squats down to do your business!” He did his best to imitate what he called “Paul’s flowery way with words.” The imitation caused Paul to shake. “I bet what you leave behind smells so pretty and nice the flies don’t even come around to eat on it.”
Paul had kept his temper in check until the last remark. Then he exploded.
“Take that back, or I’ll…I’ll…” He stopped shaking his fist and tried to think of a suitable punishment.
“You’ll what?” Billy mocked him. “Whip my butt? I don’t think you can.” He assumed the fighting stance of a bare-knuckled boxer. “Come on! I’ll give you a worse whooping than your mama ever did. Sometimes I wonder if you even had a mama.”
As usual James stepped in between the two. When Billy kept up his tirade, James banged him over the head with a shovel so that he could sleep off his drunkenness. The next morning Billy complained that his hangover was worse than it usually was. Despite their differences, the three members of the small company did fairly well as they pulled an average of an ounce and a half of gold a day from the American River. In time Billy and Paul stopped their fighting, much to James’ relief. The two even concluded that their calling was to be miners the rest of their lives. This proved to be at least partially prophetic. After most of the diggings played out a few years later both of them progressed into the next phase of extracting gold, hard rock mining in tunnels burrowed deep into the Sierra. Billy died in a cave-in along with two other miners. Paul eventually drifted back to Sacramento where he opened his own clothing shop, which prospered handily.
James seriously considered whether he shared their purported lifelong calling. Working for himself had given him a level of accomplishment that he had never before experienced. But after more than a year of the thankless life of prospecting James decided he had had enough. He sensed that it was slowly wearing him down. His arthritic hands had continued to deteriorate. Both Paul and Billy pleaded with him to stay; they had come to admire their partner for his level headedness. But even their newfound peaceful co-existence was not enough to convince James.
Instead of drinking away his gold, James had saved it. He traded half of it for a horse, saddle, and tack and headed to Sacramento. I walked to the gold. At least I’m riding out with some of it in my pocket. He smiled as his horse plodded toward the city. And I didn’t end up dead, either. He tipped his hat as he rode past those who were buried at Negro Bar.
He remembered that Thomas had spoken of meeting Rudolph for Christmas at a hotel in Sacramento. Unsure of the hotel’s name but nevertheless hoping to find out where they might have ventured next, he talked with whoever happened to be at the hotels’ front desks as he methodically visited each one. The third hotel that he walked into had what he wanted.
“Yeah, Thomas left here last spring,” the hotel clerk replied. “He said something about heading down to Mudville.”
“Where’s that?”
“About 50 miles south of here. Sits right next to the San Joaquin River. You can’t miss it. Say, I got something for Thomas. You can take it to him.” The clerk disappeared into a back office. He returned with a large box filled with letters. After shuffling through it he pulled out one of them and handed it to James. “It got here last week.”
16
James no longer bore the appearance of a miner as his horse carried him southward. Gone were the miner’s typical shabby, worn clothes and unkempt grooming. He had abandoned them for a clean shaven face and attire that made him look more like a cowboy than anything else, especially with the wide brimmed hat that kept the sun from shining in his eyes and the revolver and bullets that hung in his gun belt. Thus, when he rode up to Thomas and Rudolph’s farm they thought he was probably another cowpuncher either looking for work or passing through. Thomas did not recognize him until James called out to him.
“Hello, Mr. Thomas. I have a letter for you. Most folks who deliver mail to the diggings want $1 or $2 to deliver a letter from Sacramento or San Francisco. But because you’re down here in the valley, I’ll be glad to waive the fee.”
“James?” Thomas dropped his hoe and ran to greet his friend. “I didn’t recognize you. You look so different. You even talk differently. What happened? How much gold did you find?”
James swung down off of his horse and grabbed Thomas’ outstretched hand. “I guess you might say that I got more of an education about English than in finding gold since I last saw you.”
“How did you find us?”
“That took a while. The hotel clerk where you stayed said you were in Mudville. When I got there a man named Weber told me where you are. He said that the name of his place would be changing to Stockton pretty soon. One thing about California, they sure like to change the names of their towns.”
Thomas grabbed the letter from James and told him where to find water for himself and his horse, as the temperature was 109 degrees and still rising. “Rudolph, James is here,” he hollered as he ripped open the letter. Thomas met them under the shade of a massive oak tree.
Rudolph smiled at their visitor. “So how did you do in the diggings? Looks like you found enough gold to buy nice clothes.”
“It’s a long story.” James shook Rudolph’s hand.
“Maybe you can tell us a shorter version.”
James smiled. “I’d be glad to.” He gestured at the 20 acres of crops. “Looks like you and Thomas switched to farming instead of mining.”
“There’s more money to be made supplying miners than there is in being one.” Then Rudolph turned toward Thomas, who had finished reading the letter. “You know our agreement. Whoever gets a letter has to read it to the other.” He turned back to James. “That way it feels like we each get twice as many letters.”
“It’s from Dr. McBride.” Thomas sat with his back resting on the oak’s trunk. “He says:
I hope this letter finds its way to you. Mr. Yee and I have settled in fairly well. He has only reverted back to his opium pipe once since we left you so I think he can do well here. We are living with my family in a small adobe hut on a rancho of a friend of mine. He is willing to sell as much as 100 acres to myself but I am too old to do anything with so much land.
It is good for farming and the weather is such that you can grow crops all year. So please reconsider moving here. There is enough land so that you can build your own house for your family.
It has been quite an adjustment living once again with my wife and children. Little Hawk says she will stick a knife in me if I ever go off looking for gold again. She is right. My gold mining days are over. I think it’s a change for the better. I have enclosed an address that you can write to.
Sincerely,
Lucas McBride.”
Thomas refolded the letter and placed it in his pocket. “Why won’t he stop asking me to move down there?” He turned to James. “How much gold did you find?”
“Enough to buy my horse and the duds I’m wearing. And this.” He pulled his revolver from its holster. He handed it to Rudolph, who inspected it carefully.
“This is what we need, Thomas. As soon as we sell our crop, I’m getting one.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to mining, James?”
“No. Negro Bar was the only place I felt safe enough for me to look for gold. But there were problems. There were freed slaves and runaway slaves there. The freed slaves were afraid that those who hunt runaway slaves would show up and make trouble.”
“Why do you sound so different now?”
“There was a freed slave there whose former master was from England. He called himself Sir William. His former master brought William along when he moved to America. When the gold rush started, William came out here on a ship. He had classes there at Negro Bar to teach reading. I could already read so he helped me with speaking English during every meal we ate together and then at night around the fire.”
“Sounds like he did a good job.”
“And it looks like you’re doing a good job at farming.” James studied th
e rows of corn, melons, tomatoes, onions, and carrots.
“I’ve never seen such land.” Rudolph marveled. “The soil is so loose and deep. We only had to dig down a few feet to get water for the crops. The water is so close to the surface that the melons send their roots down into it. I’ve never seen crops grow so fast.”
James accepted the invitation to stay for dinner. They walked a quarter mile to the small shack that served as shelter for the two farmers.
“It’s not much but it’s home for now.” Thomas patted the doorframe. “We built it from scrap lumber.”
“If all goes well we’ll only be here another few months,” Rudolph said. “After we sell our crops we will leave for home.”
James was impressed with the freshness of the bread, butter, meat, and cheese that was served. They were a welcome change from the often stale, rancid, or insect ridden food that he had endured as a miner. “Mighty tasty food you have here.”
“Mr. Weber’s store has all we need,” said Thomas. “This is his land. He’s letting us farm it for a share of the crops.”
James slapped his knee. “You’re sharecroppers. I haven’t seen any of that since I left Georgia.” He went on to describe the system that employed many impoverished white farmers in the South.
As they finished eating, Rudolph changed the subject. “You know, James, we need you here. Thomas is sick and…”
“Don’t speak again about me
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