5 Pickax Flat

The early-morning sky was already bright above Pickax Flat. Only a few small white clouds floated by. Bo-Bo and Sheng had left home when it was still dark. The town stood on level ground among the hills. The road under Bo-Bo’s paws changed from dust and pebbles to hard-packed dirt.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” someone neighed. A hoof clopped down right next to Bo-Bo’s paw! “Get out from underfoot,” said the horse who had nearly flattened her into a flapjack.

“Sorry,” Bo-Bo woofed. The horse had already stomped on, led by a man in a tall hat.

There was so much going on in town, Bo-Bo never knew where to look. Men bustled in and out of the low buildings. There was a saloon with a rooming house next to it, a general store, and a blacksmith.

Halfway down the street, right in the middle of the road, stood a wagon. A man with a bushy, light brown beard walked back and forth in front of it. He yelled and waved his arms.

“Come see the best show this side of the Sierra mountains!” he shouted. “Only twenty-five cents to see the greatest fight of the year!”

Bo-Bo stared. In a cage on the wagon was a grizzly bear. It was bigger than Father and Uncle Gwan put together. It pushed its muzzle through the bars and snarled. Bo-Bo jumped. Men scurried back from the cage.

Bo-Bo pressed up against Sheng’s leg. Sheng kept one hand curled around the little leather bag of gold dust in his pocket. Bo-Bo knew he hated going to town and talking to Mr. Smeets.

Mr. Smeets collected taxes from a small desk in the general store. A line of men waited outside. They were all from China, like Sheng and his family. Sheng took a deep breath and joined them. He was the only boy there.

The door to the store burst open. A Chinese man stumbled out. Mr. Smeets strode out after him.

“I don’t care why you can’t pay the tax!” Mr. Smeets said. “You don’t pay the three dollars, you don’t keep your claim.”

“Just a few more days,” the man pleaded. Like all the Chinese miners, he spoke English to Mr. Smeets.

“The tax is due now,” Mr. Smeets said. “Get out of here. Or else.”

He shoved the man hard and the man stumbled again. The man tried to keep his head up. He walked down the street and out of town.

Mr. Smeets looked at everyone in line.

“I think I’ll have my breakfast,” he said. “You foreigners don’t mind waiting, do you?” He gave them all a nasty grin. Bo-Bo could feel Sheng tense. She worked hard not to growl. But she could glare.

“I think I’ll have myself some Hangtown fry,” Mr. Smeets said. Bo-Bo’s mouth watered. Hangtown fry was made of bacon, oysters, and eggs. It was so expensive, she knew she’d never get to taste it.

Mr. Smeets started to saunter across the street. He didn’t see Bo-Bo. He tripped right over her.

“What the—?!” he yelled. He tried to kick her but missed. A large piece of paper fell out of his jacket. He snatched it quickly from the ground. He looked around suspiciously.

“Keep this animal away from me!” he said. He straightened his jacket and walked toward the saloon.

Sheng crouched down and put his arm around Bo-Bo. “Sorry, girl,” he said softly. She rubbed his cheek with her nose. It wasn’t his fault.

Bo-Bo was thirsty. She saw a water trough for horses down the street.

But the trough was right near the bear’s wagon.

It’s okay, she told herself. That bear’s in a cage. It can’t hurt me.

She padded to the trough and nosed her way between the horses. She stood on her hind legs and put her paws on the edge of the trough. She drank. It was delicious.

“That man will starve to death for sure,” muttered the horse who had almost stepped on Bo-Bo.

“Yep,” the stallion next to her neighed. “No claim, no gold, no nothing.”

The horses seemed to know a lot about what happened in town. Bo-Bo swallowed a big slurp of water.

“Why do they care if people come from China?” she asked the mare. “What difference does it make?”

“Who knows,” the mare answered. “But they do care. They get upset when someone looks different, or talks differently, or eats different food. And then there’s the gold. Makes people want more and more, and makes them hate each other. Seems like nonsense to me, but that’s people for you.”

Bo-Bo heard someone shouting.

It was the bearded man in front of the wagon. “Watch the most spectacular bear fight you have ever seen!” he cried. “This freshly caught grizzly pitted against the famous bull, Columbia! The ferocious bull arrives first thing tomorrow morning!”

The cage was a box with heavy bars on all sides. There was no way the bear could smash it open. She paced back and forth as much as she could in the small space. Every time she tried to turn around, she had to shuffle awkwardly. How terrible, thought Bo-Bo.

“Not recently fed or watered!” cried the man with the brown beard. He walked away from the wagon to some men farther down the street. “She’s ready to fight!”

Bo-Bo was afraid of bears. All smart animals were. But to keep one hungry and thirsty so she would fight? And in a cage? That was just wrong.

The grizzly stopped pacing. She stared at Bo-Bo. Bo-Bo froze. The bear grunted, “Come here, dog.”