Free Silver in the Blood by George G. Gilman

chair. "I apologize for the gun, Mr. Edge," he said as Edge sat down, beginning to feel the numbness of the night ride in the mountains ebb from him. "But I heard you were a fast man in a dangerous situation. You seeing Anatali again might have made you nervous."
    "I never get nervous," Edge answered, watching Wilder more closely, trying to anticipate his line of thought.
    Wilder cracked his mouth in a crooked smile. "Wrong choice of word. Perhaps I should have said apprehensive?"
    Edge took the makings of a cigarette from his shirt pocket and began to roll a cylinder. "You're the one with the literary mind," he pointed out.
    Wilder refused to have his confidence shaken by Edge's quiet lack of response. "I have a proposition to put to you, Mr. Edge."
    "I get claustrophobia down mines," Edge answered.
    "The silver's out," Wilder said. "We dug out the ore before the inside of Davidson Mountain began to flood. It's been through the stamp mill and smelting plant and now it's in neat little blocks ready loaded on a wagon."
    Edge scratched a match along the front of the desk and set fire to his cigarette. Anatali took a step forward, but Wilder held him back with a raised hand. "I saw a piece of the town on the way here," Edge said. "I noticed the Pioneer Stage Line's got an office a few blocks away. Wells Fargo's here, too. And one of your local historians told me awhile back that Crocker's brought the Central Pacific almost to your front stoop."
    Wilder smiled. "I don't trust railroads, Mr. Edge. Don't trust the Chinese labor to build them properly. And freight lines ain't safe for big hauls. Sierras are thick with outlaws. Couple of wagons on the trail are likely to attract less attention."
    Edge drew deeply against his cigarette. "Thought you made mention of just one wagon at first?"
    "One with the silver aboard," Wilder answered. "Second one's for Martha."
    Edge said nothing. His expression spoke volumes of what he thought about escorting a woman across dangerous country.
    Wilder brightened his smile. "I'd like you to take the wagons to San Francisco. There's a clipper waiting there. Soon as Martha and the silver are aboard she'll set sail for China."
    "Thought you didn't trust Chinese."
    "I don't. That's why Martha's going to take care of my Oriental investments."
    "Why me?" Edge asked as the soft sound of distant music filtered into the room. A young girl in a waitress outfit entered the office, carrying a tray loaded with coffeepot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two cups in saucers. Edge noted they were made of silver and china.
    The coffee smelled as good as the girl looked.
    "I need a hard man," Wilder answered. "But one with a sense of honor. When Anatali came back and told me about you I knew you were hard. And if you came to tell me about Anatali it figured you were honorable."
    "I didn't intend to give you the money back," Edge pointed out.
    "You didn't steal it from me. If you take the job you can keep it. And Martha will draw a like amount from my bank in San Francisco at the end of the trip."
    Edge looked at the waitress, blonde and pretty and looking lost standing just inside the door with the heavy tray. He was heading for San Francisco anyway. To arrive with a stake of five thousand dollars wouldn't be a hardship. "Why don't you send him?" Edge asked, jerking his cigarette towards the Zulu.
    "I am," Wilder said, indicating the girl should rest the tray on his desk. His unequal eyes looked hard into Edge's face. "But he's a greenhorn in the West. I won him off an English cardsharp. The gambler mistreated him. I don't. So he likes and respects me. He couldn't find his way through the mountains. But he'll keep a damn sharp eye on the man I choose to take the wagons."
    There was a silver ashtray on Wilder's desk and Edge used it to stub out his cigarette. He looked at Anatali. "I could draw faster than you could pick up  that Whitney, Mr. Wilder," he said slowly. "That way I'd have two-and-a-half grand, and no sweat for