Easy Pickings by Richard S. Wheeler Page A

and fine you two dollars and confiscate anything you possess and evict you from this peaceful community. That’s all I have to say.”
    He rose.
    â€œDon’t ever propose marriage,” she said, and laughed.
    It was so unexpected and gamey that all she could do was whoop. He turned red, his rheumy eyes blazed, and she could see he itched to pitch her into the cell then and there. But some sobriety returned, and he simply nodded curtly.
    â€œYou might lock yourself up and fine yourself and banish yourself from Marysville,” she said, stepping into fresh spring air.
    She headed for the assay office, hoping Mr. Wittgenstein had returned. She entered, which triggered a cowbell, and soon enough he emerged from a small rear room, dressed in his laboratory smock once again.
    â€œWell, well, Mrs. McPhee,” he said, uncertainly.
    â€œI wish to thank you for paying your respects,” she said.
    â€œHe was a remarkable man, Mrs. McPhee. And had he lived, I believe he would have prospered. The mine was getting better and better.”
    â€œIt is for sale, sir. Do you know of a reputable buyer?”
    â€œI’d buy it myself if I had the means. But you may be in for a difficult time, because the mouth has been blown shut and there are parties who’ll do whatever they can to prevent a sale, and delay or discourage you in every way.”
    She stared.
    â€œI think you know that,” he said gently.
    â€œI think my little eulogy reached the right ears,” she said.
    At that point some understanding passed between them.
    â€œFollowing the burial, the constable invited me to his warren and told me I’m a vagrant and will be fined and jailed if I return to Marysville.”
    Wittgenstein stared, amazed.
    â€œWell, I am a vagrant,” she said. “No home, no funds, no visible income or position or connection.”
    â€œMrs. McPhee,” he said. “You happen to possess a gold mine with great promise. People come to me all the time, offering me a reward if I reveal the tenor of the McPhee ore I’ve assayed. Only yesterday, several people approached me, nearly all of them relatives of our worthy constable. At one point, this place was broken into. Since then I’ve kept all my assays of the McPhee Mine under lock and key. I also reported the break-in to Constable Roach, telling him I’ve notified the county sheriff as well. That served as a warning.”
    His manner became very gentle, his voice low and soft.
    â€œThere are people here who mean to take the mine from you by rook or crook. Frankly, they’re a clan plus a few in-laws. They’re all in tight. Mortimer Laidlow is the godfather. He’s a careful one and always has the younger ones doing his dirty work. I’ve seen it. An assayer can’t help but see it. They’ll try to steal it, or do it with intimidation, or lawsuit, or bribery, or whatever. Actually, they were circling your husband, but he was not a man to be bullied. I confess, when I heard of his death, I wondered if it had been arranged, but that is most unlikely. He didn’t timber his shaft, even in fragmented rock, and paid a terrible price for his daring.”
    â€œI begged him to.”
    â€œOnce, he told me it’d put his mine in the red. He’d do it, after it was showing a tidy profit.”
    She felt an odd tenderness. “Mr. Wittgenstein, what should I do?”
    He shook his head. “I wish I knew. People without scruple will never cease to alarm or hurt you to get the prize. I think I would call Roach’s bluff. You might well go back there, now, and tell him you’re going to stay in town, and if he wants to arrest you, go ahead.”
    â€œAnd what if he does?”
    â€œThis town, Mrs. McPhee, would laugh the man out of office.”
    â€œUnless I rot in there undiscovered.”
    â€œI am standing ready. It happens I do the assays for the Drumlummon. A word from me will be