Salmon River Kid

by Joseph Dorris

  “Yes, sir.” Samuel gulped.

  Charles pointed up the trail. “Find some rocks up there where you can hide. Whatever you do, don’t let them see you.”

  “Be careful, Pa,” Samuel whispered.

  His father turned Buster and headed upstream at a brisk trot toward the spur trail.

  Heart racing, Samuel headed up the Florence trail, looking for a safe place. Finally, he found where rock outcrops flanked one side. He pulled Spooky into the timber and tied him. Making his way farther up into the rocks, Samuel reached a spot that seemed to offer some protection. Men coming down the trail would never see him until they had passed by, and he could get a good look. At present, the moonlight was good, and depending on when his father could get above the men, it might even be daylight.

  Samuel squatted down, back against a rock, another offering a barricade in front of him. It seemed a defensible position. He tried not to dwell on what could go wrong. He had imagined things like this but never expected them to come to pass. This was real. He might get shot at. His throat cracked dry. He shivered in the cold, sweating, wishing he had some water. He strained to hear hoof beats, something that would tell him they were coming, and then he hoped he would hear only Buster’s hooves. His hands twisted on the pistol, and he realized he had it pointed at himself. Idiot. You wanna die? He aimed it back down the trail.

  The night was dead still except for moonlight glinting off a bend in the river and the murmur of water. He waited, cramped, and shifted his position, careful not to let the moonlight glint off the pistol, his heart hammering.

  He had to get up to pee. He stood and walked about, wondering about the length of time. He mentally tried to calculate how long he had waited and how long it would take his father to ride up the spur ridge. He worried that his father might miss the men. If so, they would never see who they were.

  He returned to his spot, squatted down, and scanned the eastern sky. It was still pitch-black.

  The muffled rifle shot, surprisingly near, rocked him awake. His heart skidded. Two other shots exploded the night, echoing off the hillsides. More than one rifle. It wasn’t Stephens and Boston. A chill washed over him. His heart quickened, and he strained to see. Another shot sounded like his father’s rifle. Then in rapid succession, more shots, different rifles or maybe a rifle and pistol; they seemed closer. They were coming.

  The noise echoed from the canyon walls, followed by silence. Samuel felt a clawing dread. His hands twisted on the pistol, sweaty. He desperately wanted to go to his father.

  Softly thudding hooves descended the trail, drawing steadily closer, but not rushed. Almost surreal, two riders emerged from the shadows into the moonlight directly above him, working their way downslope.

  Blood pounded in Samuel’s ears. The men were talking and not concerned with running. His father wasn’t coming. Maybe dead. A sob broke in his throat. What does it matter now? A rage filled him. “At least one of you bastards is gonna pay,” he muttered. He cocked the hammer.

  Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The pistol wavered.

  The riders were beneath him, carrying bulging saddlebags. They could not be Stephens and Boston. Both horses were dark with no clear markings.

  He staggered to his feet. “Stop, you sons of bitches. You stole our gold.”

  “It’s the Chambers boy!” The voice was vaguely familiar. The men began laughing.

  “I’m serious as the angel of death. I have a pistol leveled on you,” Samuel shouted, trying to keep his voice from quavering, trying also to steady his hand. “Leave the gold, and you can go.”

  “Put it down, boy, before ya blow your fool foot off, or somethin’ worse,” came the voice, still laughing.

  The man’s shadowy form settled in Samuel’s sights, and he pulled the trigger. The blast surprised him. The man’s horse bucked.

  “What the hell!” The man clawed the air to regain his balance. “Get that little bastard.”

  The other man, in a long coat, leveled his rifle and fired, the flash and explosion deafening. A bullet whined high overhead. Samuel took quick aim and fired back. The man spun around wildly, cursing. The flash from a pistol muzzle and explosion caused Samuel to blindly duck and crawl back toward the rocks below. Another round slammed into the rock above him, shattering pieces, stinging his cheek. It was senseless to try to get off another shot. He would save the rounds for when they came at him. Desperately, he wished for his father. Please be coming, Pa. Don’t be dead!

  “I’m going after that little bastard.”

  Hoof beats headed Samuel’s direction, clattering against the rock. The man was coming up. A pounding filled Samuel’s senses; he felt icy cold. He strained to see and tried to get into position for a shot. He stood, trembling, leveling the pistol at the shadowy form.

  “Let him go,” his partner shouted. “The Chambers boy ain’t worth it. Let’s light out afore his pa gets here.”

  “Doubt that’s gonna happen.” The voice laughed as the shadowy form retreated. “Not with a slug in him.”

  The man’s words rocked Samuel. He felt stunned, unable to move or even to think.

  “Better go find your pa, boy. He might not be long for this world,” the voice continued.

  The thudding hooves retreated down the trail, now far below him, heading in the direction of the main river trail.

  Samuel felt hot and sick, and started shaking uncontrollably. They had had him pinned down in the rocks. The man could have easily killed him.

  In a numb daze, he discovered himself scrambling down, running for Spooky. He mounted and spurred the animal up the trail. The moon would be down before long. He pushed upward into the shadows. How Spooky could see, he didn’t know.

  A riderless horse came toward him. He knew it was Buster. No, God. No! He caught the animal and continued up the trail, thinking terrible thoughts, desperately pushing Spooky, the animal now winded. He slowed for a rocky area, forcing himself to allow Spooky to pick his way through, all the time his heart hammering.

  He came into the open on a traverse; a figure stood in the middle of the trail, rifle in hand, limping. It was his father.

  “Pa!” Samuel leaped from Spooky and ran to him. “You okay?”

  “Banged up a bit,” he replied grimly. “What in blazes happened? I heard shooting.”

  Samuel explained. He found himself shaking as he recounted how the man had come toward him.

  “Don’t know which of us was stupider, you or me,” Charles replied at length. “Either of us could have been killed.”

  “What happened, Pa?”

  “I got past them just fine, but the moment I hollered and fired a warning shot, they started shooting. Buster spooked, and I ended up on my butt. Blazes, I can’t remember being unseated so fast in my life.” He tried to laugh. “They saw I was on the ground, so they lit out, heading your direction.”

  His father limped over to his horse. “Give me a hand, will you?”

  Samuel steadied his father as he mounted.

  “Any idea who it was?” Samuel still struggled to place the voice.

  “Not the guys from the other day. Even in the moonlight, I could tell they had better mounts.”

  “I think they know us, Pa. One of them said ‘It’s the Chambers boy’ when I called them down.”

  “Then it could have been anybody past our place. Everyone knows us. If you had stayed put, you might have recognized them.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa. I wasn’t thinking. I wanted our gold back. I-I wanted them dead.” He found his words hard to believe.

  “We were both wrong.” Charles pulled up on Buster and was quiet for a moment. “Son, you told me once how this country doesn’t care how old you are or what you think—it’ll kill you. It’s the same thing if ever you go after a man again, and I pray to God you never have to, but keep in mind this country. It has no emo
tions, no love, no remorse, no hate. If you let your feelings get in the way, you’ll end up dead.” Charles stared toward the east where faint light now silhouetted the mountains. “I had to learn that during the Southern Uprising. If I hadn’t, I doubt I’d be here.”

  Samuel was finding it difficult to breathe. Never had he felt this way toward two human beings. He wanted to kill them—had tried to kill them—and it scared him, but his father’s words scared him more. He did not think he could ever set aside his feelings.

  Chapter 14

  UPON ENTERING THEIR CABIN, they stopped in stunned silence. Their belongings were scattered and shredded. The beds were turned over; the stove was moved; and part of the floor was ripped up.

  Samuel ran to the bag of cornmeal. From the bits of meal, he knew without looking what he would find. Their gold pouch they kept stored in the bottom was missing. He was wracked with disbelief. Gone! Their gold was gone.

  Samuel sat down hard, unable to breathe, feeling the world spinning about him.

  Charles slammed his fist onto the table. He threw the bag and raked the dishes aside, sending them clattering across the floor. He sat, hands clenched into fists.

  Samuel caught sight of the anger on his father’s face and quieted. It was a look Samuel had never seen. His own distress became fear.

  “How could I have been so damn stupid?” Charles snapped. “That’s what they wanted. They weren’t interested in getting away to Florence. They wanted us away from the cabin.” He buried his head in his hands.

  Samuel sat stone silent. He guessed it was more likely blind luck. They took advantage when they found both his father and him gone. Luck or not, it didn’t matter—their gold was gone. Their dreams were gone. Thoughts of Bonnie, of the O’Riley, and of Chen flashed through his mind. He thought of his mother and sister. Well, going home was settled. What remained for them here?

  His father sprang up, grabbed up the meal sack, and began stuffing in food items. “I’m going after them. If I have to, I’ll follow them to Hades.”

  Samuel said nothing but quietly began packing. He knew he was going as well. It didn’t matter what his father might say anymore.

  In a moment, they were on the trail, heading downstream.

  His father didn’t speak. Jaw set, eyes flashing, he pushed Buster at a trot. He pulled his rifle and laid it across the pommel. In the growing light, the fresh hoofprints were easy to see.

  “Keep your eyes peeled, son. They won’t give us a second chance.” Charles’s tone was ice. It was the first acknowledgment that he knew Samuel had come along.

  Samuel forced himself to pay attention, to observe their surroundings, although he doubted the men would try to dry-gulch them. They were running. Samuel wished he had tried for a horse instead of the men. They could have tracked a bleeding horse. But it wasn’t worth it. The men probably would have killed him—maybe not if his father had been coming hard on their trail, but he hadn’t been. And now they were following the men, presumably to try to get their gold back, but Samuel believed his father had other intentions.

  They pushed hard until their horses began to flag. At a small tributary, his father paused long enough to water them.

  “I’m afraid we aren’t closing the gap, son. They might already be up a side canyon, camped.”

  Samuel patted Spooky, concerned. His father and he would have to conserve some energy if they intended to pursue for much longer.

  “You know, son, it’s possible it’s two of the men that jumped the pack string last fall.”

  “Why would they be so stupid? People are still looking for them.”

  “Might not be looking all that hard. It was the Chinese pack string, remember?”

  Samuel understood.

  “Like Mr. Hunt told us, the pickings around here are pretty easy. If it’s true what you said and they know us, they knew we were alone. They might’ve been watching me while you were away. When they saw we hit it big, they let us run the sluice a few days, knowing we were stashing the fines and filling up our pouch. Maybe they even saw Stephens and Boston and figured they’d take the blame.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Samuel breathed. He felt his anger growing again. He scanned the countryside, now bathed in early sunlight, searching the side canyons, looking for a place the men could be holed up and waiting to dry-gulch them. “It ain’t right, what they did, Pa.” He choked on his words. Samuel felt empty. He kept trying to reason why anyone would take their gold. How could anyone decide it was okay to bust up someone’s property and take what they had worked an entire winter for?

  “No, son,” his father answered. “It ain’t right.” He urged Buster back onto the trail.

  “But why? We never hurt anyone.”

  His father was silent a moment. “There’s evil in this world, Samuel. Plenty of it. That’s all the reason there is.”

  When they reached Groff’s ferry, Jesse explained he had ferried across a couple of men first thing that morning. His description of the men matched what they could see in the moonlight, and they had paid in dust.

  “Probably them. That dust was ours.”

  “Sorry. What happened?”

  Charles explained and then requested, “If you don’t mind, please pass the word along to others to be on the lookout. Send word to Slate Creek and to Jon Stromback if you can.”

  “I will.” Jesse shook his head. “I respect you for going after them. Least I can do is offer a ride across.”

  The water had risen considerably. Samuel felt uneasy at the bucking and creaking ferry as they moved across.

  “We better not stay on this side too long, Pa. Might end up too high pretty soon.”

  “I’ve thought of that. I’m just hoping I can catch sight of them.”

  They turned up the trail following the Little Salmon and rode a short distance to a side draw. Charles rode over the ground, eyes searching.

  Samuel peered up the draw, wondering if the men were up above, watching. He shivered.

  “Can’t tell if they came this direction. Can’t afford to push them if they did. For sure, they’d dry-gulch us now. No one around to be witness.”

  Samuel quickly scanned the canyon walls again.

  “They can turn up any of these canyons and cross over to the Snake River. No one would ever catch them. There’s gotta be a hundred ravines they can follow down the other side.”

  In silence, they turned their horses and headed back toward the ferry.

  Near evening, they reached the cabin and fixed some venison and corn mush. Samuel decided he would never look at a meal sack in the same manner as before.

  “What we gonna do now, Pa?”

  “Not much I reckon we can do. Just go back to work. Hope there’s some gold left.” His father held his plate; his eyes were far away.

  “There may be a couple ounces in the fines that they didn’t steal. At least they didn’t steal the quicksilver, and there was a little amalgam worth a few dollars.” Samuel had earlier found the canister of mercury where he had left it outside the cabin. “Maybe we can clear off some more bedrock.”

  His father put down his plate, pushed his fingers through his hair, and stared at Samuel.

  “You got to understand, son. I spent the entire time you were at Slate Creek clearing off that last spot we been mining. Before we got robbed, we had near fifteen ounces of gold. How much does that come to?”

  “Well over two hundred dollars,” Samuel replied. “Probably near three hundred with what fines they stole.”

  “That’s about right,” Charles said. “You and I spent over half a year working ourselves to near death for three hundred dollars, and for what? Now we got to mend the sluice, and start over. Maybe we’ll get another couple ounces. To blazes, Samuel, we’d of both been better off ranching and making a decent wage.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa. It was m
y fault.” Samuel found himself shaking. “If I’d’ve stayed at the cabin, they wouldn’t have got our gold.”

  “I’m not blaming you.”

  Samuel’s eyes misted. “But it is my fault.”

  “Look, I’ve told you before you have to make the best decisions you can, faced with what you know. I considered it before I let you come with me and before we split up. It was the right decision. We can’t be second-guessing ourselves. It won’t bring the gold back.”

  Samuel was silent. Despite his father’s words, he could sense something different in his voice. The dream was gone.

  “Pa, you always been telling me things will work out.” He searched desperately for something good he could say. He began thinking about the quartz ledge east of the South Fork, where the grave was—the place where he had met the Sheepeater Indians. Maybe it was time to tell his father. Instead, he continued. “Maybe the Sweet Mary will have a lot of gold, and the O’Riley will prove up good. Then we can go home.”

  “Got to try.” Charles sat and pulled off his boots. “Not much choice is there, son? Not much choice.” He stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes. The cabin had grown dark except for the flicker from the fire.

  Samuel felt devastated. Last night and this day had been horrible. Not only had they lost their gold, either of them could have been killed. Even now the thieves could return intent on killing them. Maybe not here. Maybe at Warren’s. Maybe other thieves.

  “Pa, I got something I need to tell you,” Samuel managed. “I found another ledge.”

  Charles opened his eyes.

  “Remember when I went east of the South Fork?”

  “Yes. When you saw the Indians and I gave you what for, for going so far alone?”

  “I told you I found a grave and a place where someone had been prospecting.” Samuel paused, wondering if he should go on. “Well, I didn’t tell you the whole of it.”

  His father studied him.

  “The quartz the man was working was rich.”