Big John studied him warily, then agreed. “A deal. I could use me a little fancy fer Veroneesa over at Lily’s Fandango Parlor.”
“Isn’t fandango the name of a dance?” Helen asked as they walked over to a far table, their tin plates piled high with food. He’d tucked the small poke of gold dust in his pocket. “Maybe we can go over there later and watch the dancing.”
Rafe began to choke and almost dropped his plate. “Oh, Helen, your naïveté continues to amaze me. Yeah, fandango is the name of a dance, but, believe me, sweetheart, the men don’t go there to tango, if you get my drift.”
Her flaming face told him she did.
Big John brought their coffee over personally and sat down with them for a few moments. “Where ya from, folks?”
“My wife and I are from southern California, and we’re headed for the northern goldfields.”
“I’m not his — ”
Rafe sliced her a glare and she heeded his warning.
“Well, we’re not sure if we’re going to prospect, or go home,” Helen said sweetly. “We had the misfortune to run into a few bandits who brought us here, but now I’m trying to talk my darling husband into the wisdom of giving up on the Gold Rush.”
“Seen the elephant, have ya?” Big John remarked to Rafe with a rueful laugh.
“Seen the elephant? What the hell does that mean?”
“Ya never heard the sayin’?” The big man raised his bushy ginger eyebrows in surprise. “It means ya got the gold bug. Well, no, actually it means more that a man gets hisself caught up in the excitement of the treasure hunt.”
“But why an elephant?” Helen asked.
“The story goes, there wuz this farmer onct who allus wanted ta see an elephant but never had,” Big John began his story with relish. Rafe saw men at surrounding tables listening closely to the tale, which they must have heard countless times before.
“Anyways, one day a circus come ta town, and the farmer loaded his wagon with eggs and vegetables and headed fer the market. Along the way he met up with the circus parade led by an elephant. His horses bucked and run away, and the wagon overturned. There wuz a godawful mess of broken eggs and bruised vegetables, but the farmer said, ‘I don’t give a damn. I have seen the elephant.’ ”
Helen’s forehead creased with puzzlement. “And the point?”
“The point, sweet lady, is that I purely do agree with you ’bout the wisdom of gold diggin’. Mos’ miners come back with nothin’ more’n broken eggs and bruised vegetables, so ta speak.”
“But,” Rafe added, “you’re also saying that seeing the elephant is worth it for the adventuresome man… or woman.”
“Yep.”
“Wisdom versus excitement,” Helen asserted.
“Caution versus opportunity,” Rafe amended.
“Ya both be right,” Big John concluded, standing. “But my best piece of advice, mi amigo, is that, if yer gonna prospect, go far north. Mexicans ain’t welcome in mos’ mining camps these days.” Rafe bristled. “Now, now, don’t go gettin’ yer blood up. I offer the advice kindly, jist so ya know what yer up agin.”
Rafe relaxed a bit. “Thank you, then.”
“Ya heard ’bout the Foreign Miners Tax that the legislature passed a few months past, ain’t ya?”
Rafe shook his head slowly.
“All the furriners that wants ta work a claim gots ta pay twenty dollars a month, iffen they’ll even ‘low you to file a claim a’tall. Mostly, furriners means you Mexicans and the Celestials, but really any man what comes from another country. Ya gots ta watch yer back, man.”
“I’m an American,” Rafe grated out.
“Son, that don’t make no nevermind. Any man with dark skin and an accent is a furriner here,” Big John corrected. “Hell, even the native Californeos who bin here forever are bein’ called outsiders by the Yankees.”
A muscle twitched in Rafe’s cheek.
“Now, young man, lower yer hackles. I dint say I agree. I’m jist tryin’ ta save ya some aggravation.”
“Hey, no big deal! I’ve lived with this kind of crap all my life.” Rafe raised his chin proudly, defensively.
Helen’s heart went out to Rafe. Apparently, he would have to fight prejudice, even in these primitive times. And she, as a woman in the male-dominated military, knew how bigotry felt.