Gold Dreams

By Connie Cockrell

When Zeke Stanford strikes gold in the heart of Arizona, he is elated. Now he can provide for his Mary and prove to her parents that he’s not the no-good drifter they think him to be.
But when news gets out around town despite his precautions, this blessing soon threatens to turn into a curse—between the claim-jumpers and the Apache and other threats, he’s soon forced to get his hands dirty with blood rather than dirt.
It’s when his Mary shows up nearly unannounced from Santa Rosa that the stakes really ramp up, and Zeke will have to find a way to keep her safe in this Wild West tale of one man’s struggle to have it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Cockrell
• Release date: Aug 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463235171

Connie Cockrell

A 20-year Air Force career, time as a manager at a computer operations company, wife, mother, sister and volunteer, provides a rich background for Connie Cockrell’s story-telling.Cockrell grew up in upstate NY, just outside of Gloversville, NY before she joined the military at age 18. Having lived in Europe, Great Britain, and several places around the United States, she now lives in Payson, AZ with her husband: hiking, gardening, and playing bunko. She writes about whatever comes into her head so her books could be in any genre. She's published fourteen books so far, has been included in five different anthologies and been published on EveryDayStories.com. Connie's always on the lookout for a good story idea. Beware, you may be the next one.She can be found at www.conniesrandomthoughts.com or on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/ConniesRandomThoughts or on Twitter at: @ConnieCockrell

Book preview

It Begins

Zeke Stanford pushed open the doors to the Oxbow Saloon and stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. His donkey, carrying what he needed for the trip into the tiny Arizona town of Payson, was tied to the hitching post in the mid-day Arizona sun but Zeke wanted a beer. Right now.

He left the door and walked to the bar. Beer.

Just get in, Zeke?

Yeah, Earl. Just want to cut the dust before I go to the assay office.

Earl put the mug of beer, foam dripping down the side, in front of Zeke, his eyebrow raised.

Zeke picked it up and drained half of it in one swallow. Ohhhh. His eyes closed as he savored the brew. That hits the spot.

You find something?

Zeke opened his eyes to look hard at Earl. Maybe. He drained the rest of the beer. See ya later. He dropped a coin on the bar and left.

Back out in the sun he untied the donkey and pulled the lead rein. The donkey snorted and balked. Come on, Jenny. We’ll go to the assay office, then the barn, all right?

The animal shook itself, dust rising from it in great clouds. Jenny snorted again, then allowed herself to be led. Zeke had an itch between his shoulder blades. He looked around the dirt street. There were a few men on the porches of the Oxbow and the bar next door and the one across the street. It didn't seem as though they were watching him any more than anything else moving on the hot, dusty street. Earl's question had raised his hackles, though. It didn't happen often but claim jumpers could be anywhere and Zeke had worked too hard to trust anyone right now.

He tied Jenny to the hitching post outside the assay office, then glanced up and down the street once more and went inside. A man sat at a wooden table with a ledger open in front of him, making an entry with a fountain pen, the gold tip glinting in the sunlight coming through the dusty window. Howdy. The man capped the pen and looked up expectantly.

I have a sample for you to test. Zeke glanced out the window, then at the door behind him before he put a dusty burlap sack on the desk. It thudded on the wooden surface and slumped over as the contents inside shifted.

Well, young man. The assay man stood up. I'm John Markum. Let's see what you have.

Zeke Stanford. Zeke watched as John took the bag to a workbench where there was a scale and glass-stoppered bottles of liquids.

John opened the bag and pulled out a fist-sized chunk of quartz. He put it on a scale and added and took away weights until the scale balanced. He turned to look at Zeke. Could be gold. The weight seems right. He picked up the rock and placed it in a metal pan. I'll have to run a test, of course, to tell you how rich the strike might be. I'll keep the sack and run a test on several samples.

Zeke's heart was racing but he wanted to keep a clear head here. He'd seen men whoopin' and hollerin' about their strike. Next thing they were dead a few miles from town, their pack animals and equipment gone. Zeke eyed the assay man. Good. You have the papers here to file a claim?

I do, young man. I do. He walked to his table and the filing cabinet underneath it. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, placing it on the tabletop. John pushed his ledger to the side. Have a seat son.

Zeke sat down in the wooden chair opposite Markum.

You read?

Yes, sir.

Well this says that you're filing a mining claim. You have to put down the location or it won't be official.

Zeke nodded. It made sense but he was still reluctant to reveal the mine location. He picked up the fountain pen and studied the tip. Someday it might be my gold that makes these nibs. John pointed out where to put the location. Zeke hesitated, pen hovering over the spot on the paper. He handed the pen back. I think I'll wait till you can tell me how the tests come out.

Fair enough, Mr. Stanford. Will there be anything else?

The miner pulled a small leather sack from his inside coat pocket. I'd like to get some cash for this. Zeke placed it gently on the tabletop. He watched Markum study the sack. The afternoon sunlight made the dust motes around the assayer sparkle. Zeke had spent long hours panning the cold creek, searching for the mother lode the gold dust and tiny nuggets had come from. The sack of gold-bearing quartz was proof he'd found the spot. The dust would, hopefully, pay some bills until better arrangements could be made.

Markum reached for the sack and hefted it in his hand. He nodded and stood up, walking over to the scale once more. He poured the contents onto the bowl of the scale. He adjusted the weights until the scale balanced. He turned to look at Zeke. Could be gold. The weight seems right. He picked up the bowl of the scale and took a pinch of the contents and placed it in a glass bowl. John selected a glass bottle from the bench and, with great care, poured a little of the liquid into the glass bowl. It began to fizz, the gold specks dancing around in the few drops of liquid, a little smoke coming from the bowl.

Is it supposed to do that?

John grinned. It is if you want your sample to be gold.

Zeke grinned back. I'd like to cash that in.

Markum frowned. I’d like to help you out, son, but it’s what they call a conflict of interest. You can take that sack to the bank. Albert Hennesy is the banker, he’ll give you an honest price. Tell him I sent you. He handed Zeke the sack. The money you get should last a while, if you're careful. He raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window toward the bars.

I understand, Mr. Markum. I have plans, but they don't include buying drinks for the town. Zeke stood and shook hands with the assayer, a little light-headed. It seemed too easy after all of the digging and shoring up and cold nights.

That'll be twenty dollars. You know where to stay?

I usually stay at Mrs. Entrada's boarding house. It's clean and not expensive. She gives a dinner along with the room. Zeke pulled out the coins and handed them to Mr. Markum. Appreciate the help. I take it this business between us is private?

Aye. I wouldn't be in business long if I told everything I know.

They shook hands again. Thanks.

Zeke left the office and pulled Jenny along the street. He wanted a bath and a good dinner. He thought about all the things he could do with the gold. A nice house for his ma. Ranch hands for his pa. Yep, that was something to look forward to in his gold dream. But first, a stop at the bank.

Zeke walked to Mrs. Entrada's house after talking with Mr. Hennesy. The weight of the coins in his pocket was reassuring. Before he'd died, Mr. Entrada was a rancher. Mrs. Entrada had sold the ranch and all of the stock and had a three-story Victorian house built on five acres of land here at the edge of town. Zeke would board Jenny there, out of mischief's way. Mrs. Entrada's man, Cesar, was a fine hand with the donkey.

Zeke tied the donkey to the hitching post in front of the house and went to the front door, twisting the bell in the center.