CHARLES RETURNED to the cabin late Monday afternoon, expecting to meet up with Samuel as agreed. He had had a good week working for McLane, mostly preparing the site for next season. He was surprised that Samuel was not around.
He noticed some tobacco and a pick—things Samuel would have likely taken on a selling trip. It didn’t seem right, but a note said he was on a selling trip with Chen. The date was Saturday, and that concerned him. The two were never gone more than a couple of days.
He prepared a quick supper and took care of the stock. He realized Molly had not been cared for. An eerie feeling enveloped him. He checked the sluice for signs of any unwanted visitors. Nothing but Samuel’s absence seemed out of the ordinary.
Tuesday morning, Samuel had still not returned. Charles saddled Buster and headed into Washington. He visited Mann’s store, hoping that Mann understood English.
“You seen Samuel?”
“Not here.”
“I can see he’s not here. Have you seen him?” Charles asked, somewhat frustrated. “How about your nephew?”
“Not here.” Mann shrugged and spoke at length in Cantonese.
Charles gave up and crossed the street to Hong King’s saloon.
“Anyone here speak English?”
One of the Chinese came forward. “Engliss.” He nodded.
“I am looking for the Chinese boy and my son, Samuel. You know Samuel?”
The man nodded. “Chen go to sell. Not with Samyew.” He shook his head.
That made no sense to Charles. “I got a note from my son saying he was with the Chinese boy.”
“Chen go to sell alone.” The man shook his head more vigorously, but Charles had momentarily noticed a questioning look flash across the man’s face.
“When did he leave?”
“Maybe three day ago, early.”
Saturday, the date on the note, Charles realized. The Chinese knew Samuel often accompanied Chen, but apparently, they had not seen him. Chen had gone alone.
He headed to Alexander’s Mercantile. Scott was busy sweeping in the back.
“You haven’t seen Samuel around per chance, have you?”
Scott shook his head. “When I saw you come in, I figured to ask you the same thing. He picked up some stock for delivering to the camps last Friday, said he’d be in Saturday morning and pick up some fresh goods but never did.” Scott put the broom aside. “You don’t suppose he’s in trouble?”
“He could be. Some of your goods are still at our cabin. This was there.” He handed back the envelope marked for Frederick Burgdorf.
Scott took the envelope. His mouth tightened.
Charles glanced out the window. “When he was in, did he say anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, he was pleased with the selling he had been doing. I gave him an advance since he was heading to Burgdorf’s. I figured he might want a bath and a plate of chow. He seemed excited about that.” Scott went silent. “I should have gone out to check on him, Charles. I should have. That’s not like Sam to not do as he says.” He tapped the envelope against the counter.
Charles shook his head. “No, he knows when to get help. Something’s up. Did he say anything when he left your place?”
“I know he headed out to see that Chinaman friend of his. The Chinese pack string had come in.”
Charles raised his eyes.
“Hong King’s,” Scott explained. “I noticed that more than the usual number of Chinamen left with it.”
“When’d it leave?” Charles began to suspect Samuel’s absence was tied to the Chinese.
“I’m saying about midmorning Saturday. That’d have been when Samuel was supposed to be delivering things.”
“You didn’t happen to see if Samuel’s friend went with it?”
“No, but he could have headed out earlier on his own selling trip. He’s always doing that.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Samuel left me a note saying he was going selling with the Chinese boy.” Charles glanced toward Steamboat Summit. “Any idea if that pack train was carrying anything out of the ordinary?”
“Might have been.” Scott leaned across the counter. “They have to take the gold out sometime. Might explain why the extra riders.”
“I was thinking that.” Charles feared what else he was thinking. “See any strangers around town recently … like someone interested in jumping a string?” He knew Finney and Culler were still in jail, but he was thinking of Dudgin and Smith, two of the men who had held up the Chinese train last fall—the ones who had tried to kill Samuel.
“No, but I did hear word Ben Morton was talking about seeing a judge in Mount Idaho to get the Chinamen removed from his old claim under the new mining law. He didn’t get any help from Attorney Poe.”
“No, and he shouldn’t have. He lost that claim because of his own fault.”
“Well, he’s been making noise about it again. Threatening he’d take some action, saying the Chinamen are stealing our gold—the same tirade as before, but now he seems more intent on convincing others.” Scott straightened. “You don’t suppose Morton’d be stupid enough to think he has the right to stop that pack train?”
Charles slowly shook his head. “Not on his own, but he might try to convince someone to help him.” And it might not be the best kind of help, Charles thought. He began rounding up supplies—dried beef, dried fruit, some crackers. “And Morton just might be stupid enough to try to stop the boys to see what they’re carrying. Samuel doesn’t see eye to eye with Morton on account of the Chinamen. I’m guessing he’ll do like I would and call Morton’s bluff, but if Morton has any help out there and Samuel does that, he just might bite off more than he can handle.”
Scott was silent for a moment. “I see what you’re aiming at. Maybe you should get the sheriff.”
“You tell him. I don’t have time.” Charles pointed at the cartridges on the shelf behind the counter. “Better give me a box.”
Scott placed them on the counter. “You’re going after Morton.”
“I’m going after my son. If Morton gets in the way, I’ll handle him if need be.” Charles turned to leave. “Any word on Hong King’s pack train? Any trouble?”
“Not that anyone’s said. It would go out by way of the wire bridge to Florence,” Scott said. “We’d know by now if it’d been jumped.”
Not if it wasn’t carrying the gold and Samuel is, Charles thought. “If I miss Samuel and he shows up here, tell him I’m on his trail … if I can figure out which one it is. I’ll leave word at the Shearers’ and at Slate Creek, if I get that far. Otherwise, tell him to get back to the cabin and stay put—or, better yet, stay with Ma Reynolds. I’ll be back.”
“You should ride with someone. Maybe one of McLane’s hands.”
“I’ll be fine. They’re probably coming back now.” But Charles doubted it, and at any rate this was his responsibility. Besides, he could not think of anyone who might want to be helping a Chinese boy. “If you can, check on my mule a couple times. I’d be much obliged.”
“Least I can do, Charles. Good luck.”
Charles returned to the cabin and grabbed his bedroll. He wrote a note for Samuel in the event he returned first. He quickly checked the cabin again and headed back at a trot for the trail heading up Steamboat Creek, the route out. With each step, he became more certain of his thoughts. The boys were carrying the Chinese gold. He was not sure if they were headed to Fort Boise or to Lewiston. He recalled most of the Chinese were coming in from Lewiston, but the trail to Fort Boise was becoming more useable and more Chinese were conducting commerce there because of gold strikes in the Boise Basin.
He turned up the trail, scanning the earth and the surrounding country. If Dudgin and Smith had figured out that the boys carried the gold, Samuel could already be dead. But Charles did not sense that. He knew Samuel was resourceful and had probably realized that Dudgin and Smith were following him. If anyone could stay ahead of Dudgin and Smith, Samuel could.
Charles swallowed. He should have been around more and not left Samuel so much to his own. But it was for the family’s good, he rationalized. He had done all he could to make enough money to take care of them—to get land, to start over. But no amount of gold was worth losing his son over.
The men working the first placer southwest of Warren’s confirmed that the boys were together. They had not seen them return. They had full packs, and the Chinese kid had vegetables.
He pushed past Steamboat Summit and down into Long Gulch, not passing any other miners. He checked with one of the placers in Secesh Meadows. The boys had not stopped to try to sell anything, nor did anyone remember seeing them pass.
Charles reasoned that someone would have seen them pass unless the boys were trying to keep hidden or had taken another route.
He approached the trail junction to Miller’s camp and paused, examining the hoofprints. He could not distinguish Spooky’s and a mule’s from any of the others. If Samuel thought he was being followed, he might head toward Miller’s camp and attempt to throw his pursuers off and then double back. Something told Charles he had guessed right.
He reached the Ruby placer near dusk. He recognized a man whom he had worked with last season.
“Carl, you seen Samuel come through here?”
“I did. He was selling with that Chinaman kid he goes with.”
“Thank God.” Charles swung off Buster, letting the horse have water. “He didn’t come back through by any chance?”
“No, and it was strange.”
“About what?”
“The vegetables the Chinaman kid brung were about the worst he’s ever had—like it was stuff he slapped together, but he pretended they was just fine, and your boy didn’t have any customers here. Or anyways he didn’t have anything they wanted. He always packs just what’s needed.” Carl paused to light his pipe, seemingly pleased to be taking a break. “And something else was strange.”
Charles listened.
“Your boy wanted to know the route out toward the big lake and the Payette Valley. I told him the trail out that direction, past the other placers, would cut it.” Carl pointed toward the timber. “They headed out that direction.”
Charles wondered that maybe they were heading to Fort Boise, but if so, Samuel would not have asked for directions nor allowed himself to be seen.
“Then a few hours after they went through, three seedy characters came sneaking through. I seen a couple of ’em before. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw ’em. I was wonderin’ if they weren’t followin’ your boy and that Chinaman kid.”
Momentary dread gripped Charles. Three men: Dudgin and Smith and Morton. Morton had found his help. “Thanks, Carl,” Charles said. “You’ve been a great help.” He swung into his saddle. “You don’t happen to remember if you heard any gunfire that direction?”
“Nah, nothin’ close anyways.” Carl tapped his pipe and reseated it. “’Course your boy coulda come back along the Secesh trail and not come back through here after visitin’ those other placers. Don’t know why he’d ask about the Boise trail, though.”
Charles turned down the trail. “The men you said you thought were following him … did you notice if one of them was minus a couple fingers?”
“Nah, I couldn’t see that far. Anyways, they didn’t know I was up here.”
“Thanks,” Charles said. “I’m guessing they don’t mean anything good by my boy—or the Chinese boy. I think they’re the men I chased down into the Salmon River last fall—the ones that held up the Chinese pack train.”
“I remember hearing about that,” Carl replied. “Hope your boy’s all right. Anything I can do to help?”
“If he comes back through, let him know the men following him are up to no good and to get back to Ma Reynolds’s and wait for me. But I think he knows that. He tried to shake them by coming this way. I’ll follow him until I either lose him or catch him.” He clucked to Buster and turned for the trail.
Charles felt deeply troubled. The men were on Samuel’s trail, probably aware that he was carrying the Chinese gold. He figured that Samuel would likely double back. He was not going to Fort Boise. Somehow, he had figured out that Dudgin and Smith were following him and had come this direction to shake them.
Charles continued past Ruby Meadows and headed west toward the trail intersection with the Secesh trail. Intersecting the trail, he searched for recent hoofprints. He noted several sets of fresh tracks that headed upstream. There was no way of knowing if they were just Samuel’s or the three men who pursued him.
No tracks appeared to be returning. If Samuel had doubled back, Charles could not figure out how. Then it struck him. Samuel would go over the old Elk Creek trail. He laughed to himself. Dudgin and Smith would likely not know it even existed.
He spurred Buster upstream at a quick trot, crossed over the summit, and descended into the Payette drainage. Two sets of tracks were now clear—a horse and, most likely, a mule. He did not know for certain where the Elk Creek trail turned off—only what Shearer had said, that it was beyond the summit a short distance.
He pushed Buster, believing he had somehow missed the turnoff, almost turning back when he finally spotted it. He saw no fresh tracks turning down it but gambled that Samuel had hidden his tracks. He turned down the trail. After a couple hundred yards, he found the fresh prints. Samuel. He felt relieved.
Dudgin and Smith were not following. Charles reasoned that they had quit trying to outguess Samuel and had taken the French Creek trail, knowing that Samuel would eventually head up the Salmon River toward Lewiston and betting they would catch him. His son had been smart. He now had a large lead. If Samuel pushed hard, he might be able to keep ahead of them all the way to Lewiston.
Charles rode until he could no longer see the trail and was in danger of missing sign. He camped for the night and lay watching the night sky, thinking. None of the trip had turned out as he had hoped. He had been away from home far too long—over a year. He wondered how Elizabeth would look, and his nephew and nieces—how they would have grown.
He had been a fool for chasing O’Riley’s gold—it had been nothing but a rainbow. He had not expected to get rich, but he had believed he would find it and be able to sell it for some good money. Samuel, more than he, had made something of it. He had never seen such determination in a kid—in a man. He smiled to himself, recalling how day after day Samuel headed into the mountains, searching for the ledge. He tried to remember if he had ever told him how proud he was of what he had accomplished. He could not remember. “God, get me back my son,” he whispered. “Let him hear from me how proud of him I am. Get us both back to Iowa safely, and soon.”