being sick.”
“It’s true. Any fool can see you are. The way you can’t breathe sometimes gives it away.”
Thomas stared at the dirt floor.
“I remember how you caught malaria when we were in Nicaragua.” James reminded him. “Do think it came back?”
“I don’t think so. My lungs don’t seem as strong anymore. Dr. McBride warned me about something called pneumonia. I’ll be all right. Rudolph worries too much all the time. He’s like my mother.”
“I have no place to be heading in particular. I’d be glad to stay and help you out. Besides farming I can roast pig or beef for us, too.”
Remembering the delicious meat that James had cooked at Bates’ farm swayed Thomas’ reluctant mind. “You think you can make Mr. Bates’ secret sauce for the meat?”
“Sure can. You have most of what I need growing right here. I can probably get the spices I need from Mr. Weber’s store over in Mudville. I got old Mr. Bates to tell me the way to make the sauce when he was drunk one time.” James winked.
Rudolph recalled the huge breakfast that James had cooked the morning after he had located Thomas at the Bates’ farm. “You have arrived just in time, James. Thomas’ cooking is slowly killing me.”
“And your cooking is any better?” Thomas laughed. “It’s a good thing Mr. Yee isn’t here with us. The food you make turns into gas once it is inside of anyone who is brave enough to eat it.”
James shook his head. He wondered if these two would behave as Billy and Paul had up at Negro Bar. Before long James made the transition from miner to cowboy back to farmer. For the remainder of the summer he helped the others to water and weed the crops. His culinary skills caused the other two to gain about five pounds each. In his free time he practiced with his revolver until he could hit cans 55 feet away. As the crops ripened they were harvested and loaded into a rickety old wagon. Then Rudolph, being the best at selling, hauled the produce to the mining camps to the east. San Andreas was the closest, about 40 miles from the farm. By the time he returned more crops were ready to harvest and sell. This cycle continued until October. After paying Weber and James their shares of the profits, a little more than $7,000 remained for Thomas and Rudolph, which they divided evenly.
With California admitted into the Union as a free state in September, James decided that he would make it his new home. “There’s really not much for me to go back to,” he told the others. “My family is probably still slaves down there in Georgia. Maybe they have already died. Being a slave can kill you off before your time.”
“So can being a miner.” Rudolph frowned. “I was a fool to come to California.”
Rudolph originally had planned on looking for work for the winter in San Francisco before heading back East to his family the following spring. The lack of workers in the city due to the Gold Rush would ensure that he received top dollar for his labor. But Thomas’ questionable health caused him to delay his departure until he could at least find a doctor to treat him. After his examination the doctor told Thomas that he had a mild case of pneumonia. His prescription was much rest, a good diet, and permanent relocation to a warm, dry climate, all of which seemed to echo Dr. McBride’s words from the year before.
“Thank you.” The doctor accepted payment for his services from Rudolph. “You have to get him on the other side of the mountains south of here. Down at least as far as Los Angeles.” He turned to Thomas. “San Diego’s climate is even better for you. Don’t live too close to the ocean. The air there is too damp for your lungs. People that get this almost always have damaged lungs for life. Do what I tell you or it might kill you. You might not survive another winter up here in these parts.”
Instead of going to San Francisco Rudolph agreed to accompany James and Thomas as far as Los Angeles. From there he now planned on taking either the Santa Fe or Gila trails east and home. His abhorrence of traveling by sea and unwillingness to backtrack 400 miles to the north to travel the California trail eastward left little choice. He and Thomas purchased horses and weapons for the overland trip south. Before leaving Mudville they consulted with a cowboy who had journeyed from Los Angeles.
“It’s about 350 miles or so from here to there,” he informed them. “Yer horses appear to be in good enough shape so you’ll probably make between 25 to 30 miles a day. Your saddles sure look worn out though. You best be replacing them once you get down there. The Mexicans there are real good at making saddles. They are damn good cowboys too. You’ll see. I bought this here one before I left out of Los Angeles.” He patted his latest investment for his trade. It was ornately crafted and lightweight enough that his horse much preferred it over the bulkier one that he had worn previously. “Should only take you two, maybe two and a half weeks if you ride straight on through. Worst part is the mountains right north of Los Angeles. Might be easier for you greenhorns to cut over to the pass in the mountains that runs north and south by the ocean. Then you can hook up with the mission trail and follow it on down to Los Angeles. Yeah, that would be a whole lot easier way to go. I’ll draw you a map so you can find the pass if you buy me a drink.”
Rudolph led the way inside of a nearby bar. He ordered the cowboy’s preference and then waited for the map before going back outside to rejoin James and Thomas.
“What is a greenhorn?” Thomas asked as they climbed onto their horses to leave for Los Angeles.
Rudolph spent the next few hours explaining the meaning of greenhorn, tenderfoot, and the dozens of other words that he had learned during his months with Dan while on their trip from Elmira to Placerville. The two Germans agreed that English must be the strangest language on Earth.
That night they added two arms full of wood to keep their campfire burning as they bedded down next to its warmth in the chilly fall air. Its flames alerted another band of riders. Tired of holding up stubborn miners who always fought back, these highwaymen had decided to try their luck at lower elevations in the valley. They figured that flatlanders would be pushovers compared to the pugnacious miners whom they had encountered. Besides, the miners always seemed to outnumber them. Down here in the valley the odds could be stacked considerably in their favor.
One of them was an outlaw wanted in Missouri for bank robbery and murder. The second was an Arkansas native wanted for robbery. Their leader was a scofflaw who had shot 11 men and had an evil attitude to show for it. He was shrewd enough that no wanted posters bearing his likeness had appeared yet. Recently unsuccessful, they were hungry and thirsty for alcohol. Sure of themselves, they did not even bother to dismount as they rode into the camp. Two of the bandits drew their weapons as the leader roused those asleep by the fire. He loved to exert power over others, especially innocent victims such as these.
“All right, boys. It’s time to rise and shine.” He waited until his prey had awakened before announcing their fate. “No one gets hurt as long as you cooperate. All we need is your horses, guns, and food in exchange for us letting you live.”
In response James fired his revolver through the blanket that still covered him. The first round hit the nearest intruder in his chest, which caused him to fall off of his horse. Spooked, the now rider-less horse bolted for safety. As James fired again the other outlaw with drawn gun fired at the same time. The bullet meant for him lodged in the ground inches away from James. His shot wounded the assailant in his shoulder, which made him drop his weapon. By then Thomas and Rudolph were scrambling for their guns. The outlaws’ leader fired once and a bullet grazed Rudolph in the leg as he reached for his gun at the foot of his blanket. The bandits still on horseback reined their horses around and galloped off in a hasty retreat. Their curses filled the night as they chased after the horse of their fallen companion. They knew that they could sell it, preferably to a tenderfoot at a greatly inflated price.
James kept his gun leveled as he went to inspect the motionless criminal who remained behind. “This one’s dead. I think I hit the other one in the arm. You two okay?”
�
��Yes.”
“I think the bullet went through me.” Rudolph unbuttoned his long johns and examined his bleeding wound by the campfire.
“It took off a bit of the flesh,” Thomas said. “I’ll find something to make a bandage to help stop the bleeding.”
The next few days Rudolph was more attentive as James shared more of his insights. That is, until the truth hit too close to home. Cocky after his first time defense against outlaws, James rambled on about his companions’ shortcomings.
“To hear you talk it sounds like you are runaway slaves like me. You’re always complaining about how the Prussians boss everyone else around back in Germany. Thomas even thinks they’re in charge here in America.”
Rudolph and Thomas gazed at each other and shrugged.
“It can always be worse,” James continued. “Take me, for instance. What if the tribe in Africa that made my mammy and pappy into slaves sold them to the Arabs instead? They might have made Pa into a eunuch and I never would have been born.”
“But how is that like us?”
“What if you didn’t run off because you thought you killed Rudolph’s brother? Then instead of me jawboning with you and Rudolph in the beautiful countryside here in California, I’d probably still be working for Mr.
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