Sitka

They watched the ship while the afternoon trailed away like distant smoke, fading slowly. Soon it would be dusk. 'You've never married, Jean? I wonder why?'

He swung his horse a little. 'For a long time I couldn't find a girl I wanted, and when I did find her she was married to another man.' 'But there must be others, Jean. You're very attractive, you know.'

'Oh, I've known girls ... here and there.'

'You would lose your freedom, and a man like you should be free, free to fly far and high, like an eagle. A wife would tie you down, she would hold you.' 'Maybe. It might not even be so bad. I've been alone all my life, never known a real home. If you want to find a man who will love his home, find a man who never had one.'

'I should think a man would always long for freedom. It is hard, I'd think, for a man who has known freedom to give it up.'

He watched the ship. 'Hard? With the right woman most men will settle down easy enough. Oh, sure! They look at the geese flying south, or maybe some night their eyes will open into the darkness as they lie in bed beside their wives, and they'll lie awake in the darkness and remember how native drums sounded, or the surf along a rocky shore, or how the bells ring from the temples ... but they stay where they are.'

'Why?'

The ship was taking in sail now, approaching the passage gingerly, for many a fine ship had been wrecked in the Golden Gate.

'Because they've ... accepted their destiny, I suppose. They might think about the great world outside, but they wouldn't trade it for home.' 'Not you ... I believe you would go.'

'I'd be the easiest of all, Helena. I've never known a home, so even the faults would seem virtues to me. As for love, who doesn't want it? To love and be loved in return?'

'I think, Jean, you will find what you want.'

'Will I, Helena?'

The sea was darker now. The last of the color was deepening reluctantly into darkness.

'We'd best be going back.'

Swinging their horses they put the sea behind them. Jean's gelding tugged at the bit, eager to be running. Helena's mare started and then both horses were running. Over the tawny hillside, still faintly tinged by rose from the sun that had set, a hill that changed as their horses ran to an inverted bowl of burnished copper against which drummed the racing hoofs. Laughing together, they cantered down the long hill and something trailed off behind them like whispered laughter. Abruptly, as they rounded a bend, the city lay below them and a column of smoke lifted from the waterfront. Jean drew up sharply, standing in the stirrups 'It's my wheat, Helena,' he said. 'They're burning my wheat. The warehouse is going and everything in it.'

He touched the spurs to his horse. The gelding left the ground in a tremendous leap, and with Helena beside him they raced neck and neck down into the city and through the empty streets. Their hoofbeats echoed from the false-fronted buildings and thundered in the empty channels of the town, stripped of people by the demands of the fire.

Helena rode magnificently. Rounding a corner he caught the glow of reflected flames on her flushed cheeks and parted lips, and then they were running their horses down another chasm between buildings. As they thundered out upon the dock he knew this must have been a planned effort to destroy the wheat. Squads of men with buckets were wetting down the buildings around, and two long bucket brigades were passing water from the bay to the fire. One engine was working its pump near the wharf, another in the street behind the warehouse, yet he saw at once the building was doomed.

Swinging down from the foam-flecked horse, he pushed through the crowd and saw Captain Hutchins shouting to Ben Turk above the crackle of flames. Close by, Larsen and Noble were busy with a bucket brigade. 'Anybody in there?'

'No ... thank God!'

The roar of flames all but drowned the reply, and Jean watched his wheat go up in flames, the black smoke shutting out the stars and sending the dark banners of its anger streaking across the bay, shrouding the silent ship in sudden clouds, then whisking away to leave the ship standing, amazed at the sight before it.

There was no wind. Had there been wind the whole of the waterfront would have gone, and nothing could have saved Sydney Town or any part of the city back of dark's Point. Yet no wind blew, and there was only the crackling flames beating their great red palms together above the bay's black water. His first impulse was to find Zinnovy for a showdown, but this would lead to nothing and might close all doors to Russian America. Wheat was the answer. The importation of wheat into Sitka was obviously something Zinnovy wished to prevent, but it was also his own open sesame to the northern fur trade. Staring at the fire, he began to think.

Sutler had grown wheat but had none now. How about Oregon? Many farmers had settled in those fertile valleys and they would need bread. Despite its proximity less news reached California from Oregon than from Hawaii; still there was a chance. The settlers of Oregon were a more substantial lot than most Californians. There would be wheat there, there had to be wheat. Swiftly, he pushed through the crowd, searching for Barney Kohl. When he found him Kohl was standing with the new second mate. 'Tomorrow night,' Jean said. 'You sail tomorrow night.'

'Without a cargo?'

'Fitzpatrick has some goods for Portland and has been looking for a vessel for a month. I don't care how you do it, but be loaded and under way by five tomorrow afternoon.'

'If you say so,' Kohl said. 'Damn it, man. I was ready for Alaska. I was all ready.'

'You'll go ... but meet me in Portland first.'

Oregon ... Jean watched the wall of the warehouse fall in, saw the flames and the smoke puff up, saw the great smoldering ball of his wheat. Sparks showered upward. No need to think of that. What was done was done. He went swiftly to his horse and swung into the saddle. 'Helena'--he turned the gelding--'I'm taking you home. Tell Count Rotcheff he'll have his wheat in Sitka as promised. Tell him not to worry.'

'But how?'

'Leave that to me.' They were walking their horses away from the fire. 'I wish I knew I'd see you again. I wish--' 'So do I,' she said simply. 'Oh, Jean! I do, I do!'

At the door of the house on Rincon Hill he helped her from the saddle and watched the boy lead the horse away. For a moment they stood together before the empty eyes of the dark building. He could hear her breathing, smell of the faint perfume she wore and which he would never forget. Together they looked back at the red glow of the dying fire. 'It's been a good day,' he said at last, 'a good, good day.'

'Even with that?' she gestured.

'Even with that.'

He gathered the reins. If he looked into her eyes he knew he would take her into his arms, so hastily he stepped into the saddle. She took his hand briefly. 'What is it they say here, Jean? Vaya con dios?' He felt the quick pressure of her fingers before she released them. 'I say it now, Jean. Go with God. Go with God, Jean.'

At his rooms he paused only a moment, throwing things into his saddlebags, packing some small bags of gold, filling a money belt. He took his rifle and his spare pistol, then for a long moment he stared at the map. He would not see that map for a long time.

There was a rush of feet on the stairs. Hand on his gun, he swung wide the door.

It was Ben Turk.

'I knew it!' Ben was ready for the trail. 'You're riding! I'm comin' along.' 'I'll travel faster alone. You go to the schooner.' He stuffed extra ammunition into the saddlebags.

'Nothing doing. I ride along or I quit. There's nowhere you can go that I can't.'

Turk was a good man, a very good man, but ... 'All right. We leave our horses at the river landing. We're taking the first boat for Sacramento, and if you can't ride a thousand miles you'd best head for the schooner.' Ben Turk stared at him. 'Mister LaBarge ... Cap'n, you ... you ain't goin' to ride to Portland?'

'It worries you?'

'There ain't no trail, Cap'n! The Modocs will kill a man as fast as look at him!

That's outlaw country. Why, man--I'm comin' with you!'

'You're inviting yourself. You're a damn fool.'

'Why, now.' Ben chuckled. 'I just figure we're a couple of damn fools.'

The riverboat was already moving when they raced their horses onto the dock. Jean swung his horse