirty or nine o’clock.” She grinned suddenly. “If that’s your brother, he’s a character.”

“How’s that, ma’am?” Hoss inquired.

“Oh, heavens … the older man mentioned quite a few times that they needed to leave, but—well, I suppose you know your brother. He didn’t think they had to quite yet. He says, at one point, something like”—her voice shifted professionally to a convincing mimic of Joe—“‘Y’see, Darby’—that musta been the older gentleman’s name—‘if Adam’s too high on bein’ an older brother, Hoss and I’ll just come back here. Hoss’d like this place.’ And the other gentleman laughed a little, like he’d heard that sorta thing before, and your brother goes on, ‘Of course, more likely Adam’ll just want to go to that club o’ his. If he’s mad about anything, it’ll be that he’s had to wait for me. But you know, that’s where he’s just not using his head—he didn’t have to wait for me. He coulda gone on. We’re fine.’”

Hoss sketched a smile. “Ma’am, y’er right good at that. That’s Joe, all right.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, you haven’t heard the best yet. The older gentleman—Darby—says, ‘yup,’ or something like that, and your brother sasses right back, ‘So if he’s missed anything at that stuffy club o’ his, it’s his own fault.’ And Darby says, ‘I partic’larly wanta hear you explain that to him, Joe.’”

“And what’d Joe say to that?”

Mabel chuckled. “About what you’d expect, I imagine. Something like ‘just stick around.’” Belatedly, she remembered her audience. “Oh, heavens, you wouldn’t happen to be that older brother, would you?”

Hoss grinned. “Oh, no, ma’am—well, I mean, I am his older brother, but he was talkin’ about Adam here.”

She blushed and met Adam’s eyes apprehensively.

“You do a beautiful imitation of Joe,” he assured her dryly, and slipped a coin into her hand. “If he should come back in here, would you tell that I’m most interested in finding out the details of how it’s all my fault?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.”

They retraced their steps to the door and stood again on the sidewalk. Across the street was the open plaza of Portsmouth Square. A few couples walked its lamp-lit paths, but at this hour, there were more drunks propped against the wrought iron fence which enclosed it. None of them appeared to be Joe or Darby.

“So what the heck happened, Adam?” Hoss questioned, his voice rising in exasperation. “If Joe ’n’ Darby left here at nine ’r so, they had plenty o’ time to get back to the hotel. Where’d they go?” His brows knit together, creating a deep crease in his tanned forehead, and his lips turned into a thin, hard line.

“Could be anywhere, Hoss,” Adam replied, his voice mellow, meant to calm his brother. But the glittery darkness of his eyes told another story. “What about this … Mabel says they were talking about coming back to meet us. So let’s say they leave here—and they know that when we get in, we’re gonna get a bath and have dinner. So they might figure they don’t really need to be back till nine-thirty or ten o’clock.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah … and they don’t want to stop just yet …”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re on their way back down Washington, because that’s the way to the hotel.”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you figure Joe would stop for just one more? You’ve seen everything between here and the hotel.”

Hoss’ nostrils flared and his voice turned grim. “The Mother Lode.”

Chapter Four

Even in the wee hours of the morning, there was a crowd at the double doors to the Mother Lode. From down the block, Adam and Hoss surveyed the assortment of men who pushed to gain entrance as several others emerged, their loud voices announcing that too much whiskey encouraged short tempers.

“Ain’t gonna be easy to get Miss Eliza off by herself,” Hoss cautioned.

But before his brother could reply, they heard an urgent “Hsst—Adam!” from the depths of an alley they had just passed. They stopped, Adam with his hand on Hoss’ sleeve and his eyes on the opening between two buildings.

“Watch yerself now,” Hoss advised.

The alley was long and board-straight, a cobblestone stretch that indicated it might once have been a street of its own. Only the street lamp at its entrance and a lantern several yards in provided any light, and what there was glistened on the damp stones.

In a shadow on the left wall, wrapped in a thin shawl, stood Eliza. “Please—come here! I want to talk to you!” No one else was in sight.

Adam threw a cautionary glance at Hoss. “Stay here.”

Hoss nodded curtly. “If this is a shanghai, that lil’ gal’s gonna wish she’d never been born.”

“Adam, please.”

Adam came closer.

“Please!” she whispered anxiously. “It has to look like we have an assignation, or I could get killed!”

“Why the secrecy?” he demanded.

“I want to tell you about your brother, but you have to help me.”

“Tell me about my brother,” he said coolly, “and I’ll be glad to help you.”

“Don’t you understand?” Tears formed in her eyes, coloring her voice. “If they see me out here with you and I’m not—providing a service—they’ll know what I’m—they could kill me.”

“Kill you or kill me?”

“All right, forget it! It was stupid to try—”

In one swift motion, Adam grasped her wrists and pushed her hard against the wall, pinning her hands at shoulder height in case she had a weapon. A flash of fear showed in her eyes and she uttered a high, short cry, but there was no movement from the back of the alley.

“You’ll pardon me if I’m a little careful,” he said levelly. His eyes never left hers, and his voice offered no reassurance. “Now, tell me—was my brother in the Mother Lode tonight?”

“Yes—yes, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Can’t you see, I couldn’t say anything in there?”

“Why not?”

“Because—please, look like you’re kissing me.”

One eyebrow arched suspiciously, but he leaned into her, pressing her against the cold bricks with his body, oblivious to the feel of her against him as he whispered into her hair, “Now, what happened to my brother?”

“Nothing happened—at least not in the Mother Lode,” she quavered.

She was cold, he realized; the shawl was worthless against the early morning chill, and the building was slimy with mist. But that could wait until he heard what she had to say.

She steadied her voice. “He was there with another man—an older man. When they left, I saw three guys stand up and follow them out. They’d been at the next table, listening to everything we’d said. I didn’t like the looks of them; you could tell they were up to no good. But that’s all. I swear it. It’s just that those men are in nearly every night, and they have friends. If I’d said anything to you, someone could have overheard.”

“All right.” Adam held her still for a moment more, his face impassive as he tried to determine if she was telling the truth. But there was just no way to know. He stepped back and released her hands, watching as she rubbed her wrists where he’d gripped them. “I want to know more about those men. Are they in there now?”

“No. They didn’t come back.” She cast a terrified glance at the alley’s opening, then turned back to him. “Please …”

His expression was guarded, but he slipped an arm around her and lowered his head to her neck, so that from the street, it looked as if he were kissing her. The sweet scent of her hair assailed him, but when he spoke again, in an undertone of warm breath against her ear, his words came matter-of-factly. “What can you tell us about them?”

“One of them is very tan,” she whispered, “and he has an enormous tattoo of a snake or a dragon or something on his right arm. You can’t see it unless he rolls back his sleeve, but it’s there. And he wears a gold ring in one ear. Another has a full red beard. The third one was huge—the size of your brother. Other than that, they look like all the other wharf rats in San Francisco.”

“Was it a shanghai?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never had a shanghai at the Mother Lode. Management is against it, but that doesn’t mean the crimps don’t come in. I’m sure they do.”

“What shape was my brother in?”

She shrugged slightly against him. “Not bad. He’d had a little to drink, but he wasn’t foxed or anything—just happy. And the other man was pretty sober.”

“Hey, feller, wanta lend her out some?” a slurry voice sounded from the sidewalk. “I’ll pay—”

“Move on, mister,” Hoss growled.

“Why would your bartender want to lie to us?” Adam persisted.

She choked, and stifled a sob. “The same reason I would. It’s dangerous—it’s best just to know nothing, say nothing … but … you treated me like a lady, not just a stage dancer … or worse.” Her breath came quickly and her voice trembled. “Your brother too … the only people to treat me like that in forever. I wanted to tell you the truth.” But the shudders wouldn’t stop, and with them came the tears. “I’m so scared. You don’t know what can happen to girls here.”

Adam shifted so that his back was to the street, hiding her from view. “What happened to that practical girl who worked her plan?” he inquired.

“She’s scared, like anyone else with any sense,” Eliza retorted and turned her head. She swiped at her cheeks. “Some folks you don’t cross around here, and I think I just crossed one—or two or three.”

He fished a handkerchief from his pocket, then wrapped his arm around her—kindly this time—and dabbed lightly at her face. “Settle down, now,” he said quietly, unaware that the change in his voice was so complete that her surprise helped to stem the flow of tears. “We’ll make sure that everyone in the Mother Lode thinks you were out here earning your money.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, then like a child, gave in to the shelter of his embrace and lay her cheek against the smooth lapel of his jacket. He held her gently, one hand stroking her back until she became mesmerized by his touch, and gradually, the trembling abated.

Hoss retreated a couple of steps into the alley and cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “You all right, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and stepped away from Adam, only to succumb to a shivering of a different kind.

Hoss frowned, and suddenly jerked at his coat. “Adam, what’s got into you? She’s freezin’ to death!”

Adam, who’d simply been waiting until she regained her composure, started in surprise. “Sorry, Eliza,” he said, flushing, and removed his own jacket.

She gulped, a little confused at the concern for her comfort, and finally mumbled, “It’ll look better if it’s Adam’s.” She snuggled into the coat.

For a moment, they all just looked at each other. The fog, stealing in from the bay, whirled down Washington Street and seemed to soften everything in their vision. From a distance, the toll of the fog bell on Alcatraz Island sounded hauntingly in the night.

“You can’t be kind to very many people on the Coast,” Eliza said, sniffing. “It doesn’t pay. That’s not how it works here.”

“We’re not from here,” Hoss reminded her.

“I know,” she murmured. “That’s why I took a chance.”

“Joe was there tonight. She saw some men follow him out,” Adam explained briefly to his brother.

“Is that his name?” Eliza asked. “Joe?”

“Yes.”

“You mean, he didn’t say his name in there, ma’am?” Hoss asked.

“Not that I ever heard,” she replied.

“So nobody coulda known who he was?” 

“No. He just joked a little and was very pleasant. He never said anything about himself really.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I only knew Adam’s name because you called him that at the table.” 

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the disconnected laughter and shouting from the street. Then Hoss moved back to the alley’s opening.

Adam shifted awkwardly. “I suppose we’d better get you back inside. How—ah, how undr—”

“Well, it should look like you got …” She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Well, you know, like you paid for something.”

She began undoing the buttons that ran up her bodice, while Adam unfastened the top closures on the fly of his trousers.

“What’s goin’ on back there?” Hoss called.

“We’re just finishing up,” Adam called back, for the first time indifferent about who heard him.

When they emerged from the alley, Adam was buttoning his pants and Eliza was hooking her dress. Several men passing on the street took note of the pretty girl attending to her clothing, and the suit jacket that obviously belonged to the dark man standing next to her.

“Ma’am, you’re way too good fer stuff like this,” Hoss said softly.

She glanced up at him, suddenly shy. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” She looked at that moment very much like a proper young lady, despite her flashy dress. “I don’t know your name.”

“You just call me Hoss, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Now you better let my brother take yuh back inside before somebody notices that I’m not payin’ fer anything here.”

She nodded, but before turning to Adam, she rose on her toes, balanced her hands on Hoss’ broad chest, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Hoss. I hope you find your brother.”

Then she allowed Adam to slide an arm around her shoulders and escort her back to the Mother Lode, where the girls were assembling for another number. As she handed him his coat, he slipped a bill into her fingers.

“Why, I—Adam, please, I can’t—” she whispered.

“Don’t ruin it,” he shot back in an undertone. “Everyone is watching. That was business, wasn’t it? Now smile and thank me.”

She smiled prettily and ducked her head. “Thank you, sir,” she said loudly. “I hope you come back.”

“You’ll be all right?” he murmured.

“Yes, thank you, fine.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Good night, ma’am, and thank you.”

Hoss was waiting at the corner when Adam emerged from the Mother Lode. “How bad is it?” 

“I don’t know. Not good,” Adam replied. “Eliza said the three men were regulars, and you saw it—she was pretty scared of them. She said they looked like wharf rats; one of them had a tattoo of a snake or a dragon on his right arm.” 

“Sounds like a shanghai to me.” 

“Me, too. But Joe wouldn’t go willingly. He and Darby are tough—they’d put up a fight.”

Hoss shoved his hands into his pockets. “So what d’we do now?”

Adam was a few seconds in answering. “Go back to the hotel, I guess. That’s where they’d go if they managed to get away. And it wouldn’t hurt to look for a policeman.”

“How’s that?”

“See what he knows about tonight’s shanghais. In fact—” Adam stopped, his face a study in concentration. “Didn’t Decker say there’d been one someplace close to where we met him?”

“Yeah. In that alley, I think.” Hoss set his jaw. “Let’s get down there.”

When they arrived at the alley, they were surprised to find two policemen already there.

“Know anything about what happened here tonight?” one asked before they even had a chance to make an inquiry. A burly individual in a woolen suit bursting at the seams, he wore a badge on one lapel and didn’t seem the type to take any nonsense.

“We were going to ask you,” Adam replied. “Our brother’s missing.”

“So you don’t know what happened here, earlier tonight?”

“No. We were told maybe a shanghai.”

“Now we’re wonderin’ if it was our brother, Joe, an’ one of our ranch hands,” Hoss added.

The policeman, who said his name was Tom Brady, relented. “Sorry I can’t help you. We got the tip somebody’d been hurt here, so we’re lookin’ it over, but there’s not much to go on.”

Behind him, a white clapboard wall with a fan-like spray of red droplets told its own story. The blood ran in rivulets to the ground, smeared in places, and in the dim lantern light, they could see dark puddles, thickening and glazed, in the dust of the alley floor.

“Lordy … looks like somebody got more than hurt,” Hoss murmured numbly.

“Somebody met the business end of a knife, that’s for sure,” the other policeman stated flatly. He waved away a couple of onlookers. “Hope it wasn’t your boy.” 

Adam turned away. “Thanks,” he said, his face set as his mind tried to depersonalize the sight of the blood.

Brady caught his arm. “Look, if you want, why don’t you meet me in the morning? We go off at seven o’clock; our last round is on the waterfront, down at the foot o’ the street here. Come down there ’bout six-thirty. I’ll let you know if we’ve seen or heard anything.”

“We’ll be there, mister,” Hoss grunted. He turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold and followed his brother. “Guess it doesn’ do much good to hope we still might find Joe back at the What Cheer House, all tucked up an’ snug in bed, but I’m gonna do it anyhow.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Adam said, but Hoss heard the hollowness in his voice. It was better to focus on the muscle that flickered in his brother’s cheek. He knew from experience what that meant: in his head, Adam was already sorting through their meager options, trying to find some way to battle forces they couldn’t even identify.

The gas lights of the hotel lobby, even turned down at the late hour, were like beacons of hope in the darkness, and a new desk clerk, fresh and well-rested, beamed at them when they came in. But when they asked about Joe and Darby, his expression clouded. “No, I haven’t seen either of them. Kinda strange, you know. Last night they were back early—well, maybe not early, but way before now.”

It was then that they realized how much they still had hoped that the whole evening’s futile search was a simple mix-up. Adam asked to have a boy awaken them at six, and with barely a word, they collapsed into bed. The hands of the clock were crawling past three-thirty when the light disappeared beneath the suite’s door.

Day Two

________________________

Chapter Five 

It was dark, the particularly dense darkness of someplace never touched by light. There was not one gleam, not under a door nor around a window, not even of a candle guttering out. Just blackness. And it was silent. Not only was there no sound of voices or activity, but there was no hint of any breathing except his own. That was fine … cozy, even. The velvety darkness … the peace and quiet … 

Joe lay still, relishing the comfort of his bed—although the mattress was a little hard. He’d have to mention that to Hop Sing; maybe it was time for new filling. But it couldn’t dim the delicious languor of not having to get up and go to work. Had to be morning, early, before chores, before time to roll out … bliss … He turned over. A little more sleep, just a little … jeez, he ached. Well, sort of … didn’t he? Yeah … but the throbs and the twinges and the hurts couldn’t hinder his contentment. He’d been in a fight … but that was okay. He’d get over it … always had. Maybe they’d let him sleep all day …

ii

Dawn was just streaking the sky when a tentative scratching noise told Adam that it was six o’clock. He went to the suite’s door to thank the page. Hoss already stood in his doorway, his nightshirt a vast expanse of red plaid, his wispy hair tangled on his forehead. The boy brought them both warm shaving water, and they were dressed in fifteen minutes.

Sacramento Street was peaceful when they emerged from the hotel, the only activity a solitary milk wagon, its tall grey cans rattling in the silence. As if by magic, the fog had cleared, and shafts of golden sunlight slanted in from the east. What had been oppressive and decadent by night had become, in the space of hours, new and promising. 

It was not far to the waterfront. The last of the mist was fading off Yerba Buena Cove and the air was alive with the shouts of sailors on board the steamboats and clippers and barges tied up at the city’s piers. Farther out, other ships rode at anchor.  They found Tom Brady near the Washington Street Wharf, savoring the steam off a cup of coffee from an early-opening café. He acknowledged them with a nod.

“Mornin’, boys. Sorry, but there’s nothing new on your brother. Wish I could say different.”

“Not as much as we do,” Adam replied, hiding his disappointment. “But I guess it’s not a surprise. We appreciate your keeping an eye out.” He gazed out to sea. “Don’t suppose you could tell us which one’s the China Rose, could you?”

“I can do better than that. Harbor Master passed through here a little while back. Figured you might be wanting to know, so I asked him which ocean-going ships were leaving today. There’s the China Rose, at mid-morning, and the Belvedere in the early afternoon. The China Rose is over there on Central Wharf. The Belvedere’s on Howison’s, but I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Her master’s never yet been known to truck with shanghai.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hoss said.

“No trouble.” The policeman blew on his coffee. “You know, there’re other possibilities of what coulda happened to your brother.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Chinatown’s full of prostitutes—parlor houses, bagnios, cribs of ’em. All over the Coast too. Or, and don’t take offense here, we’ve got more than our share of opium dens.”

Hoss shook his head at the suggestion of an hallucinogenic. “Joe doesn’t go fer any of that stuff.”

“Under normal circumstances,” Brady nodded. “But what about here? Maybe he meets some bright young fellows like hisself, and they say, ‘aw, come on, just this once’? If he’s gone off and tried poppy-smoke, he’ll turn up. You just make sure he doesn’t do it again, and he’ll be all right.”

“It’s that bad?” Hoss inquired.

“It’s that good,” Brady told him. “I tried it once—scared me to death. Laid there all doped up an’ I could see everything goin’ on, wasn’t knocked out or anything … an’ no matter what happened, it was wonderful. You can see how hopheads don’t want to do anything but lie there all day. Ruins ’em, inside and out.”

They nodded.

“And there’s one other thing …” His voice changed. “Cap’n says they found a body at the other end of that alley we were in last night. It’s at the county jail on Broadway; wasn’t anybody free to take it to the morgue. Doesn’t sound like your brother, but you’d best go see.”

“Rule it out, if nothin’ else,” Hoss said. Only his eyes revealed his pain.

Brady shuffled his feet. “Well, I wish you luck. I hope you find out it’s not him.” He glanced down the waterfront to the Central Wharf. “Look, I’d bet the captain of the China Rose won’t take on visitors till they’ve got their mornin’ chores done. There’s a cabbie has his coffee ’bout this time at that café over there. You might persuade him to run you up to Broadway.” 

“I reckon that’s good advice,” Hoss said hoarsely. He held out his hand. “Thank you fer yer time, Mr. Brady.”

iii

“Adam, you figure Joe could be in one o’ them opium dens?” Hoss inquired curiously. The cabbie had indeed been glad of an early fare, and they progressed up the deserted Montgomery Street at a smart trot. 

Adam looked out at the passing waterfront, at the glow of gold that outlined the masts of the ships. It was so pretty that it was hard to imagine that they were in fear for their brother’s life. 

“I don’t know, Hoss. Normally, I wouldn’t figure he’d be interested. But we don’t know what happened last night.”

“You ever wanted to try any o’ that stuff?”

Still watching the passing scenery, Adam replied, “No, I knew a fellow at college who got into it. Brady was right; it’s not something you play with.”

The cab rocked as it turned on to Broadway, and lost in their own thoughts, neither spoke until it drew up in front of the county jail.

“Oh, yeah, there was a body come in last night,” a uniformed man at a desk near the door said. “Was found down an alley off”—he pawed through some paperwork—“Washington. Jackknife Alley. Had his throat cut. Guess that’s appropriate.” He chuckled at his feeble humor. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

They followed the officer through the front room, where several policemen were booking an assortment of ne’r-do-wells and undesirables, to a corridor that led to the back of the building.

“We put him in the storeroom,” their escort said, and stopped beside the door to light a lantern. He handed it to Hoss, and unlocked a large, heavy door. “The wagon from the morgue’ll be by in an hour or two.”

In the final seconds before they entered the room, Adam glanced at his brother; Hoss’ face was set, his jaw fixed and his eyes hard. It seemed beyond their comprehension that Joe could lie on the other side of the door, pale and cold …

It wasn’t Joe. They knew it wasn’t as soon as the door swung open and they could see the outline of the body under a rough sheet.

“Ain’t Joe,” Hoss murmured. “Too big.”

Adam let out a long, slow breath and then sucked it in again. For a moment, the fact that they had no idea where Joe was—that just because he wasn’t the body on the table didn’t mean that he wasn’t dead somewhere else—faded from his consciousness. It was enough right now to know that this wasn’t his brother. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and pressed his fingertips over his eyes, trying to even out the emotion that threatened to make him dizzy.

“Better take a look just the same,” the officer said, and drew back the covering.

“Oh, Lord,” Hoss breathed. The instant of relief disappeared abruptly.

A familiar face stared up at them—but without the animation of life. Without his slow, steady humor, without his quiet loyalty, without even the flinty anger that once in a while took over his features when he felt other men weren’t hauling their own weight. Frank Darby looked much as he had when they’d last seen him, except that his beard had been trimmed. And the biggest exception of all—below the carefully clipped hedge of grey ran a nasty, wine-colored line. His throat had been slashed. The front of his shirt and his jacket and vest, the ones he wore only on Sundays and for special occasions, had stiffened with blood. A fly buzzed near, noisy in the silence, trying to land on the soaked clothing.

Adam reached out to close the pale green eyes. “We’ll arrange for the body,” he said.

“This yer brother?” the officer asked in surprise. “I thought you said—”

“No, but we know ’im. He works for us,” Hoss interrupted.

The officer digested the news for a moment and then asked, “Know anybody who’d want to kill him?”

Hoss shook his head. “Not in this town. Not anywhere. But we might just have to find out.”

“Now, don’t go taking anything into your own hands! This town’s a powder keg right now. You boys need to be careful.”

Adam stretched the sheet over Darby’s face. “You want to be a little more specific about that? Are you saying this man could have gotten mixed up in some of your trouble?”

“Maybe. There’re a lot of perfectly safe places in this town, but where he was found ain’t one of ’em.”

“And just where did you say that was?”

“Jackknife Alley. It runs between Washington and Jackson … not all that far from the Bella Union, the Mother Lode, those places. Washington ain’t so bad, but the alley’s been known to host some mighty unsocial parties, if you know what I mean. If that’s where your brother was last night, then he coulda been playing with some pretty dangerous characters.”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed disgustedly. “We’ve heard about all of them—the thieves, the crimps, the—”

“Them’s just the free agents,” the officer said. “You also got Luke Parton’s crowd, all het up because he’s in jail. And you got the tong—”

“What’s t