You looking for Mrs. Carver? I'm supposed to work for her. The broom stopped. The man's expression changed.
When were you hired? June. He leaned on the broom. You haven't heard? Rebecca felt the employment letter beneath her fingers.
Heard what? The Copper Ridge Silver Company had shut part of its operation 12 days earlier after a tunnel collapse damaged one of the lower workings. No one had been killed, but dozens of men had been dismissed while the company decided whether repairs were worth the cost. The boarding house had lost most of its paying customers. Mrs.
Carver had gone to stay with her sister in Cheyenne. Rebecca stood beneath the narrow porch roof and read the employment letter again. $20 a month. Room included, meals included. Start date, August 23rd. The date was tomorrow.
The paper had not changed. Only the world around it had. The stage driver found her sitting on her traveling case half an hour later. He was watering the horses before continuing south. Miss Foster.
She looked up. I can take you back as far as Miller's crossing tomorrow. Eastbound coach comes through Friday. Rebecca folded the letter. How much?
He told her almost half the money she had left. And after Miller's crossing, you could catch another eastbound. Rebecca looked down Main Street. Men came and went from the general store. A wagon loaded with timber creaked past.
Somewhere nearby, a hammer struck iron with a steady ringing sound. Clang, clang, clang. Going east would be simple. Not easy. Simple.
She would return with less money than she had started with and explained to people who had already questioned her decision that the job had vanished before she arrived. Rebecca stood. Thank you. The driver reached for her case. She kept hold of it.
I'm not going back. He studied her. All right. No lecture. No pity.
Rebecca appreciated him for that. She walked toward the sound of the hammer. The blacksmith was a square-built man in his 50s with gray threaded through his beard and a leather apron darkened by years of sparks. He was holding a horseshoe in long tongs when Rebecca stopped outside. He plunged the iron into water.
Steam rose between them. You Harvey Sloan? Depends who I owe. Rebecca Foster, don't owe you anything yet. Then we're starting well.
Harvey looked at her properly. Rebecca pointed toward the weatherbeaten shed attached to the side of his forge. You using that for storing rubbish? I noticed. What do you want with my rubbish?
To move it. Harvey set down the tongs. 20 minutes later, they had an arrangement. Rebecca would pay him $3 a month for the shed, provided she cleaned it herself and did not complain about hammering before sunrise. Harvey would let her draw water from his pump and use the rear corner of his yard for a cook fire.
You planning to sleep in there? No. Good. Roof leaks. I noticed that too.