and tossed the towel aside. The mirror he placed more gently on the stool.
Someone yelled to him, and Grey scanned the square to identify the source of the shout. He saw George Pettigrew standing outside the El Dorado, waving miners inside with promises of riches beyond their imaginings. Of course they would have to part with a small fortune if they were ever to reap any riches. George didn't explain that outright, but the miners weren't naive. They knew what to expect inside the El Dorado's rough-hewn walls and behind the muslin curtains. The gaming was run fairly most of the time, and the women were as comely as any in the city. For fifty dollars in gold dust a miner could be shown to one of the small interior rooms that were set off from the main gaming hall. A thin muslin curtain would drop back in place to provide a modicum of privacy for the miner and his lady of the evening. The fact that the encounter lasted about fifteen minutes, and the lady would service a dozen more men before the night was through, really didn't matter. For a quarter of an hour the pan-handlers were able to forget their losses at the table, their sweethearts in Ohio, and their played-out mines.
Grey nodded in George's direction. "Get them while you can, George," he shouted. "When the Phoenix is done they won't step inside the El Dorado."
"That's a fact," George agreed good-naturedly. His teeth flashed whitely in his dark face as he smiled broadly. "Then I come work for you. People can't refuse Ol' George."
"That's a fact," Grey called back. "You come and see me in two weeks."
"Yes, sir. I surely will." He eyed a group of miners beginning to shuffle off to another gaming house and corralled them in. "Right this way, gentlemen. Don't mind sayin' the El Dorado will be happy to let you leave with more gold dust in your pockets than when you came. Just step in—"
Smiling, Grey turned away and opened the flap to his tent. When he had staked this small lot for his tent the other gambling-house owners just shook their heads at his folly. They elected to rebuild fast and add amenities as they became available. At risk was losing customers to the rival gaming hells.
There was nothing wrong with their strategy, Grey thought, but he wanted something that stood a chance of surviving the next inferno. That required more time than the usual three weeks it took to rebuild the city. He also believed there was more than enough gold dust to be scattered around, and that it would still be there when the Phoenix was ready. Proof of it could be found after every fire, when hundreds of tiny gold nuggets appeared under the charred foundations of the gambling houses. The intense heat from the fires fused the dust that miners dropped at the tables while they played. It filtered through the floorboards, and it was seldom recovered except after a fire.
Grey had considered that problem when he started reconstruction on the Phoenix. Carpets under the gaming tables were the answer. The gold dust could be beaten out and recovered. He was expecting his carpets from the Orient any day, along with the mirrors and draperies. He still remained hopeful that he would receive them because his cargo was being carried by Remington clippers.
The bay was littered with ships now. Prior to the discovery of gold two years ago, Yerba Buena Cove was not on the route of most shipping lines. Hudson's Bay Company had given up years earlier after trying to establish commercial trade there. In spite of the accessibility of its natural harbor, there was nothing to draw profitable enterprise or a population. The settlement was tents, shanties, adobe huts, and a Franciscan Mission two and one-half miles southwest of the cove. The few hundred citizens were managed by the Alcalde in those days and they were more aligned with Mexico than the United States. It wasn't until 1847, six months after the American flag was raised in the Plaza, that Yerba Buena Cove was renamed San Francisco, the Plaza
Someone yelled to him, and Grey scanned the square to identify the source of the shout. He saw George Pettigrew standing outside the El Dorado, waving miners inside with promises of riches beyond their imaginings. Of course they would have to part with a small fortune if they were ever to reap any riches. George didn't explain that outright, but the miners weren't naive. They knew what to expect inside the El Dorado's rough-hewn walls and behind the muslin curtains. The gaming was run fairly most of the time, and the women were as comely as any in the city. For fifty dollars in gold dust a miner could be shown to one of the small interior rooms that were set off from the main gaming hall. A thin muslin curtain would drop back in place to provide a modicum of privacy for the miner and his lady of the evening. The fact that the encounter lasted about fifteen minutes, and the lady would service a dozen more men before the night was through, really didn't matter. For a quarter of an hour the pan-handlers were able to forget their losses at the table, their sweethearts in Ohio, and their played-out mines.
Grey nodded in George's direction. "Get them while you can, George," he shouted. "When the Phoenix is done they won't step inside the El Dorado."
"That's a fact," George agreed good-naturedly. His teeth flashed whitely in his dark face as he smiled broadly. "Then I come work for you. People can't refuse Ol' George."
"That's a fact," Grey called back. "You come and see me in two weeks."
"Yes, sir. I surely will." He eyed a group of miners beginning to shuffle off to another gaming house and corralled them in. "Right this way, gentlemen. Don't mind sayin' the El Dorado will be happy to let you leave with more gold dust in your pockets than when you came. Just step in—"
Smiling, Grey turned away and opened the flap to his tent. When he had staked this small lot for his tent the other gambling-house owners just shook their heads at his folly. They elected to rebuild fast and add amenities as they became available. At risk was losing customers to the rival gaming hells.
There was nothing wrong with their strategy, Grey thought, but he wanted something that stood a chance of surviving the next inferno. That required more time than the usual three weeks it took to rebuild the city. He also believed there was more than enough gold dust to be scattered around, and that it would still be there when the Phoenix was ready. Proof of it could be found after every fire, when hundreds of tiny gold nuggets appeared under the charred foundations of the gambling houses. The intense heat from the fires fused the dust that miners dropped at the tables while they played. It filtered through the floorboards, and it was seldom recovered except after a fire.
Grey had considered that problem when he started reconstruction on the Phoenix. Carpets under the gaming tables were the answer. The gold dust could be beaten out and recovered. He was expecting his carpets from the Orient any day, along with the mirrors and draperies. He still remained hopeful that he would receive them because his cargo was being carried by Remington clippers.
The bay was littered with ships now. Prior to the discovery of gold two years ago, Yerba Buena Cove was not on the route of most shipping lines. Hudson's Bay Company had given up years earlier after trying to establish commercial trade there. In spite of the accessibility of its natural harbor, there was nothing to draw profitable enterprise or a population. The settlement was tents, shanties, adobe huts, and a Franciscan Mission two and one-half miles southwest of the cove. The few hundred citizens were managed by the Alcalde in those days and they were more aligned with Mexico than the United States. It wasn't until 1847, six months after the American flag was raised in the Plaza, that Yerba Buena Cove was renamed San Francisco, the Plaza
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