WHILE WAITING for the snow to leave the O’Riley, they began trying new places on the Sweet Mary, checking for richer gravel. One spot they tried under the lodgepole pines, stripping the thin soil underneath, hacking through the roots, and shoveling the upper layers of dirt to the side. When they had dug down a couple of feet, they reached a thin seam of gravel packed on top of a layer of clay. The gravel held moderate gold, but for the work, it proved nearly worthless.
“We gotta be able to find some cobbles like you had last fall,” Charles said.
They moved to another area where a bit of gravel showed and began a new hole.
“Certainly doesn’t look like the pay streak from last fall,” Samuel observed.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Maybe the next pick or shovelful, Samuel hoped.
Both continued swinging their picks, shoveling gravel, carrying it up to the sluice, washing it through, and checking it. Very little gold showed.
The following morning, they woke to several inches of snow. It melted by noon under a good sun, but clouds again thickened and by evening, the drizzle had begun anew.
“Weather like this makes you want to mine hardrock underground.”
“True, but now the mines are filling with water,” Samuel said. “I’ve heard some of the miners that come by Alexander’s say that during snowmelt, working underground is like working under a waterfall.”
“What’s the difference, this time of year?” Charles gazed up at the rain. “Certainly underground has to be warmer.”
“Maybe not. It’s surface water coming into the mine. A lot of the time it freezes.”
Charles paused, leaning against his pick. “I guess if a man is going to make a living, none of it’s easy. Seems I remember something like that from the Bible.”
“And for sure, we won’t eat if we don’t work.” Samuel thought of his family back in Iowa. They had not received any letters since they last sent one of their own. “Wonder how the crops are going.”
“I’m guessing your uncle Jake and your cousin Daniel got them in okay.” Charles pulled his collar up. “I figured we’d be headed back by now.”
Despite the rain soaking through, they continued work. A small line of gold grew behind the uppermost cleat.
The following day, the weather held, and they worked all day without any interruptions.
“We stick to this hole, maybe we’ll start to get lucky,” Charles observed.
They had been working downward into an area that held more cobbles and gravel than usual.
“It’s certainly looking better.” A few more specks began showing.
That night, they cleaned out the box and piled the black sand.
“I can’t believe we got a full day in without rain,” Samuel said. He had stoked the fire and they had hung their clothes to dry. “Maybe tomorrow our clothes will stay dry.”
But the next day, a steady drizzle sifted down, drenching the woods and meadow. They worked for a while, each pulling his coat about himself, trying to keep the rain from running down his back.
“Figured it was too good to be true,” Charles muttered.
“At least the snow is melting. A few more days and we should be able to get into the O’Riley.”
“And the camp has good water,” Charles said. “I’ve even heard some fellows are ground sluicing.”
They continued work and spoke little. The cold rain soaked through their clothing. It trickled from their hats and down their necks and backs. The gully where they ran the sluice turned to mud, sucking at their feet as they trudged uphill with the heavy buckets, snatching their legs from under them when they returned downhill to the pit. Their trousers were soaked and clung to their bodies. Their boots filled with mud and water. If it had been warmer, they might have stripped like the Chinese did in the heat of summer during the summer thunderstorms, but today, the rain, sometimes mixed with snow, was bone-chilling. By noon, they shook with numbing cold.
“Enough of this,” Charles finally said. Without waiting for Samuel, he set aside his pick and shovel, and, holding his hat firmly, headed back to the cabin.
He built up the fire. “Just like last season, son. You would think summer would come a bit earlier. When I get home to Iowa, this is the part I will definitely not miss.”
“Nor I,” Samuel managed. He rubbed his numb hands over the stove. They stung with needles as his circulation returned.
Charles put a pot of water on to boil.
In the morning, the sun shone and the meadow warmed.
Samuel recognized Sheriff Sinclair on his bay, riding up the trail.
“Hello, Mr. Chambers … Samuel,” he greeted, dark eyes squinting, and dismounted. He glanced at Samuel. “Seems I’m riding out here to check on you more often than I should be, Samuel.”
“I reckon.” Samuel remembered the last time after his encounter with Dudgin and Smith. Sinclair was younger than his father was by a few years and of medium build with dark hair. “We seem to have more than our fair share of trouble.”
“That you do.” Sinclair smiled. “My deputy told me what was up, Charles. I came out as soon as I could get away.”
“I appreciate that, Sheriff,” Charles said, pushing his hat back. “I may have covered up any evidence, though. I didn’t have much choice but to get started mining.”
Charles walked about, pointing out the damage as he explained the robbery. “A lot of garbage left behind. Seemed to be pretty lazy. Instead of cutting wood, they burned half of my pole fence.”
Sinclair followed, taking note. “Can’t say any of my other cases show this pattern. What I have seen, Chinamen have been suspected. In those cases, I think it’s a misunderstanding about boundaries and such. Maybe not always.” He paused and glanced around. “In your case, they were camped here and knew what they were doing.”
“Anybody you would guess?” Charles asked.
“Maybe those two I suspected of hitting placers down on the Secesh,” Sinclair replied.
“Finney and Culler,” breathed Samuel.
“Yes.” Sinclair eyed him. “Hell, Charles, I thought Finney and Culler, and whoever else was with them, would have taken the lease on life we allowed them last fall and left the country. No one has seen them otherwise that I know of.”
Charles shook his head. “They weren’t who we were chasing last fall, Sheriff. Samuel figured out it was Dudgin and Smith with a new partner that we chased. Samuel recognized my description of their horses.”
Sinclair tightened his jaw. “For sure you better hope it’s not them. They won’t hesitate in killing somebody else.” Sinclair glanced at Samuel. “Nor is it much better if it is Finney and Culler. Someone’s going to be slinging lead at them one of these times, and when that happens, I’m guessing they won’t hesitate to start slinging it back.”
Samuel wondered if they had not already done so.
“You two better keep your eyes peeled.”
“We’re getting accustomed to keeping our eyes peeled,” Charles replied.
“Hell, Charles, soon you’re gonna have all the scum in the county after you.” Sinclair laughed and swung back onto his bay. “Do me a favor. Take them all with you when you head back to Iowa.”
“Unless we hit some decent gold, they won’t have any reason to follow.”
Samuel wanted to laugh but couldn’t.
That evening, while his father fixed dinner, Samuel did his best to separate what gold he could from the black sand. He panned it down as far as possible, scrapped out the largest particles, and then dried it over the fire in a pan. Next he used a magnet to remove most of black sand—magnetite, an iron mineral, Hinley had explained. The remaining lighter sand he gently blew away, leaving mostly clean gold. When paying for merchandise, the lingering impurities did not matter as much, but for large amounts, the dust needed further refining, which is what Hinley did.
Charles examined the gold Samuel had separated. “How much do you figure?”
“About like we been doing, about five dollars.” Samuel scraped the gold into the small canister in which they kept their dust. “There might be another four bits or so in the black sand.”
Charles pushed back on his stool. “That keeps us in grub but not much else.”
Samuel nodded. “Only the Chinese work a placer this poor. Hinley said as soon as yield drops below half an ounce a day per man, owners are looking to sell.”
“Only we can’t sell. This is all we got,” Charles said. “And we still need about a hundred dollars for tools and powder for the O’Riley.” He set his jaw. “My concern is as before. Can we get our investment out of the O’Riley and still have some money to take home? If not, we should start packing now.”
Samuel gulped. “We can, Pa. I’m sure of it.” He didn’t want to go. He wanted to make it work, but he also realized how difficult staying would be.
“Okay, but at this rate, it may take all summer to get any gold, and I don’t want to be here all summer. Maybe I’ll ride out and visit John McLane. You can keep running the Sweet Mary and keep an eye on the cabin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll hit another rich spot.”
“I know Mr. Alexander will let me do some packing as soon as his wares get in. That might help a little.”