A loud roar of approval met that announcement.
“I am not the Angel Bandit,” Rafe repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. “And anyone who lays a hand on Helen will answer to me.”
“Why does he say he’s not the Angel Bandit?” one man asked.
“I couldn’t even ride a horse till yesterday,” Rafe told him.
“That ees true,” Sancho confirmed, bobbing his head up and down like one of those dashboard dolls.
“Perhaps he’s not the Angel Bandit, then?” the trapper said.
“But he has the angel brand on his arse,” Pablo argued.
“He does?” The miners frowned with confusion.
“Si’. Angel wings, right here,” Sancho said, patting his own ample right cheek.
“Why are the Angel Bandit’s eyes rolling up in his head?” the trapper asked Ignacio. “Is he havin’ a conniption?”
“It’s not angel wings, you idiots. It’s a butterfly,” Rafe protested.
“Why would a man put a butterfly on his arse?” the trapper asked.
“I’m a lawyer, not an outlaw,” Rafe tried to explain. “I enforce the law. I don’t break it.”
“A lawyer!” several men exclaimed.
Then one commented, “Hell, lawyers are just as crooked as thieves.”
“Did ya hear ’bout the two farmers who went to a lawyer, each claimin’ to own a cow?” one man chimed in.
“Oh, hell, Harvey, not another one of yer infernal jokes!”
Harvey just went on. “While one farmer pulled on the head, and the other pulled on the tail, the cow was milked by the lawyer.”
Everyone laughed some more.
But one young man tapped his unshaven jaw, eying Rafe with consideration. “I don’t s’pose you could advise me on a legal matter?”
“Shut up, Hank. There ain’t no way yer gonna divorce that two-bit Mexican whore you married. Even if you was drunk.”
“Elena has the angel tattoo on her arse, too,” Sancho contributed irrelevantly to the crazy, fifty-way conversation, and was rewarded by a loud “Aaaaaah” of delight from the crowd.
“Can we see?” several men asked Ignacio. They were practically drooling.
Ignacio nodded. “Before the bidding mañana, she will show you the angel mark.”
Bidding?
“Have you all lost your minds?” Helen screamed. “My name is Helen Prescott, not Elena. I’m a major in the U.S. Army, and I demand to be taken to the nearest military installation. Furthermore, if anyone tries to look at my bare behind, or corkscrew me, or stick something down my throat, I swear I’ll bite it off. And don’t think I’m not serious.”
“Elena is an officer in the Army?” the trapper said, scratching his head in puzzlement. “I di’n’t know there wuz wimmen in the Army.”
“Caramba!” Ignacio growled. “I have heard enough. She ees Elena, and he ees the Angel Bandit. And that ees that.”
With a kick of his spurs, Ignacio propelled his horse forward into the town. Their horses followed him, and about three dozen men trailed behind, scurrying to keep up.
Over and over, the word passed that the Angel Bandit was about to be hanged, and Elena the Corkscrewer had arrived.
Helen’s parade of fans increased by alarming proportions.
And Rafe decided he’d better do something soon to change the direction of this sideshow.
Face flaming, Helen stared straight ahead as they rode into the primitive 1850 town of Sacramento City. As dusk approached, she tried not to worry about the danger closing in on them: the dozens of lustful men following her, the threat of Rafe being lynched, the time travel itself. Instead, she concentrated on her surroundings, searching for a clue to help them escape.
The picturesque city was situated on the foggy, tree-lined bank of the brown Sacramento River, several hundred yards wide at its juncture with the American River. She’d been in the city many times before, but it had never looked like this.
Dozens of schooners and small boats formed a colorful panorama of masts along the levee on Front Street. Many of the vessels had signboards and figureheads on them, indicating they were being used as hotels or business establishments.
Pigs rooted about at the sides of the dusty street, sidestepping the busy inhabitants, little knowing they were the staple of the miners’ diet. And cows driven up from Southern California hustled along to be butchered.