CHAPTER 11 
CHAPTER 11 A banging on the door the next morning roused Jem from picking at his bowl of oatmeal. He didn’t like the sticky, hot mush even on a good day, which this one wasn’t. He hadn’t slept well last night.
The early morning callers gave him an excuse to push his breakfast away. “I’ll get it.” He sprang from his seat before anyone else at the table blinked.
Jem jerked the door open then winced. His left arm still burned from yesterday’s branding mishap. “Come in,” he told the two visitors standing on the threshold. “We’re having breakfast. You’re welcome to join us. That is, if you like oatmeal.” He made a face.
“No, thank you,” Mr. Carter said. “We’ve eaten. Although”—he looked at Chad—“you might still be hungry, Son. What do you say? Care for a bowl of mush?”
“It’s Aunt Rose’s specialty,” Jem added with a smirk.
Chad stumbled around for words. “Uh … no. No thanks. I’m good.” The look on his face showed that he hated oatmeal as much as Jem did.
Laughing, Mr. Carter clapped Chad on the back and ushered him into the small front room. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee,” he said.
Pa joined the visitors and reached out to shake the rancher’s hand. “Coffee’s hot. Come on back to the kitchen and pull up a chair.”
By the time Jem returned to the table, his oatmeal was cold and beyond eating. Aunt Rose bustled around to show the guests their seats and pour a cup of coffee for Mr. Carter. Jem used her distraction to scrape the rest of his oatmeal into the chicken bucket. The Coulters’ two dozen hens and Mordecai the rooster would soon enjoy the offering.
Jem returned to his seat and felt his cousin’s gaze boring into him. Then Nathan slipped from the table and tried the same trick.
“Nathan Frederick,” Aunt Rose scolded, returning to her place at the table. “You sit right back down and finish that mush. The very idea! Wasting good food on chickens.”
“But, Mother!” Nathan protested. He gave Jem a you-lucky-dog look. Then he slumped in his chair and choked down the rest of his breakfast.
Jem knew better than to gloat. Aunt Rose had eyes not only in the back of her head, but on each side too. As often as she caught Jem and Ellie in mischief, she clearly knew her own son much better. He never got away with anything. Jem shrugged at his cousin to show his sympathy.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?” Pa asked when his guests had settled themselves around the crowded table. “It’s mighty early in the day to be calling on folks.”
“First off, you can call me James,” the rancher replied, sipping his coffee. “Fine coffee, ma’am,” he told Aunt Rose, who beamed. Then he returned his attention to Pa, and his tone became serious. “How well do you know the Chinese miners up at the Belle diggings?”
Jem froze. He’d been about to ask if Chad wanted to go outside and give him a hand chopping firewood for this week’s deliveries. However, at the mention of the Belle diggings, Jem quickly changed his mind. He fiddled with his cold toast and took to heart his aunt’s favorite mealtime saying: “Children should not speak unless spoken to.”
Pa never paid any mind to his older sister’s attempts to enforce this bit of table etiquette. He liked to hear his children share their day. But right now, Jem knew that the less he talked, the more he’d learn.
Pa shrugged. “Casual acquaintance, I reckon. The Chinese don’t mix in much, but there’s never been any trouble between us. I know most of them by name, if that’s what you’re asking.” He paused. “Why?”
Mr. Carter scratched his chin, took another sip of coffee, and said, “Sterling and I can’t seem to agree about what’s to be done with the Belle diggings. He’s worked himself up into quite a tizzy over it. He wants those scavengers out, and he wants them out quick. I do agree that the only way to save the Midas is to somehow recover the Belle.”
A sudden chill fell over the room, even though the rising sun streamed through the kitchen window. Jem’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He exchanged a look with Chad, who stared back, unblinking. Chad probably wishes he was home branding calves rather than caught up in this mining mess.
Pa let out a long, slow breath. “You were there when Sterling and I had words the other day. You know where I stand.” He stood up. “I’ve got work to do before I head for town, and the day’s a’wastin’. So, if you’ll excuse me?”
Mr. Carter rose too. “You misunderstand me, Sheriff. I’m not asking you to go along with Sterling’s plan to drive out the scavengers. Far from it. I realize he has no claim to the Belle.” He paused. “But I may have a solution.”
Pa slowly returned to his seat. “I’m listening.”
Jem was listening too—with both ears.
“I believe the easiest way to solve this problem is to simply buy the mine.”
Jem’s eyes opened wide. A gasp nearly escaped, but he held it back. Respect for Chad’s father rose a couple of notches. What a jim-dandy idea!
Pa didn’t look as if he thought it was such a great idea. He wrinkled his brow, drummed his fingers against the table, and grunted. “You won’t get far with that idea. Ernest Sterling is not much for buying what he thinks already belongs to him.”
Mr. Carter chuckled. “You certainly know your towns-people, Sheriff. Those were practically his exact words. But no matter. I intend to buy the mine myself. I will make the Chinese a fair offer—a generous offer.”
Respect for Chad’s father rose even higher. Pretty soon, Mr. Carter would be near the top of Jem’s list of favorite people, right up there beside Pa and Strike-it-rich Sam. This rich rancher could easily run home to his fancy spread down south and leave Goldtown to worry about its future. He didn’t need the wealth from any gold mines. Why would he care enough to buy those worthless diggings just so the Midas could have its air shaft?
Pa’s eyes had widened during Mr. Carter’s words, but before he could respond, the rancher went on. “Could you go out to the diggings with me, Sheriff, when I make my offer? I’m a stranger, but the Chinese miners know you. They might listen if you ask them to. It’s worth a try. The air shaft is vital, and this seems the only way to get it.”
“I’ll go,” Pa said. “I’m just as anxious as Sterling to save the mine and the town.” He rose and reached for his hat. “By the way, you can call me Matt.”
It took a bit of coaxing, but Jem managed to wrangle his way into going along to the Belle diggings. He felt a little sorry when he mounted Copper and pulled up beside Chad behind the men. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Ellie hanging on the porch railing, giving Jem a fierce glare. Nathan’s nose pushed up against the screen door. He looked just as annoyed as Ellie.
“I’m not dragging all of you along,” Pa had said when three voices clamored to be included. “This is not a Sunday-school picnic, but serious matters. Jem’s the oldest and nearly grown, so he can go.” He’d given his son a serious look. “Maybe after today, you’ll understand why I’d rather starve on our ranch than work in a hard-rock mine.”
“I reckon Pa wants me to ‘widen my horizons,’” Jem joked with Chad as they trailed behind their fathers, “ just like you.”
Chad rolled his eyes and muttered something about wishing he were branding the Coulters’ calves right about now. Or panning for gold. “… or riding a decent horse,” he finished with a grunt. “Anything but plodding along on this jughead.”
Next to Copper, Chad’s mount did look like a worn-out, scruffy nag. Even Strike’s donkey, Canary, looked nicer. “I’m surprised the Sterlings keep such a flea-bitten horse in their stables,” Jem said.
Chad let out a loud sigh. “They don’t. This is my punishment for taking off with Prince Charming yesterday. Father went to the livery in town and picked out the sorriest-looking hay-burner there. Good thing our ranch hands back home can’t see me.” His cheeks turned red. “They’d laugh their heads off.”
Jem nearly burst trying to keep his own laughter inside. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nudged Copper into a trot so Chad couldn’t see his face. Teasing words like “Wanna race?” popped into his head, but he pushed them back. No sense ruining a perfectly good friendship with a mean mouth.
Besides, he didn’t know Chad very well. The boy might have a temper and light into him. Seeing his size, Jem knew he didn’t stand a chance against Chad in a fight.
When they reached the diggings, thoughts of teasing Chad or caring about what kind of horse he rode flew from Jem’s mind. One look at the black, gaping hole of the old Belle mine sent eager shivers racing up and down Jem’s spine.
A ribbon of water trickled through a narrow, rocky channel above the mine. It splashed alongside the dark opening and away downhill. Overgrown shrubbery clung to the rocks. Piles of old, discarded mine trailings spilled from the hole and littered the surrounding area.
Now and then, Jem helped Wu Shen cart supplies up the steep, winding road to the Belle diggings. Shen’s family always traded for his help with crispy rice cakes, which Jem munched on his way back down. But he had never been inside.
“I reckon you’ve been in lots of mines,” Chad said. He sounded envious.
Jem pulled Copper to a standstill. “Nope. Wu Shen never invited me. I’ve never been in the Midas, either.”
“Really?”
Jem nodded. “Ellie and I’ve crawled around inside dozens of small coyote holes though.”
Chad looked disgusted. “Coyote holes? Why would you—”
“Not real coyote holes,” Jem said, laughing. “Mining holes. They’re everywhere in the gold fields. Prospectors call ’em coyote holes. Some are pretty deep. But they’re not very interesting. Most are just empty holes. No gold.”
Chad grinned. “So this is the first time inside a real mine for both of us.”
“Yep.”
Pa and Mr. Carter had brought lanterns along. They dismounted, lit the kerosene lamps, and motioned the boys to follow.
Jem’s heart thumped in a mixture of dread and delight. He stepped through the black opening and was instantly transported into an eerie, silent world. Silent, except for the constant drip of groundwater from overhead and the faint tap, tap, tap of several picks and hammers from deep inside.
Jem was glad to discover he could stand up straight and walk normally. So could Pa and Mr. Carter, who were tall. Jem had envisioned the Belle diggings as nothing more than an oversized coyote hole—cramped and suffocating. This mine seemed roomy.
“I didn’t think it would be this big,” he said.
“Compared to the Midas,” Pa said, “this is a shallow hole in the ground.” He lifted his lantern and tapped the rocky ceiling. “Only rock holds this mine up, and there’s not much of it between here and the surface. The Midas, on the other hand, is shored up with solid wood beams. It also has numerous side tunnels, and tracks for the ore carts. It’s a big operation.” He paused. “It was, anyway.”
“And it will be again,” Chad’s father added firmly, “God willing.”
Jem stuck close to his father’s heels—and the light—as they followed a set of rusting tracks deeper into the mine. To Jem’s surprise, the ground did not slant down much. It cut into the hill with hardly any turns.
Pa stopped and held his lantern to the side. A gaping blackness lay two feet away. “Watch for holes. Prospectors went crazy in here. They dug every which way, into the walls and even in the floor. The holes aren’t deep, but you could break a leg if you stepped in one.”
“They cut this mine by hand?” Jem gulped. “That would take years!”
“Sterling used blasting powder off and on,” Pa answered, “but that caused more problems than it solved. The Chinese are chipping away by hand.”
The tapping sounded louder now, and Jem could see a far-off glow from many lanterns. He shivered. It was cold and clammy underground. Drop by drop, the seeping water splashed on his head.
“Ugh!” Chad swiped water from his face and looked at Jem. “Glad I’m not a miner.”
The tapping and clanging suddenly stopped. Jem heard whispers, scraping, and the sound of shuffling feet. A Chinese man approached, holding his lantern high. He was dressed in a dirty, ragged tunic and loose-fitting pants. His free hand clutched a pickax.
“What do you want here?” he demanded in good English. The lantern light bounced off the rocks, revealing a trembling hand.
Behind him, five or six others appeared, armed with pickaxes, shovels, and wary scowls. Jem caught his breath. It was clearly not the first time these miners had greeted unwelcome visitors to their claim. Then he remembered what Pa had said at supper last night. Mr. Sterling was urging the men in town to force the scavengers from their mine. No wonder they looked worried.
Pa stepped forward. Jem stayed back. “It’s Sheriff Coulter, Wu Hao.”
“Have you come with threats from Sterling, Sheriff?” Wu Hao growled.
“No,” Pa assured him. “Look”—he swept his hand to take in Jem and Chad—“I brought my son and another boy. It’s a friendly visit. Mr. Carter would like to talk to you about your mine. Then we’ll leave.” He spread his hands out. “Will you put down your picks and listen?”
Wu Hao searched the sheriff’s face then set down his pickax and seemed to relax. His comrades did not. The Chinese miner spoke to the men behind him. They shuffled, talked in short, excited bursts, then backed off.
Wu Hao turned to Pa. “We will listen. But only because we respect you, Sheriff. Whatever this man has to say, it will not change our minds. We pay our tax. The mine is ours.”
“I understand,” Pa said.
“Come.” Wu Hao lifted his lantern and led them to the end of the tunnel. Half a dozen Chinese surrounded them in watchful silence, still gripping their mining tools. Their broad, golden faces seemed carved from stone. Long black pigtails hung down their backs. A rusting ore cart took up most of this section of the mine. It was half filled with ore hacked from the sides and roof of the tunnel. From overhead, small rocks crumbled and fell in a pebbly shower.
What a miserable way to make a living, Jem thought, ducking out of the way.
Someone must have been working on the mine’s ceiling just before the visitors came calling. Without warning, more rocks loosened and fell. Jem flattened himself against the tunnel wall and held his breath.
Pa shouted a warning and lunged at Wu Hao just as a section of the tunnel’s ceiling came crashing down.