“Put it in here,” he instructed.
Isaac dropped their gold into the bag.
Alden felt the nugget among the beans, but he didn’t dare check on it. A nugget that big—if it really was gold—could launch a riot, and he didn’t want to tempt any unsavory characters to try to steal it during the mayhem.
He tossed their shovel and pan inside the tent. “We need to get to the assay office before it closes,” he whispered to Isaac.
They passed by dozens of claims along the gulch, greeting other miners as they hiked toward a treed hill. It was almost a mile back into Columbia, but if he and Isaac hurried, they could be there before the assayer locked his door.
“What should we do with it, if it’s worth something?” Isaac asked.
“I’m going to pay back Isabelle for our stagecoach ride here, and then I’m going to find a way up to Vancouver Island.”
Isaac hopped over a tree stump. “I like it here just fine.”
“Yes, but it’s still not as safe as it should be.”
“Not safe for slaves?”
“For any black person.”
As they neared the edge of town, they passed a herd of mule deer grazing among the rugged oaks. Then they stepped onto a clay street between a row of shanties and a fandango house pumping out Spanish music.
Alden patted the bag tucked inside his coat one more time. He’d trade it in for gold ingots, then he’d pay back Isabelle and ask her to secure the rest in her locked room. Hopefully, the assayer would keep mum about their find. Around here, word about a nugget this big would travel faster than the flames in Sacramento.
Main Street was crowded at the end of day, the oil lanterns from boardinghouses and shops pooling the streets with light. A man stepped out of an alley, startling Alden. His clothes were tattered and smelled as if they’d been recovered from a burning heap of trash. Sympathy washed over Alden at first, but the sentiment turned quickly to shock. Then fear.
It wasn’t just any vagabond standing in front of him. It was Victor Duvall, clutching a knife in both hands.
“Come here, boy,” Victor told Isaac, but his blade was pointed at Alden.
Instead of stepping forward, Isaac inched toward Alden’s side. Then Alden pulled him close. “What do you want, Victor?”
“What is rightfully mine.”
“Put down your knife,” Alden commanded.
A group of miners started to circle them, but none of them stepped up to help until a black miner moved in beside Alden, telling Victor as well to drop the knife.
Victor held his hand steady. “Not until he pays for what he’s done.”
“What has he done?” the miner asked.
“He stole everything from me.”
Alden clenched his fists, his arm secure around Isaac. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“You took the woman I loved, and then you kidnapped my son.”
The miner took a step back from Alden.
“He’s lying,” Alden spat.
The miner shook his head. “Stealing people is a crime.”
Victor moved toward him, the blade steady in his hands. “Where’s Mallie?”
“Who’s Mal—” Alden started. Then he stopped.
