SAMUEL WOKE BEFORE daylight in a sweat. He had figured out what was going on. He scrambled from his bed and quickly packed his bedroll. He grabbed what food he could and all the spare ammunition for the pistol. He wanted to travel light but took a few of Scott Alexander’s items—tobacco, socks, gloves, and several lengths of rope.
After writing a note for his father, he stepped out. The morning was cool, and dew drenched the grass. He caught up Spooky. Molly grazed contentedly. She should be all right, he reasoned. Besides, his father would be back Monday night at the latest as they had agreed.
He rode through Washington and checked to see if Chen was at Sing Mann’s. He knew he wouldn’t be. Sing Mann tried to explain. “He go to sell.”
“He was going to go with me.”
Sing Mann shrugged and spoke rapidly in Cantonese, avoiding any English. Samuel figured he did not want to explain anything further.
“Thank you, Mann.” He left, trotting Spooky back along the trail, intending to head toward Burgdorf’s. Scott was not at his mercantile, but that didn’t matter. Samuel didn’t intend to make any deliveries. He hoped Scott would understand. The Chinese pack string was picketed in the meadow. Samuel prayed he wouldn’t run into Quinton Dudgin and Ramey Smith, at least not until after he had found Chen.
About a mile out of Washington, he caught up to Chen. Chen tried to pull the mule off the trail, but Samuel spotted him.
“What’s up, Chen?” Samuel asked. “You didn’t wait for me.”
Chen looked at him, dark eyes widening, a frightened look on his face. “You go back, Sam. You go back. I go to sell by myself.”
Chen’s mule was packed with a few vegetables but not the usual amount, and they appeared wilted.
“You aren’t going to sell those miserable vegetables to anybody,” Samuel said.
Chen stopped. “Yes, I am, Sam.” He tried to smile. “These are very good vegetables.”
“Then I’m going with you to see how you do it. I don’t believe you.”
“No. Don’t go, Sam. Please.”
Chen’s desperate look unsettled Samuel.
“Look, Chen,” Samuel whispered. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you’re packing the gold. You’re taking it out, if not all of it, most of it.”
Chen stared at him, eyes big. He started to shake his head. “Please, Sam—”
“Don’t worry Chen. I ain’t telling anyone. Besides, there’s no one around to tell.” Samuel glanced around, hoping he was still correct. The sun touched the tops of the far trees. “And I’m going with you. Don’t know where, just yet, but I figure if you’re taking it out, I’m going as well, and there ain’t anything you can say about it.”
The desperation in Chen’s eyes softened. “We can’t be seen, Sam. No one. Not even by friends. We have to go to Lewiston.”
“Lewiston!” Samuel exclaimed and whistled softly. “That’s gotta be a hundred sixty miles at least.”
“Ten days,” Chen nodded. “I have food. Do you?”
“Nah, I’ll just eat some of those ratty vegetables, if you don’t mind.”
Chen appeared surprised. “Those are for sale.” He tried to smile.
Samuel grinned. “Don’t worry, I have some grub.” He turned back toward the trail. “I can pack some of the heavy vegetables, if you want. We can make better time.”
Chen shook his head. Samuel didn’t press it.
They rode cautiously, both watching and listening for approaching horses or people. Despite their care, they came into sight of a lone rider on a sorrel horse off the side of the trail. The man saw them and waved.
Samuel approached slowly. “Let me do the talking.”
“You always do,” Chen replied quietly.
“Do not look, but there are two riders up in the trees.” Samuel’s heart began to race.
Chen fixed his eyes ahead.
Samuel recognized the small man. “It’s Ben Morton.” He noticed that he packed a rifle.
“I know,” Chen replied. “He does not like Chinese.”
“Howdy, Mr. Morton,” Samuel called. “Everything okay?”
“Well now, what we got here?” exclaimed Morton, waving his arms. “I’ll be. It’s Samuel with a Chinaboy.” He laughed. “What ya doin’ with a Chinaboy, kid?”
“You know us, Mr. Morton. We’re just taking things to peddle.” Samuel was not aware if Morton knew that Chen and he peddled goods; nevertheless, he wanted to make certain the men listening from cover did. He felt clammy, his hands sweaty on his reins, knowing he could be dry-gulched in a moment. Already he believed that Dugin and Smith were the men, and they would recognize him. He braced, half expecting a bullet.
“With a Chinaboy? I knew it, kid. You and your pa are both Chinaman lovers.”
From the corner of his eye, Samuel saw Chen stiffen.
“With all due respect, Mr. Morton, Chen saved my life. He’s my friend.”
Morton calmed and muttered something. “Well, you should know they have been stealing gold. I’ve got an injunction here to stop any gold shipments.” He waved a piece of paper.
Samuel grew a little nervous and wondered if the paper had merit. “Sorry, no gold, Mr. Morton.” He said it much more calmly than he thought he could. “Chen takes vegetables from his gardens on the South Fork and sells them. I deliver and sell goods from Alexander’s Mercantile. The gold we get is earned fairly.
“What do you mean stealing gold?” Samuel asked. “I haven’t heard about that. What I know is legal mining.” He was thinking about Lance Baroon and the Slaughter Creek placers.
“You’re wrong, kid. The Chinamen don’t have any legal claims. You know the new mining law. I got an interpretation and I’m right. It’s not their gold. I’m headin’ in to see Sheriff Sinclair about it, and I’m tellin’ everyone in the county to stop any shipments until we get what’s legally ours.”
Samuel’s mind raced, wondering about what Morton was saying. “I can’t argue with you at the moment. I got some wares to deliver.”
“If’n I didn’t know better, I’d say you were up to somethin’, kid. Mighty early to be headin’ out of Washington just to sell vegetables,” Morton challenged, his eyes narrowing. “Where y’all headin’?”
Under normal circumstances, Samuel would not have answered such a demand. “We got to go to Miller’s camp. I don’t want to be gone longer than need be. I’m expecting a visit from Mr. Williams. You know him? He wants to look at my gold mine. Sure would be good to sell it. We get it sold, me and my pa are getting a bunch of money and heading out to Iowa.” Samuel paused. Maybe if Morton knew several people expected him, they would not suspect what Chen and he carried.
“So, where’re you heading, Mr. Morton? Back to Warren’s? Kind of early to be out in this neck of woods with little reason to be here.” Samuel could not help himself. Two could play this game.
Morton set his jaw. “A wise-mouthed kid, huh?”
“I said what we were up to. Just trying to be friendly.”
Morton began to squirm. “I told you. I’m seeing Sheriff Sinclair. I heard that Hong King’s pack string was delivered yesterday. I’m making sure the Chinamen don’t try to ship out any gold.”
Samuel hesitated. Maybe Morton had something.
“Hong King’s pack string sure did come in. Chen and his uncle got all kinds of Chinese grub and supplies from China, didn’t you, Chen?”
Chen seemed startled. “Good stuff, Sam.”
“They should be heading back soon, but you know the pack strings, they’re always coming and going. I just don’t want to meet one on the narrow parts.”
“Thanks, kid. Have a good trip.” Morton’s tone had softened.
Samuel knew he had given Morton what he was looking for.
Chen and he continued. Samuel had a nearly uncontrollable urge to spur Spooky into a trot down the trail. If it was Dudgin and Smith, the only reason he was still alive was that they intended to hit the Chinese pack train.
They rode until well out of earshot. Samuel glanced back. Where Morton had been was cut from his sight.
“He’s bluffing,” Samuel quickly said. “He has no legal right to stop any shipments. That’s just his excuse for anyone on the trail he meets in case they hear about a pack train getting stopped.”
“It won’t matter, Sam,” Chen said quietly. “You tell him too much.”
“Look, I think I know who was hiding. I wanted them to think we were going to Miller’s camp. When they learn the pack train doesn’t have the gold, it won’t take them long to figure out who does.”
Chen seemed nervous. “Then they come after us.”
“Trust me, Chen. We can beat them,” Samuel said. “First, I need to see if I’m right. Whatever you do, you keep going. If you hear anyone, even think anyone is coming, get off the trail and hide.”
“Sure, Sam.” Chen was visibly shaken.
Samuel began a wide circle to where he would come out well above Morton. Nearing the spot, he tied Spooky and worked his way to a highpoint. Three horses with riders were working their way past just below him.
Dudgin and Smith! An icy chill swept over Samuel. So Morton was their new unsuspecting partner. He wanted to tell Morton about their other two partners—their dead partners.
Samuel noted Quinton Dudgin’s skin appeared even more sickly yellow. The nick on his ear and scar across his check stood out sharply. His gray vest was tattered and, if possible, even greasier. His red hair was matted and caked, and a stubble beard covered his face.
Ramey Smith held his rifle across his pommel, revealing his two missing fingers. He wore the same long, black frock coat, despite the heat, and the same black hat pulled down, shielding his sunken eyes. Before, Smith had threatened Samuel with “unfinished business.”
Samuel pulled back out of sight and hurried back to Chen, startling him when he burst from the brush. So much for hearing someone and hiding, thought Samuel.
“It’s who I thought. It’s Quinton Dudgin and Ramey Smith.”
Chen’s dark eyes widened. “The men who try to kill you.”
“Somehow they’ve teamed up with Morton. Morton might even think he’s got some legal right and he’ll be able to convince Sheriff Sinclair to stop the pack train, but it won’t matter. The minute Dudgin and Smith see the pack train, they won’t wait for Morton to show any papers or fetch any sheriff. They’ll hit it, planning on getting all the gold.”
Chen stiffened. “We are in trouble, Sam.”
“I expect they’ll lie in wait for the pack train. I just hope nobody gets killed.”
Chen spoke, voice shaky, “When they find no gold, they come for us, Sam.”
“Most likely.” Samuel touched the pistol that was shoved into his waistband. “We have to be really careful, Chen.”
They passed the second summit and turned down Long Gulch to the Secesh River. Samuel turned downstream toward the trail to Miller’s camp and Ruby Meadows.
“Wrong way, Sam,” Chen said.
“I’m guessing they’re following us by now. Probably they’re watching us. If we don’t head this way, they’ll know for sure we have the gold.”
Samuel scanned the horizon. A few clouds were building.
“Maybe we’ll get a thunderstorm. We can double back on them.”
They reached the Ruby placer, and the miners came to greet them.
“We got to make it look good,” Samuel whispered. “Sell like you normally do.”
Chen laid out his wares.
“Looks like we’re on the bottom,” one miner observed. “Pretty skimpy.”
“No,” Chen countered. “Good stuff. Lookee here. Good Chinee radish.”
Curiously, Samuel realized that Chen talked more pidgin with these men than he did when around just him.
The men bought a few vegetables.
“How they doing down at the lower meadow?” Samuel asked.
One of the men, still selecting through some of the onions, muttered, “About the same as all of us.”
“Heard they are opening up a trail from there all the way to Fort Boise. That the same trail?” Samuel nodded toward the lower placers.
“Yep, you’ll see the new trail being cut through.”
“Much obliged,” Samuel said and headed the direction the man had pointed.
When they were out of earshot, Chen protested. “Wrong way, Sam. Really wrong way.”
Samuel pulled up short. “You got to trust me on this, Chen,” Samuel said. “I’ve been thinking. I figure Dudgin and Smith have probably got us figured out by now. Maybe they didn’t even jump the pack train. At the very least they know who I am, and they want me dead.”
Samuel sobered when he realized the truth of his words. No one would ever know what happened to him or Chen if Dudgin and Smith caught them here in the middle of nowhere.
“They’re going to come after us, Chen. I know it. If I can get them to think we’re headed down the new trail to Fort Boise, they might keep going. We’re going to Lewiston. I know a trail that will bring us out at Shearers’ ferry and make better time. Hardly anyone uses it anymore.”
Chen quieted.
Samuel led the way. They sold a few items at the lower placers and again asked directions for the new trail. The trail cut down through thick timber down a steep slope. At the bottom, they crossed Summit Creek and climbed back up until they struck the Secesh trail. They turned upstream toward the summit.
“Where is trail?” Chen asked at length.
“Mr. Shearer said it intersects just past the summit.”
Samuel worried that the trail might be hard to spot. In the early days, before the Chinese came up French Creek, it was the main trail. Now it was rarely used.
Topping the summit, Samuel could not help but pause. Jagged mountains of barren, tortured granite rose from dense timber on both sides of a narrow valley that snaked its way downward into dense timber. The thunderheads, which had been building, now towered behind the peaks, black and ominous. Lightning flashed from their bellies.
Somewhere below, the trail would emerge on the upper reaches of the Payette River, eventually reaching the shores of the big lake, a pristine, trout-filled blue jewel. Beyond, another hundred miles to the south, was Fort Boise.
The Elk Creek trail intersection was well marked.
“Don’t turn up it, Chen,” Samuel instructed. “Follow me.”
He continued on the Payette River trail for a couple hundred yards.
“Now unload your vegetables so some can be seen. If Dudgin and Smith come this way, they’ll for sure think we’re heading out this way.”
Chen started pulling out the vegetables, throwing them out alongside the trail.
Samuel helped. “Save some of the peas,” he added. “We can eat them.”
Satisfied with the decoy, Samuel said, “Now we ride.” He continued down the trail with Chen following.
After a quarter of a mile, Samuel stepped off the trail and circled back until he intersected the Elk Creek trail a good distance west of its intersection.
“I don’t want them to know we came this direction.” He urged Spooky back onto the trail.
Chen replied. “I think you have a good plan, Sam. This is a good way to go.”
The trail, not much more than a path, traversed a low ridge, winding through dense timber toward the northwest. The trees were blazed about fifteen feet up, marking the trail for winter travel. Shortly, it began gently descending toward a small stream and scattered marshes.
“Must be French Creek,” Samuel pointed out. “Mr. Shearer said the trail came up out of Elk Creek and then dropped into French Creek.”
The creek dropped into a steep, timber-choked ravine, and the trail began angling up until it broke out onto several marshy lakes and some thick, grassy meadows on a high bench. Several rugged peaks rose above the meadows to the east. A couple of elk got up and trotted off, snapping branches as they went.
Past the meadows, the trail suddenly pitched downward along a narrow ridge, descending through scattered ponderosa pines below a rocky outcrop and then angling straight down toward the creek. Dropping off the ridge, it entered a valley about fifty yards wide. French Creek tumbled through willows, around jagged rocks, and through talus as it dropped northward toward the Salmon River.
The trail ahead crawled back upward through the timber and reminded Samuel of the French Creek trail. It was just as steep. “Here must be where we climb back over the ridge into Elk Creek. We can keep going or stop here for the night. I’m guessing we won’t find water when we start climbing.”
Chen elected to camp.
The canyon walls masked the mountains toward the east except for a rocky finger that reached into the cobalt-blue sky, where it caught the last rays of the sun, reflecting an orange glow.
They moved well off the trail upstream and found a hidden alcove. Samuel built a small fire and heated some water for coffee. He ate dry meat and some of the fresh peas. “Told you I’d eat some of your ratty vegetables.”
Chen smiled. He prepared his customary rice with a relish topping.
“Looks better than what I have,” Samuel commented.
Chen began eating noisily, using his fingers to scoop the rice to his mouth.
“So how much gold do you figure we’re carrying?” Samuel finally asked.
Chen stopped and shook his head. “I did not ask. All I know it is heavy. I have four bags.”
“We’ll make it, Chen,” Samuel said.
“We have long way to go before we make it, Sam.” Chen quieted.
“I can’t believe they trusted you to carry all this out.”
“No choice. Bandits would jump string.”
“We’ll make it,” Samuel repeated. He rolled out his blankets. “Let’s get some sleep. Be up early morning and get down to Shearers’ before dark.”