SAMUEL DREAMED about visiting with Lilly, seeing her in her frilly pink dress with the low-cut bodice, and then seeing her come out of her bodice. Lilly was talking and serving him whiskey, insisting he keep drinking, unaware of her dress. Other men were gathering around, staring, and laughing. Samuel wanted to cover Lilly, but she kept talking as if nothing was wrong, and then she was no longer beautiful. She turned angry with him and began yelling. It was because of Bonnie she was angry with him. Bonnie was arguing with Lilly. Bonnie began crying and would not talk to him until he took her in his arms and held her—held her very close—and felt her warmth.
He woke to the images of Bonnie in his embrace. Emotions of helplessness and anger and desire overwhelmed his thoughts. He sat up, noticing that his father had already left the cabin. Samuel shook his head. If a shot of whiskey did this to him, he would never have another.
He pulled on his trousers, glad his father was not around to see him. He could not shake the images. This could not just be the whiskey, he told himself. He busied himself with lighting the fire and putting on the coffee pot.
His father came in with a bucket of water. “Bring some wood in when you’re done.”
Samuel slipped outside into the damp mountain air, not missing the clouds that were scudding in from the west. Probably more rain before the night, he figured.
Samuel thought of the upcoming day and began to feel better, more settled. He wondered about the dreams and his feelings. He returned to the cabin, dropping the wood into the box next to the stove.
“You were tossing around a lot last night, son, so I let you sleep,” Charles said. He poured some coffee and handed it to him. “Must have been something you drank.” He smiled.
Samuel felt embarrassed. “Thanks for reminding me.” He mused, Must have been someone I met. The coffee helped. But instead of Lilly, he had an overwhelming desire to see Bonnie.
By late morning, the clouds had increased, mostly blocking the sun. A beam shone on the Sauxe Saloon, where Reverend Weatherspoon would hold Sunday services. Samuel wondered if it was a sign.
As before, the paintings were turned and the bar was covered, but Samuel felt pretty uneasy about the entire business. He knew he was due some preaching. Christmas service had been his last occasion, and he had done a few things, mostly fancied a few things, that the good Lord might find untoward. In addition, Reverend Weatherspoon was doing a good job of reminding people about the evils of spirits. Samuel figured it might have something to do with the pack string coming in and the more-than-average celebrating. He noticed that the women were standing pretty tall and stoic. More than one man seemed a bit under the weather and subdued.
As before, they still had no piano, and the Bibles didn’t quite make it around the room.
By the conclusion, Samuel was feeling a mite better, perhaps a bit more redeemable.
People visited in the street, catching up after the long winter. Several of the families had just returned from their winter homes, some on the main Salmon, a few on the South Fork. Others came back from as far away as Oregon or northwest from Lewiston. All returned to resume mining and related commerce. Some, the Penningtons included, did not return.
The gathering reminded Samuel of the Independence Day celebration last year. The young children, those not in their mothers’ arms, ran about, chasing each other and playing games while their parents talked. For some reason, the children all converged on him, jabbering and laughing.
“Sam! Sam, can you play with us?”
The Manuels’ daughter Julia, maybe four, and the Osborns’ oldest children, William, five, and Caroline, three, remembered him. Sam noticed how the children had all grown. They reminded him of his own sister, now six, back in Iowa, and his cousin Daniel, now ten.
Charles found him. “We better get on over to Ma Reynolds’s before the line gets too long for getting a bath. Either that or we can skip dinner.”
“I’m coming.” Samuel broke away from the children. In truth, being with them reminded him he was still caught somewhere in between them and the men.
A spattering of rain began falling.
“Just what we needed,” Charles muttered. “More rain.”
Samuel pulled his collar up and his hat down, shrugging his shoulders to keep out the water.
Ma Reynolds bubbled with joy when she spotted Samuel. “You’ve growed like a weed, Samuel. Can’t see you growin’ anymore or you’ll be taller than Mr. Chambers.” She pushed at her large, voluminous print dress, which Samuel took to be new but already well worn.
They asked how she and her family were doing. Her hair was pulled back as Samuel remembered and was the same salt-and-pepper gray. She was rather stout and bosomy. Maybe the only change was a few more lines etching her face.
“’Bout the same, ’bout the same. Winter was really hard on us. I’m thinking if Mr. Reynolds can take care of things for a bit I just might go down to the river for some sun. This rainy, snowy, cloudy weather is making my bones ache.”
Samuel thought she looked good. She was very much the same warm person he had come to know and love.
She eyed them closely. “Now are you two here for a bath or just some grub? You missed breakfast. Won’t serve dinner until later.”
“We’re figuring on both,” Charles explained.
Samuel glanced at his father to make certain he was not hearing things.
“Well, you know where to go. Mr. Reynolds will be fetching in the water.” She wiped her hands on her apron.
George tumbled into the room.
“Sam! Sam!” The boy clapped with glee and ran to his mother. “Sam is here, Momma.”
“Yes, now you let him and his pa alone. You help me make this dinner.”
But George did not let them alone. He promptly followed Samuel and Charles to the room off the kitchen where they had the bath facilities set up, jabbering all the way.
When Samuel settled into the tub, he could not help but recall his accident. He examined the scars from where the limbs had punctured his side and abdomen. They were white splotches, stretched like melted white cheese. He also examined his arm and the scars from where it had been skinned.
“I know what you’re thinking, son,” Charles said. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
“The good Lord and Sang Yune’s medicine.”
“Yes, I admit, the Chinamen saved your life,” Charles replied. “You ready for some hot water?”
“You bet.”
Samuel felt the rush of the luxuriant liquid heat wash over his head and shoulders. If there was one pleasure in life, it was taking a hot bath. He resolved he would never pass up the chance when going past Burgdorf’s. Somehow, they would have to visit Ma Reynolds’s more frequently.
Later, they settled in for dinner. Samuel hardly had an opportunity to answer the many questions the Reynolds and other diners directed his way, let alone eat. Fortunately, Ma Reynolds kept pushing more toward him: mashed potatoes with rich gravy, wheat biscuits with butter, sliced apples, some greens, and beefsteaks. Samuel ate until he was stuffed and then started on a second round.
Charles eyed Samuel with a look that said not to overdo things.
Ma Reynolds must have caught the look. “Now, Mr. Chambers, you just let young Samuel have all the fixin’s he can hold. You two are no better than last time, still as skinny as spring chickens. You musta not et anything at all when you were down on that river. You can both use some fattenin’ up. You all just better come by here more often.”
Samuel paused from a bite of beef. “It wasn’t all that bad, Ma Reynolds. We had a few good meals. Got to Slate Creek for some Christmas dinner—”
“Long time past, that Christmas is,” she said.
“And we got out to the Strombacks’. In fact, I got to work for them for a while. Mrs. Stromback can rustle up a pretty good batch of grub.” Samuel caught himself. “Of course, she doesn’t best you.”
“Why, thank you, Samuel.”
Peter Reynolds glanced up. “Is that the Strombacks that bought the land off the Nez Perce? A waste of money, I tell you. It’s all part of America.”
“I reckon.” Samuel didn’t offer any further argument.
“They have a daughter, don’t they?” Ma Reynolds eyed Samuel.
“Bonnie, but she’s their niece. She’s a really nice girl.”
Samuel now caught all eyes on him.
Mr. Reynolds leaned back. “Now doesn’t that beat all? If you play your cards right, Samuel, you could marry that gal and own a cattle ranch. Sure would be a better living than placer mining.”
Samuel felt himself blush. “Maybe.”
Despite the rain, a good number of men, including the Rescue Mine hands who were supposed to be in jail, gathered for the miners’ meeting at Ripson’s Saloon. Michael Rayburn had seen a copy of the new mining law and knew some of the changes.
As usual, Rayburn was the chairman. Pat Townsend acted as secretary. The Blakesly brothers, two huge hardrock miners for the Charity, were sergeants at arms.
“We have a couple items of order for the night, so settle down and find a seat. And yes, Mr. Turner, the bar is closed,” Rayburn harrumphed. A few boos echoed throughout the room.
Samuel sat on a stool with his father, elbow to elbow with other miners. Most of the men stood along the walls. The rain had settled in and made a constant drumming on the roof.
“Bloody rain,” Turner muttered. A leak had sprung above him, and he moved. It gave Samuel a little more room.
“First order of business is to review the new mining law,” Rayburn continued. “It’s made some mighty fine improvements, I think. Makes it easier for a man to file a claim and prove it up. The main point is it allows any citizen the right to enter onto government lands, make discovery, file a mining claim, and eventually own it.”
Cheering broke out.
“Then the gov’ment cain’t come and take my claim anymore.”
“Right, Smitty.”
“Then the Chinaman issue is settled,” Clarence Johnson, a large, boisterous man shouted. “Chinamen can’t be citizens. In that case, they can’t enter onto lands and can’t own mining claims.”
Clapping ensued.
A man stood, waving his hand, and Rayburn tapped his gavel. “The chair recognizes Attorney Poe.”
Raymond Poe addressed the men. “In my understanding, the new law is explicit that no foreigner can enter onto lands, make discovery, and file a mining claim. But I do not read that as meaning they cannot buy and own a mining claim. This very miners’ assembly gathered here three winters ago and voted near unanimously to allow the Chinese in.”
“Bah, most of the men who voted to let ’em in ain’t even here anymore. And back then, no one knew what thieves they were.” Johnson peered around the room. “Hell, you know about McLaren’s boots that were stole. Had to be Chinamen.”
Muttering increased and Ben Morton, a small, wiry man, stood up. “Excuse me. If the law says you have to be a citizen to have a claim, I think it’s pretty clear the Chinamen can’t own claims. Explain what’s different from owning a claim and owning land.”
Others joined in voicing their agreement and Rayburn rapped his gavel. “Order, order. Each of you will get a chance to talk.”
“What I’m saying,” Poe continued, “is this law does not change our decision to let the Chinese into Warren’s camp or to allow them to buy or lease claims from legitimate owners. However, it does mean no one can file a claim and later patent it if he’s not a citizen or if he has not declared his intention of citizenship, whether Chinese or of any other nationality. In short, it really changes nothing as it relates to the Chinese. The Chinese can’t file for patents to own the land. But please allow me to do some more research for discussion at a later meeting.”
Ben Morton turned toward the others. “All you know me—how my claim got stole by the Chinamen. I think it’s pretty clear what the new law says. I don’t need any more interpreting. I want them off my claim.”
Rayburn harrumphed. “Mr. Morton, you need to address that with the sheriff after the meeting. I’m not saying I disagree. But it sounds like we need to give Attorney Poe more time to look at the law. Now let’s move on.” He glared at Morton.
“There’s another important change due to the law. You will now have to recertify your claims and recertify your labor on the claims. In summary, go pay Mr. Watkins another dollar. After that, you will need to do a hundred dollars of improvement on your claim each year in order to keep it—that is, until you receive a patent.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of money,” someone groused amid other loud grumbling.
“You figure on five dollars a day. That’s twenty days of work. Who here isn’t going to spend twenty days working their ground?” Rayburn demanded.
The arguing decreased.
“I see the main thing is to refile your claim and certify that the work has been done. It’s pretty straightforward. If you don’t, then the claim can be relocated by someone else.”
“What about claims where they ain’t come back to camp yet?”
“If they don’t recertify in sixty days of the posting of this law, then the land is open to relocation.”
Samuel saw a number of eyebrows raised. He realized some potential ground might come open. He could also see some arguments arising if someone didn’t return to check on his claim for a couple of months. Someone might shoot first before asking questions.
A man held up his hand. “Vhat must you do to declare intent to become a citizen?”
“Hey, Fritz, you wanna be a citizen?” A couple of men laughed.
“No. I just vant to own der claim and make a living. I vant to get enough golt and go back to Prussia and get my wife and kid.”
Another man spoke up, “Yah fer sure, how do you declare intent?”
The room quieted.
“Anyone wanting to declare intent to become a citizen can see me after the meeting,” Poe said. “I’ll draw up the papers for the judge for when he comes through next month. And God bless you. We can use more good citizens.”
“Yeah, no more yellow heathens.” Ben Morton’s comment cut at Samuel.
Melvin Crukshank, who had seemed to be simmering during most of the discussion, raised his voice. “Request to speak, Mr. Chairman.”
Mr. Rayburn recognized him. “You have the floor, Mr. Crukshank.”
“Now, you all know I come here afore the Celestials come. I weren’t in favor of them comin’ in, and I still ain’t.” The veins on Crukshank’s neck bulged as the man began to work himself up. “Now, what I’m a sayin’ is it ain’t right to allow them here. The biggest form of thievery is the gold they’s a takin’. Them Celestials live on a few cents a day, grub out all the gold, and ship it back to China. It ain’t their gold. It belongs to us Americans. It’s our gold, and by our rights as Americans, we can take it back.”
Smitty muttered, “Mel, you said that last time.”
“My turn to speak, Smitty, and I aim to set things right,” Crukshank snapped.
Other men began arguing. Rayburn banged his gavel. “Order, order.”
Pat Townsend stood and turned the paper and pencil over to Raymond Poe. “You can record.”
Poe grumbled but took over.
“I was one who voted to allow the Chinese,” Townsend said. “Maybe we do have some thievery problems, but we can solve that by watching out for each other a bit more.”
An undercurrent of booing began to grow. Samuel squirmed on his seat. He was beginning to see why Sheriff Sinclair had once cautioned him not to take sides—that he could be caught in a cross fire.
“I wanted to remind you since we voted to bring them in, I guess we could vote to throw them out,” Townsend continued. “But before we do that, remember why we wanted them here. We couldn’t afford to operate our claims with our own labor. It was plain and simple. And most of us just wanted to move on to find new ground.
“Keep in mind, Sheriff Sinclair collects a five-dollar tax on each Chinaman every month for their privilege to mine. What is that … two thousand dollars a month for this camp alone? We let them work. That’s about all. Looking at it that way, they don’t cost us much.”
Samuel guessed that if Sheriff Sinclair were present, he would correct the amount to more around five hundred dollars, based on the stories he had told him about his inability to catch the Chinese and make them pay up.
“Keep in mind some of you are collecting lease money on your old claims, and many of you sold your claims you thought were wore out for some pretty good sums of money.”
Another man stood up. “Ya shoulda been a bleedin’ heart preacher, Mr. Townsend. Fact is, I’d a much rather have less thievery. Them Chinamen are nothin’ but heathens, corruptin’ folks. You said yourself, Pat, we voted ’em in—I say it’s time to vote ’em out again.”
The cheers and boos increased. Rayburn hammered his gavel, and his face began turning red. The Blakesly brothers moved about the crowded room, encouraging men to settle down.
Samuel felt a crawling feeling enveloping him. He glanced at his father, but his father didn’t seem overly concerned. Samuel thought of Chen and Sing Mann and Sang Yune—all of them his friends. They were not evil. He had seen a man murdered, and it was not by Chinese.
Rayburn got the men’s attention.
“I can see we still have some disagreement on the law and, more importantly, on our Celestial brethren. How about a motion to continue discussion in a couple more weeks when we can get a better reading on the law?”
People sounded their agreement.
“The night’s getting long, and I think some of that whiskey that arrived yesterday is still available. Is that so, Mr. Ripson?”
Ripson stood up. “Somebody give us a motion to adjourn, and I reckon we can open the bar, by cracky.”
The meeting adjourned amid cheers and clinking glasses.
“They can celebrate, but I’m not sure what for, son. We got work tomorrow,” Charles said. He pulled his hat down about his ears and stepped out into the night. The rain had stopped except for a chill mist and occasional spatter. The street was deep in mud.
“Not sure I like the tone of things, son,” Charles said. “I’m not too crazy about the Chinamen either, but it’s not healthy to blame them for all the evil and misfortune in this camp. Some men are dead set to hang whoever stole McLaren’s boots.”
“Hang him!” Samuel exclaimed. “They’re just boots. You can buy a new pair for three dollars, not even a good day’s wage.”
“My point. You and I both know if they get rid of the Chinamen, there’ll still be plenty of trouble. We should know.”
They reached the livery, caught up their horses, and headed north toward their cabin.
“I’m also not sure how much to trouble ourselves with all this if we aren’t going to be sticking around.”
They rode in silence for a time.