SAMUEL WORKED THE SLUICE for another day, but by midmorning, his eagerness had diminished. Despite the large nugget he had found when Cochran left, the gold decreased. He knew some of the reason he had done well was Cochran’s extra set of hands, but it was clear he had worked through the pay streak.
The catch basin was now draining and not quickly replenishing. Samuel blocked the flow into the flume, and while the basin filled, he dug and hauled buckets of gravel to a spot from where he could shovel it into the flume. He removed the cobbles, washed them, and stockpiled the remaining gravel. In the afternoon, he released the water and began running more gravel. He avoided checking the sluice, making certain he could run as much gravel as possible with the limited water.
Samuel shook his head and stood back. How could it be that they had had so much water a few days ago, a steady supply, and he had been able to run the sluice without let-up? Now it was nearly gone. He suspected that much of his water leaked from the flume and drained into the gravel under the catch basin. Unless there was constant rain and the ground was saturated, the catch basin was near useless.
The following morning, Samuel headed into Washington to meet up with Chen. He loaded up Molly at Alexander’s, and soon they were both headed back toward Steamboat Summit, both fully packed. Chen had vegetables sticking out of everywhere, more than usual.
Lake Creek was full of salmon.
“Maybe on the way back, we get one,” Chen said.
The huge fish raced under the shadowy banks toward cover. Last season, men had brought them into McLane’s camp, and Samuel helped fix them for chow until he and the men had tired of them. “Salmon aren’t filling,” they had told him.
They turned down the Secesh for a distance and stopped at some of the placer camps. None of the camps was of much size, partly because there were very few good gravel benches. Some of the miners were salmon fishing. When they recognized Samuel and Chen, they warmly greeted them and came up from the river to trade.
The day had been sultry, and now that evening was on them, the mosquitoes were thick and swarmed about Samuel’s face. He swatted at them ineffectively and sought higher ground, looking for a drier campsite. Shortly, he found an opening in the timber among the beargrass clumps.
“We’ll need to haul some water, Chen, but up here we shouldn’t have as many mosquitoes.”
“Yes, they are vehlie bad.” He waved his arms wildly.
Chen began a small fire while Samuel rounded up water containers. He kept a wary eye out for other men, thinking briefly of Cochran. It seemed he was always encountering someone. Thankfully, Cochran had seemed a decent man.
Chen had his customary rice and chopped vegetables. Samuel ate dried beef with beans.
Samuel started to tell Chen about Cochran but then remembered the man’s request that he keep quiet.
“You haven’t seen any strangers about, have you?” Samuel asked.
Chen appeared surprised before slowly shaking his head. “Other Chinese have.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ahn Kwan and Lok Ming see the men who rob Chinese pack train and rope Kan Dick.”
Samuel froze; his mind raced. The Chinese still thought Finney and Culler had robbed the pack train, not Dudgin and Smith. “How many men?”
“Ohnee see two men,” Chen replied.
Samuel breathed easier. Dudgin and Smith had a partner. “Probably it is Finney and Culler. They’ve been known to break into sluice boxes. I think they were the ones that broke into ours on the river.”
Chen’s eyes widened. “You tell the sheriff?”
“Yep, but until now, no one’s seen them. When I get back, I’ll let the sheriff know.” So Finney and Culler are snooping around again. “Where did Kwan and Ming see them?”
“Maybe near here.”
“This is near where they broke into some sluice boxes. We best keep our eyes open.” Samuel glanced around, feeling a shiver. They might not hesitate to jump Chen and him for the gold they now carried, even a small amount.
“Uh, Chen, you should know it wasn’t Finney and Culler who jumped the Chinese pack train—it was Quinton Dudgin and Ramey Smith and some other man.”
Chen paused and studied him, questioningly.
“Dudgin and Smith were the men who killed Bender and also tried to kill me. My pa described their horses, and I remembered them.”
“Yes, you told me.” Chen shook his head. “Many bad men are here.”
“I doubt Dudgin and Smith are here. They probably went to Canada. If they’re caught here, they’ll be hanged.”
“Should catch and hang Finney and Culler.”
“As far as anyone knows, they haven’t killed anyone.”
“They almost kill Kan Dick,” Chen said bitterly.
Samuel was quiet. If they had killed Kan Dick, he doubted anyone would have done anything.
“Not matter, Sam. Many think the Chinese should leave. Say the gold is Ahmehlican gold.”
“Like Ben Morton,” Samuel said.
Chen nodded. “We want to go back to China. We have to find gold so we can.”
“I know, Chen. You’ve told me this.” Samuel felt troubled. “I don’t want you to leave, Chen, even when you do get enough gold. You and your uncle are hard workers.”
Chen shrugged. “Maybe we never get enough gold. But you are vehlie good at finding gold. Maybe you will go soon.” He rose and retrieved his flute and, squatting, began playing.
Samuel understood why Chen identified with the other Chinese. He also realized that if any Chinese person could succeed in America, Chen could. He had learned to read and write English, not only so he could conduct business but also so he could help his countrymen.
The Chinese were odd, that was true. They had their problems—their opium and rice whiskey, gambling dens and slave girls, but they seemed happy and worked hard. They seemed much happier than many of the white miners, Samuel decided.
In the morning, Samuel and Chen continued on to Ruby Meadows and Miller’s camp. Samuel visited with Mr. Thomas at the Ruby placer, where his father had worked, and caught up on news. The gulch now appeared mostly played out.
Thomas seemed to notice his look. “We got our eyes on another gulch up creek,” he explained. “If you had an interest, you might be able to horn in on some good ground south of here. There’s some new placers opening in the meadows in that direction.” He pointed. “Problem will be getting water to them.”
Samuel laughed. “That’s the problem everywhere.”
“Yep, the early days, it was easy pickings along the streams, but now we gotta work to get water to where it’s needed.”
They visited a few placers on the lower meadows and then turned back toward Warren’s following the Secesh trail. At Lake Creek, they turned up toward Burgdorf’s place and paused at a deep hole, where they trapped a couple of salmon. They loaded the huge fish into the baskets in which Chen had carried his vegetables.
“We could catch more and sell back at Warren’s,” Chen said.
“Perhaps,” Samuel agreed, “but not for much. There’s far too many.” The stream was thick with swarming fish. Besides, he knew the miners preferred beef.
Back at the cabin, during a dinner of fresh salmon and potatoes, Samuel compared pay with his father.
“Dang near enough to outfit for the O’Riley, son. I’ve got over fifty dollars.” He handed Samuel his pouch. “I can keep on at McLane’s for a few more days to make certain.”
Samuel mentioned how the Chinese had reported seeing Finney and Culler.
“All kinds of visitors coming to town,” Charles said. “Must be the Chinamen are preparing to take out some gold.” He laughed.
Samuel paused with his bite of salmon, realizing the truth. “Placer season’s ending, Pa. Could be that’s the case.”
July 1, the sun baked the meadows. Samuel hoped to get in at least half a day of mining before the catch basin drained. All morning he stockpiled gravel but mostly dug downward into the pit, hoping he would find some cobbles and some richer gold. He ran some of the gravel for a while and watched nervously as the water level quickly dropped. He sprinkled some of the remaining gravel and dirt into the stream of water. A few pieces of gold winked out of the black sand.
This is better. Some of the pieces were larger than grass seeds.
He threw in more dirt and washed it through. More gold.
Finally, he thought. Now that he was out of water, he was back into a pay streak.
He studied the pit. He was down a good eight feet, and just like last season, the water was gone—drained from the hills.
He shut down the flume. After cleanup, his pan held a third of an ounce, a great find for only a partial day. He stood and stretched.
Maybe I am done. He studied the gravelly hillside. The spring creek wasn’t enough. If he could get sufficient water ditched around to this side of the meadow from another source, he could operate longer. It might be possible, but it would take a lot of manpower and several weeks, maybe months, to do so. But then the entire hillside would be opened up for mining.
Samuel was surprised to see his father turn up the trail. Normally, he worked well into the evening as long as daylight remained.
“How’s your fortune today, son?”
“Toward the end, I was getting some good gold, but now I’m out of water.”
“Ain’t that the way. McLane’s is also feeling the pinch. We’re only operating one of the boxes.”
“Does that mean you’re done? That why you’re home early?”
“No, there’s still plenty of work.” Charles laughed. “I realized I got a couple things to take care of in town. Bring your gold.”
Samuel was beside himself wondering what his father was up to. On their way to Washington, his father talked about plans to begin work on the O’Riley, but Samuel knew enough to recognize when his father was avoiding what was really going on.
“Let’s drop in and see if Mr. Hinley has those assays done that you dropped off.”
“He won’t. I just took them in a few days ago.”
Entering the assay shop, Charles called out, “Ray, you got those O’Riley assays done?”
Hinley came out from the back, wiping his hands, adjusting his glasses. “Aye, Charles, I should say I do.”
Samuel was taken aback. It was as if Hinley had been waiting for them.
“These are fine assays, Samuel,” Hinley commented, sliding them over. “Your values are still running close to three ounces per ton. You should be up there beginning a drift.”
“We will be, but I’m still finishing up on the Sweet Mary, and we’re still waiting on a mill.”
“Aye, I have heard nothing new about the mill. It may be you shall never get one. If you wish, I may allow you to use the hammer.” Hinley nodded at the muller, smiling.
“Not funny, Mr. Hinley.” Samuel could hand work some ore but not the volume they would need.
“Come on, it’s not too late. We may still be able to catch Mr. Alexander,” Charles abruptly said. “Since we’re here, I have a few things to pick up.”
Samuel traipsed after his father as they entered Alexander’s Mercantile.
“I’m glad you dropped by. This is for you.” Scott handed a letter to Samuel.
The letter was from his mother, of course. Samuel stuffed it inside his shirt, where it could be considered on the ride back to the cabin—where he could wonder what news it held and cherish it.
His father picked out a few items, including some dried beef, dried fruit, some salt pork, cheese, crackers, and other items that Samuel took to be trail food. Samuel guessed his father was preparing for the move to the O’Riley. It made sense. If the assays had been low, his father would have told him they were heading home to Iowa.
Charles tossed over his pouch. Scott measured out some gold and handed it back. Charles glanced into it. “You’re leaving me some?” he joked.
“No sense in leaving you broke,” Scott said. “By the way, how’s your flume working out?” He eyed Samuel.
“You just saw some of the gold,” Samuel said proudly. “I was averaging better than half an ounce a day for a while.”
“That’s better’n most placers these days.” Scott finished the packages and reached for his pipe.
“But now the water’s drying up.”
Scott shook his head. “You’d never have guessed based on the flooding we had.” He began packing tobacco into his pipe. “You guys going to Slate Creek for Independence Day? Nearly the whole town is, the way I hear it.” He struck a match and began drawing on his pipe, letting out a puff of smoke.
“Why would that be?” Charles asked.
“Slate Creek is really going all out. I hear they’re bringing in a whole passel of fireworks—Sam’d like that.”
Samuel immediately thought of Bonnie and tried not to think anymore.
“It’s close to eighty miles, Scott. Not likely we’ll go,” Charles answered. “Need to pay you and finish up here as soon as possible.” He handed one of the packages to Samuel and grabbed up the other. They nodded to Scott and stepped from the store.
“I know you’d like to go, Samuel,” his father said, loading the packages into the saddlebags. “It’s just not possible.”
Samuel knew that. Besides, he had gold to dig.
When the two reached the cabin, Samuel anxiously opened the letter. It was not as cheerful as the last. Samuel guessed it was because his mother had expected them to be home by now. He had previously mentioned meeting Bonnie and visiting the ranch, but it was before he had gone to work there.
My Dear Charles and Son, Samuel,
It shall be over a year when you receive this letter since I have seen you. Not since the Southern Uprising have I been so lonely. I must say the truth, but I am confident when you receive this letter you will be informing me about the sale of the mine and your imminent return to your family. I truly miss your companionship and desire for you, both of you, to be here. Charles …
Samuel recognized his mother’s longing for his father. He was beginning to understand the need that a man and woman had for each other, and he found himself thinking of Lilly and then Bonnie. Why did Scott have to bring up Independence Day at Slate Creek? It could never work for Bonnie and him. He wished he were home in Iowa.
He skimmed the remainder of the letter before going back and rereading it, cherishing his mother’s words.
His mother talked about his grandma’s death. She mentioned how Elizabeth was growing and helping with the cooking and the garden. She mentioned his cousin Daniel again and how he was helping Uncle Jake till and plant the fields. Daniel was shooting squirrels and rabbits for game. But Samuel found himself wanting not to be tilling fields and planting crops. He thought of himself finding gold or perhaps of running cattle across the hills.
He handed the letter to his father, who studied it for a long while.
“She sounds good, does she not, son? It sounds as if the farm is doing well. That’s good. It makes it easier to be away.” He talked cheerily.
“She misses us, Pa,” Samuel blurted out the truth.
“Yes, she does, son.” Charles’s tone softened. “It’s okay. Things will be all right. We’ll be at this at most another month.”
In Samuel’s reply to his mother, he talked proudly of the strike on the Sweet Mary and how they would soon be bringing ore out of the O’Riley. He also told of his ranching with the Strombacks and meeting Bonnie. He labored over using just the right words when talking about Bonnie, not wanting his mother to think into it too much. He ended by writing glowingly about their prospects.
When you see us riding in, dear Mother, we will be packing a goodly amount of gold. We will all go to the town and you will be able to buy all sorts of things. For sure a new dress for you and one for Elizabeth. For sure now, we will be laying out a new farm. Pa and you and Elizabeth will have a wonderful new home.
Only after he signed the letter and reread it did he realize he had left himself out.
He watched as his father read what he had written and caught a slight frown. His father added some lines, folded the paper, folded an envelope around it, and sealed it.
“You can post this from Slate Creek.”
“What?” Samuel could not believe what he thought he had heard.
“To blazes, son, you’re going to Slate Creek,” Charles said. “I was thinking on it, and your ma’s letter convinced me.”
Samuel broke into a huge smile and then bit his lip. “It’s okay, Pa. I can stay and run some more gravel. We need the money.”
“No, Samuel. You’re going,” Charles said. “I had sent word to Mr. Hinley for the assays. We have to take things into our own hands a bit. I want you to go back and see that man you saw last December and try to sell the mine, and I’d like you to advertise the O’Riley around town.”
“Is it worth it?” Samuel wanted to believe his father, but going that far only to advertise their mine didn’t seem prudent.
“We haven’t had any offers on the O’Riley sitting around here, except that fifty bucks you didn’t want to tell me about. We sure as blazes need a better offer than that,” Charles said. “And if you’re really wanting to, you can drop by and see that girl.”
Samuel felt his heart quicken and a knot formed in his stomach. “That will be tough, Pa. When I finished up ranching, I told Bonnie I was leaving. I don’t know if I can tell her again.”
His father was silent a moment as if searching for something else to say. Awkwardly he continued, “Well, go see some of the festivities at least, but I don’t recommend you go racing Spooky. We can’t take a chance on losing him before we head back.” Charles pulled off his shirt and poured some water for washing.
Samuel did not move.
“Better get your things together. You’ll need to get on the trail early. It’s going to be two days there and two back.” Charles doused himself with water. “You need some time for business as well.”
Later, as Samuel slowly undressed, things he thought he had buried began boiling up within him. He stared through the twilight; a couple of stars had appeared. God, where are you taking me now? he wondered.