The Sheriff. Nan Ryan

aged aunt and therefore your great-aunt—has passed away in San Francisco. She has left all that was hers to you.”

      Stunned, Kate said, “Why? I didn’t know her. Never corresponded. I never even met her, so why…?”

      “The elderly widow had no children. With the exception of Nelson, you are her next of kin. You and your brother, Gregory. However, Arielle made no provision for Gregory. Now, to tell the truth, I don’t know if you’ve inherited anything of real value. The old lady was quite secretive.” The attorney shrugged.

      Kate nodded.

      “However—” he shoved a printed handbill across the polished desk “—as you probably know, a great deal of gold has been brought out of the Sierra Nevadas of California in the last five years.”

      “Yes, I’ve heard about the gold rush. Who hasn’t?”

      J. J. Clement said, “You have fallen heir to a house of sorts. I understand it has not been lived in for the past five years. And there is a claim to a California gold mine that may or may not be worthless.” He handed Kate a map indicating the mine’s location.

      “The house? It’s in the mountains of California?”

      “Yes, the house and the mine are both high up in the Sierra Nevadas in a mining camp called Fortune,” said the attorney. “I’ve no idea what Fortune, California, is like, but I would imagine it’s one of those primitive tent cities populated by hardscrabble miners hoping to strike it rich.” He shook his head.

      “But if my great-aunt built a house there, then surely—”

      Interrupting, he said, “As I told you, Kate, it has been abandoned for years. Obviously, your great-aunt deserted the house and the camp for a good reason.”

      “I suppose so,” Kate grudgingly conceded.

      “Child,” said the kindly attorney, “I’m aware of your financial woes. Your uncle has been a friend as well as a client for many years. I’d like to be of help.”

      Lips parted, Kate stared at him. “That’s very kind, Mr. Clement.”

      “Tell you what, I’ll have our California agent, Harry Conlin, take the claim and the property off your hands and—”

      “No,” she interrupted. “It is not for sale. I’ll just hold on to it for the time being.”

      She rose to leave, fastening her cape under her chin. J. J. Clement came to his feet.

      Kate said, “When I lose my dear uncle Nelson, there’ll be nothing holding me here. Who knows?” She picked up the printed handbill. “I might just head West.”

      Two

      Kate hurried home with the plat map and the will rolled up and tucked under her arm. She could hardly wait to show both to her uncle Nelson. No doubt he would be as surprised as she that a woman whom Kate had never met had left everything to her.

      She smiled as she envisioned her uncle putting on his spectacles and studying the documents while she knelt beside his easy chair and stretched her hands out to the warmth of the small fire.

      Nose cold, cheeks red, Kate reached the rented rooms and hurried inside, calling her uncle’s name.

      “Uncle Nelson, you are not going to believe this!” she exclaimed loudly as she removed her woolen cape, hung it on the coat tree and rushed across the room toward his chair. Mildly annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to turn around when she’d come in, she continued, “My great-aunt—that mysterious lady you have told me about, Mrs. Arielle VanNam Colfax—has passed away out in San Francisco and left me a…I have her will here and…and…” Kate stopped speaking.

      She was beginning to frown when she reached Uncle Nelson’s chair and the old man still had not responded.

      “Uncle, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, and gently touched his shoulder. He fell forward in his chair. Kate immediately dropped the documents and sank to her knees before him, grabbing hold of his upper arms. “You’re ill,” she said, “that’s it. You’re not feeling well. I’ll just run and get Dr. Barnes and he’ll fix you right up. You’ll be good as new and…no…No, Uncle Nelson, no!” Kate murmured, not wanting to believe that the kind man who had been mother and father, friend and protector, was dead. Gently, she leaned him back in his chair and closed his sightless eyes as tears filled her own.

      When finally she dried her eyes, she saw that her uncle was clutching a piece of neatly folded bond paper in his right hand. She carefully removed the document and laid it aside without looking at it.

      Long minutes passed while she sat on the floor with her forehead on her uncle’s knee. Finally, eyes red from weeping, Kate rose to her feet, took a deep breath, and immediately went about the unpleasant task of seeing to it that her beloved relative was taken to the undertaker’s parlor around the corner.

      Afterward, when she returned home alone, Kate paced the chilly room, wondering how she could possibly give her uncle the kind of funeral he deserved. She had no money. And she had too much pride to ask for help from her uncle’s few close friends.

      Despairing, Kate sat down in her uncle’s chair and leaned her head back. The fire in the grate had died. It was cold in the room. She shivered and rubbed her arms. It seemed she could never get warm.

      Kate turned to look for the blanket she’d had earlier, and suddenly noticed the folded sheet of heavy bond stationery her uncle had been clutching when she’d found him.

      She reached for it and carefully unfolded it.

      She read and reread the message. In his neat, distinctive hand, Nelson VanNam had told his niece where the last of his cash was hidden, along with a pearl-handled Navy Colt pistol he treasured.

      Kate refolded the letter and put it in the pocket of her dress. She went into the tiny alcove where her uncle had slept, and removed a battered tin box from beneath a loose floorboard at the foot of his bed. When she opened the box, Kate’s eyes widened. The heavy pistol rested atop neat stacks of cash.

      Kate hurried to the dining table and placed the box there. She lifted out the pearl-handled Colt revolver and gently laid it down. Then she took the stacks of bills from the box and carefully counted them.

      Immediately, Kate felt as if an unbearably heavy load had been lifted from her shoulders. There was more than enough money to give her uncle a proper burial.

      And to get her all the way to Fortune, California.

      “You simply cannot do this,” warned Kate’s best friend, Alexandra Wharton. “A woman does not go alone across the country from Boston to California. It isn’t safe. No telling what might happen to you.”

      “I’m not going across the country, Alex,” Kate said, and affectionately hugged the frowning Alexandra.

      The two women had been friends since the days both had attended the Willingham Academy, an expensive private school for young ladies where they had learned the difference between a lemon fork and an oyster fork and how to converse in French. While Alexandra still enjoyed a privileged life with wealthy parents, she continued to count Kate as her best friend and an equal in every way.

      “But, Kate,” Alexandra said now, “California is on the other side of America. You will have to travel across the country.”

      “No, I won’t,” Kate merrily corrected. “I’m going by ship!”

      “Oh, you know very well what I mean,” scolded Alexandra.

      “Yes, of course I do. Ah, Alex, don’t look so grim. No terrible fate will befall me.” Kate pulled back and smiled reassuringly at her friend.

      “You don’t know that to be true. Even if you travel by ship, the horn is treacherous and—”

      Interrupting, Kate shook her head and