his room. She wore the loose cotton trousers, shirt, and thigh-length jacket of the Chinese miners, the sort she herself had sewn for them. On her back was a sack with one pot, matches, balls of tsampa wrapped in oil paper, and a coat to keep the rain and cold off. It also held her nun’s robes. For the first time in more than ten years she was not swathed in her robes. Her head was no longer shaven. Her hair, longer now, was pigtailed like a man’s. She would be walking to Salt Lake City not as a Tibetan woman but as a Chinese man.
Will walking the wrong direction fool them? She smiled to herself, and touched the knife handle in her waistband. If not, I must be ready .
Then her mind spun. How fierce am I? How much of the spirit of Mahakala do I have? She did not permit herself to frame consciously her main fear about this deceptive route. It was toward the Mormons. Porter Rockwell lived among the Mormons. She fingered her scar. He will know me by this .
She touched the brim of her felt hat nervously. Salt Lake is the best way. They’ll be looking for a woman, not a man. And they rape women, not men .
She glided like a shadow to the boards beneath the pile of kindling. Tarim always kept kindling next to the stove, even now that the weather was warming and they didn’t always build a morning fire to take the mountain chill off. Not for weeks had Sun Moon figured out that the floor puncheons there came up, and one of Tarim’s hiding places was underneath. A quarter moon ago she had opened the hiding place at this hour, and found gold, bags of dust and coin.
Quietly she stacked the kindling in a neat pile to one side. When she had the bags out, she faced her first decision as a thief—dust or coins? With a deep breath she decided on coins. With dust most storekeepers cheated you—Tarim grew his fingernails very long so he would wedge dust in them when he handled it. How much? Earlier she had thought fifty dollars, what a Chinese miner earned in three moons. But…
She had to eat. She had to pay for the stagecoach from Salt Lake City to San Francisco, and the passage from there to China. Tarim had complained several times that he had spent a thousand dollars to bring her across the ocean.
The more she took, though, the angrier Tarim would get. The more she took, maybe, the harder the sheriff of Hard Rock City and all the other sheriffs between here and San Francisco would look for her.
Tarim, would you be angry as a demon if I didn’t take a penny? Would the law chase a woman of the Middle Kingdom just as hard for two cents as two hundred dollars?
Dr. Harville had told her how it worked. The master charged that the escaped servant was a thief. The law brought the servant back. The master posted bail, took the servant, and dropped the charges.
I will not be coming back .
She wondered if Tarim would tell the white men to kill her if necessary. She thought he would. He loved his pride even more than his money.
She counted ten of the ten-dollar gold pieces into her hand. I cannot do it . She put all but one coin back. She replaced the puncheons and stacked the wood as she had found it. Faith, she told herself. Stagecoach? Ship? Faith .
She walked like a phantom behind the counter of the store and gota sack full of barley and dried meat to go with it. She didn’t like the dried meat—jerky, they called it—but it would last. At least she would have tsampa, the food of her own people.
She hesitated. Finally she opened the case containing the derringer, what Tarim called the ladies’ gun. It had two barrels, two shots. She picked it up, held it, felt of it. The metal was cold. Sun is Moon. Death is life .
She put the gun in the waistband of her pants.
She slid to the back door, barely opened it, and looked out the crack. Maybe this isn’t the time . When would the whores find Tarim? How much of a start would she have?
She shook her head hard. This is the time. Go!
A thin arc of silver gleamed in the sky,
Will walking the wrong direction fool them? She smiled to herself, and touched the knife handle in her waistband. If not, I must be ready .
Then her mind spun. How fierce am I? How much of the spirit of Mahakala do I have? She did not permit herself to frame consciously her main fear about this deceptive route. It was toward the Mormons. Porter Rockwell lived among the Mormons. She fingered her scar. He will know me by this .
She touched the brim of her felt hat nervously. Salt Lake is the best way. They’ll be looking for a woman, not a man. And they rape women, not men .
She glided like a shadow to the boards beneath the pile of kindling. Tarim always kept kindling next to the stove, even now that the weather was warming and they didn’t always build a morning fire to take the mountain chill off. Not for weeks had Sun Moon figured out that the floor puncheons there came up, and one of Tarim’s hiding places was underneath. A quarter moon ago she had opened the hiding place at this hour, and found gold, bags of dust and coin.
Quietly she stacked the kindling in a neat pile to one side. When she had the bags out, she faced her first decision as a thief—dust or coins? With a deep breath she decided on coins. With dust most storekeepers cheated you—Tarim grew his fingernails very long so he would wedge dust in them when he handled it. How much? Earlier she had thought fifty dollars, what a Chinese miner earned in three moons. But…
She had to eat. She had to pay for the stagecoach from Salt Lake City to San Francisco, and the passage from there to China. Tarim had complained several times that he had spent a thousand dollars to bring her across the ocean.
The more she took, though, the angrier Tarim would get. The more she took, maybe, the harder the sheriff of Hard Rock City and all the other sheriffs between here and San Francisco would look for her.
Tarim, would you be angry as a demon if I didn’t take a penny? Would the law chase a woman of the Middle Kingdom just as hard for two cents as two hundred dollars?
Dr. Harville had told her how it worked. The master charged that the escaped servant was a thief. The law brought the servant back. The master posted bail, took the servant, and dropped the charges.
I will not be coming back .
She wondered if Tarim would tell the white men to kill her if necessary. She thought he would. He loved his pride even more than his money.
She counted ten of the ten-dollar gold pieces into her hand. I cannot do it . She put all but one coin back. She replaced the puncheons and stacked the wood as she had found it. Faith, she told herself. Stagecoach? Ship? Faith .
She walked like a phantom behind the counter of the store and gota sack full of barley and dried meat to go with it. She didn’t like the dried meat—jerky, they called it—but it would last. At least she would have tsampa, the food of her own people.
She hesitated. Finally she opened the case containing the derringer, what Tarim called the ladies’ gun. It had two barrels, two shots. She picked it up, held it, felt of it. The metal was cold. Sun is Moon. Death is life .
She put the gun in the waistband of her pants.
She slid to the back door, barely opened it, and looked out the crack. Maybe this isn’t the time . When would the whores find Tarim? How much of a start would she have?
She shook her head hard. This is the time. Go!
A thin arc of silver gleamed in the sky,
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