Free Pale Rider by Alan Dean Foster

Canyon’s about the only part of this ridge his crew hasn’t ruined yet. It’s drivin’ him crazy because we’re right in the middle of where he’s been workin’. He’s blasted out all the little creeks all around Carbon, but this stream’s the biggest in these hills and a bunch of the others all feed into it. Engineer fella in Placerville once told me Carbon’s even on the map.”
    The Preacher looked thoughtful. “No wonder he wants you folks out of here.”
    Hull nodded. “If there’s more than trace gold in these hills, I figure it’s got to be here in Carbon. So does Spider and the rest of the old-timers. But it’s gettin’ harder and harder for them to stick it out. Most of ’em don’t cotton to fighting. They’d rather give up and try somewheres else.”
    “But not you?”
    “Nope, not me. And a few others, still. They all know why Lahood wants their claims.”
    “He’s greedy for it,” said a new voice.
    Glancing over a shoulder, the Preacher saw that Megan had elected to tag along behind them. She was following at a respectful distance, but clearly still near enough to overhear. He acknowledged her presence with a half grin and was rewarded with a smile that traveled from ear to dainty ear. He turned his attention back to his host.
    “You’re clear enough about Lahood being anxious. Does he have any lawful rights to the canyon?”
    Hull shook his head, and a hint of pride crept into his voice. “Not enough for an ant to piss on. My claim’s filed proper in Sacramento, same as everybody else’s here. Bunch of us checked this creek out, had a long chat with Spider Conway, and decided to settle in here. We rode into Sacramento in a body and filed together. Can’t nobody say my claim or Cobbler’s or anybody else’s ain’t legal, ’cause we’re all witness to each other’s filin’.
    “So far Lahood’s only been able to scare people out. But if many more leave, then he’ll start buyin’ up their claims and that’ll force the rest of us out. He’ll move in here with his crew and his machines and his damn monitor, and those of us who don’t sell out to him won’t have a chance. All we’ll get in our pans and sluices is gravel.
    “Right now the only way Lahood can legally get his hands on this land is if most of us abandon it. You probably know you can’t keep title to a claim unless somebody’s workin’ it.”
    The Preacher nodded and commented wryly, “I guess he’s been kind of persausive, hasn’t he?” He gestured in the direction of those men who were packing to leave.
    “I don’t care if all of ’em quit.” Megan kicked a rock aside and spoke as she trailed along behind them. “I’m staying. Lahood killed my dog. And my grandpa, too. They can’t make me leave.”
    At the mention of the death, the Preacher’s face assumed a darker expression. “No lawman in town? No one you can take your case to? Town’s big enough to rate a sheriif.”
    Hull laughed derisively. “If there was one, Lahood’d own him like he owns practically everything else. He’d been the one most likely to do the payin’, so he’d end up nominatin’ himself to do the hirin’. I ain’t met the lawman yet who’d go up against the man payin’ him his wages. Not much a lawman could do anyways, even if we could find us an honest one. Lahood ain’t really killed anyone yet. He don’t come near Carbon Canyon except once in a while to drool over it from on top of the ridge over there.” He pointed to the southern crest, fringed with evergreens.
    “He’s mean, Lahood is, but dumb he ain’t. His hired hands do all his dirty work for him. Even if somebody did get killed, some country lawman would have a heckuva time tryin’ to pin it on Lahood.”
    “What about what Megan just said about her grandpa?”
    “Old Dad Wheeler’s heart give out after one of the raids a while back. You go up to a judge and try provin’ that Lahood’s men caused it. He was nearly eighty.” He shrugged.