Colorado Gold (Treasure Quest Book #1) , livre ebook

Treasure Quest Books
Colorado Gold
Marian Wells
© 1988 by Marian Wells
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Ebook edition created 2012
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
All rights reserved. No part of this publicaion may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording with the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Manuscript edited by Penelope J. Stokes.
Cover illustration by Brett Longley.
Cover designed by Dan Thornberg.
eISBN 978-1-4412-6244-8
To My Husband
Chet
My Best Friend
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About the Author
Books by Marian Wells
Back Cover
Introduction
“There’s gold in Pikes Peak country!” The shout was electrifying, the response immediate. The year was 1858. As quickly as they could put their affairs in order, they came streaming into the wind, charging across the plains. Youths and middle-aged men, poor farmers, lawyers, doctors, storekeepers, outlaws, gamblers, and dance-hall girls all had eyes shining with hope, sure of success. It was there for the taking easy gold, ready to be picked up by the shovelful.
The would-be miners came. Some walked; others rode on horseback or in rickety wagons they were the lucky ones. The billowing canvas tops provided at least feeble shields against sun, rain, and Indian arrows.
Many gave their lives there on that barren stretch of high, desolate prairie. Many a dream was buried beside the trail. Many turned back when they discovered that gold demanded their blood, sweat, and tears. But the survivors the hardy, determined ones were inclined to make their dreams come true.
Those who stayed learned to change their goals. The dream of becoming a millionaire gradually diminished into a determination to earn a living. These miners spent their lives ever hacking away at yet another mountain. Still others were willing to exchange the old dream for a new one. Some of these men became successful farmers, industrialists, shopkeepers.
Among the gold seekers, some were successful beyond wildest expectations. Gold nuggets rolled across the gambling tables, and guns roared. The wild west was reality; for a time each man was law unto himself.
Into this climate stepped the missionaries from the Methodist Episcopal church. Clad in threadbare coats, they preached in saloons and in tiny log cabins. As they walked from gold camp to gold camp, their very presence caught the men up short.
Perhaps it was a blessing that only a few of the gold seekers found riches, for the lack of treasure set men looking for a gold that didn’t sift through their fingers. More than a few soberly considered the missionaries’ words and measured the nuggets in their hand against eternal treasure.
But not only the miners faced this dilemma. The daughter of one such frontier preacher plunged into the middle of this restless scene. Amy, sixteen years old, is amazed, bewildered, and mystified by the life surrounding her. Face to face with her father’s calling and the lure of material riches, she must choose the course her life will follow. And the decision that she ultimately makes the choice between wealth and the will of God will change her life forever.
Chapter 1
“Think of Amy!” The insistent voice penetrated Amy’s dream, making her eyes flutter. The voice continued. “You’re bringing a young innocent girl into a rough gold camp. Eli, it’s a mistake, exposing her to that element. You know our mistakes will dog us to the grave.”
“Now, Maude, Amy’s ” came Father’s low voice.
“She’s asleep.”
Amy squinted at the light probing her eyes. Yesterday a sharp branch had poked a hole in the canvas stretched over the Rev. Eli Randolph’s wagon, and Aunt Maude took it as a sign that Satan was marshaling his forces against them. Today a finger of light danced through the hole. With each jolt of the wagon it stabbed her, daring her to shed the dream and listen to the two bent figures as they argued on their wagon seat.
In her dream, Amy’s tight braids had become a floating veil of springy yellow curls; her eyes were daring and brave. Now Amy screwed her blue eyes tight against the light and clung to her dream. A trickle of perspiration beaded on her lip and dropped to the pillow.
With a tiny sigh, Amy wiped her lip and surrendered the dream of the tall young man on horseback. He had come crashing into her life, spilling gold nuggets and sweeping aside Aunt Maude and Father with a smile as he reached for Amy.
Aunt Maude’s voice caught her as it lifted beyond the discontented grumble, stacking the argument to dangerous, dizzy heights. Amy’s ears strained to hear the words. It wasn’t the familiar complaints, but new, strange things that made her uneasy.
“Following a dream you are a foolish, selfish one. Why can’t you forget her? Risking our lives, threatening your daughter with the very thing you should be fleeing. The taint makes it a bigger fear. Eli, you can’t tempt fate this way and get by with it. We’ve not talked this out, but I know your secret thoughts. Everytime I see you looking toward those places, eyeing those painted faces, I know what ails you.
“’Tis one thing to convert the heathen, ’tis another to not rest easy with one’s lot in life. Are you intending to ever tell her about ”
As Aunt Maude paused, Amy heard the pounding hooves, a shout. Her aunt’s complaint ended in a sob. “Eli, Indians! Oh, the Lord forgive us for this foolishness!”
Amy rolled off the pillows and pushed her face between the two on the seat. Her aunt spoke automatically. “Amy, take your elbow out of my side.”
The horse thundered past, leaving a cloud of dust that slowly settled down over the Randolph team and wagon. Amy coughed and rubbed her watering eyes. The rider circled back. It wasn’t an Indian.
Amy grinned at the dusty young rider. “Are you a cowboy?”
“Naw, I’m heading for the gold mines.” He tipped his hat at Amy’s father and added, “Just wanted to say howdy and I’ll see you in Denver City. Stay on this Smokey Hill road; it’ll take you right into town.” He wheeled his horse and left them to their plodding gait.
The color was seeping back into Aunt Maude’s face. Amy stretched to look after the rider, and her aunt snapped, “And don’t you practice poking your lip out like that and making your eyes like saucers. Eli, these miners will ruin a sweet-faced innocent.”
The whip cracked impatiently over the backs of the team. The mules hurried their gait a bit, and Amy slanted a glance at Aunt Maude, recalling the things she overheard. Taint. Aunt Maude, why didn’t you like my mother? Deep down, you’re really glad she died, aren’t you?
The ugly thoughts pressed against Amy as she settled back on the quilt. The noonday heat poured down on the prairie as the wagon swayed through the ruts. Amy peered out at the barren trail. Slowly she said, “A lonely trail, straight as an arrow to Pikes Peak country.”
She waited for their reply as she studied the sparse gray-green bushes and the poor, pale soil. The heavy silence was broken only by the creaking wagon and the snort from the team. Father’s shoulders moved again, but neither he nor Aunt Maude spoke.
Amy sighed and yanked off her sunbonnet. Trying to break the lonesome silence, she said, “I wish a cool breeze would come up. Just a little one.” Perspiration had darkened her braids to honey color and plastered her hair into shiny corkscrews across her forehead.
She picked the curls away and rubbed her offending elbows, saying, “I wish I didn’t look like a scrawny baby. And I wish I could wear my hair loose and curled.”
Aunt Maude peered over her shoulder. “Tut,” she said uneasily. “You’ll grow up fast enough. Don’t pine for what you don’t have.”
Amy fanned herself briskly with her sunbonnet. With a quick glance at the two, she said, “If the end of May is like this, what’ll summer bring?” No answer. “Father, we’ve been staring at sagebrush forever.”
Her aunt answered. “Not so. You can’t forget the miles of grasslands.” Her tart reply changed to a plaintive murmur as she sank back on the seat, “Not that it matters. It’s the green pastures of Kansas Territory I’m wanting, not those rearing up lands they call the Rocky Mountains. Trying to stick in a wagon when your nose is pointed skyward is enough to scare a person humble in a hurry.”
While Aunt Maude rambled on, Amy studied her father. He was a dark lump of dusty coat and limp black hat. But Amy didn’t need to see his face; it was a copy of Aunt Maude’s long-planed face, with a nose like finely chiseled flint.
Glancing at Aunt Maude she saw the one tear on her pale cheek, but the guilty sympathy Amy felt put her in partnership with her father. With a quick look at him, she began to think out her words carefully. “Aunt Maude, I know you don’t like coming to the Pikes Peak country; I’d rather stay in Kansas too, but I’m not scared by mountains. They’ll be beautiful, all green pines and mirror-like lakes, deer and bighorn sheep ”
Aunt Maude snorted, “You sound just like that guide book. The one by the fellow pushing us to get gold fever and join the wagon train.” She sat up and waved her arm, crying weakly, “Pikes Peak or Bust!”
Amy blinked. Eli nodded, saying, “The pamphlet put out by William Byers. I’ll adm