“For sure,” Charles said. “I’d come here more often myself if he was a bit closer.”
“I’m kinda disappointed to see Mr. Jenkins still isn’t around,” Samuel said.
“Why?”
“I was gonna let him know I met Bonnie. See what he had to say about that.”
“That’s right. The only gal in the territory, he told you. That would have been interesting,” Charles said, grinning.
Shortly, they sat down to a hot meal of wild game, a few beans, and some sourdough bread. There were no fresh vegetables.
“Excuse the skimpy fare. Winter is still all up here.”
“No apology, Fred,” Charles responded. “But do you have a piece of pie or two?”
“By golly, I do. I haf some apple pie. The Shearers had a good crop of apples. I haf kept some in the root cellar all winter. Figured the first pack train would be through this week, so I made up some pie.”
He brought out three pieces and joined them, pouring them some stout coffee as well. They visited briefly. Burgdorf wanted to know what the news from the outside was. Hunt had informed him about them being jumped.
“I want you to know I vill keep my eyes open,” he said, picking up the dishes. “Next time, Charlie, don’t hesitate to put a bullet in ’em. All of us will back you—we will.”
“Thanks, Fred.” Charles stood. “Mighty obliged for the chance to get a good bath and decent meal.”
“Mighty glad to see you two coming through. Now don’t you be strangers, and come on back,” Burgdorf hollered after them as they turned down the trail.
The moment they turned up Long Gulch, they encountered more snow. Shaded areas were blanketed deep under three or four feet. For a short distance, they skirted the snow by fording the swollen creek and slogging through the muddy marshes, but soon unbroken snow stretched before them and forced them to stop.
Before daylight, after the snow had crusted, they again headed out. They crossed both summits and dropped down along Steamboat Creek, striking the muddy trail before the snow again softened. Willows along the creek were bright red with green-and-yellow tips, showing the beginnings of growth. Some grass was greening around the edges of scattered snowbanks in the timber.
A couple of Chinese placers were operating along Steamboat Creek, and a few whites were operating farther up in the trees. Samuel felt giddy as he realized the men who had wintered in Warren’s were already back at work taking out gold. He suddenly became impatient.
They turned up the trail toward Washington. Except for snowbanks along the street, it sat, seemingly unchanged, surrounded by the familiar, timber-cloaked hills. The sight of the buildings sent a rush through Samuel. He recognized the courthouse on the hill with the US and territorial flags. Down from it were Ripson’s Saloon, the Washington Hotel, and Hofen’s Mercantile. Across the street were Hinley’s assay shop and Alexander’s Mercantile. Smoke rose from the tin pipe on Ma Reynolds’s boardinghouse at the far end of the street, and beyond, he could make out the Chinese businesses and huts. Somehow, he felt he was home, and he was anxious to visit everyone and see how they had fared during the winter.
People swarmed into the street, greeting them. Mr. Ripson asked, “Is the pack string behind you?”
“Not that we’re aware of.”
“By cracky, we have a crisis. My whiskey’s ninety proof water. Been that way since April.”
Samuel noticed Miss Lilly and Miss Hattie among the people who had come out to say hello. He waved. His heart raced, but now he had feelings for Bonnie. He knew he would need to tell Miss Lilly the truth and dreaded the thought. Although she smiled and waved, Samuel could not talk to her now, not in front of all the townspeople.
Dozens of Chinese milled about. More than last season, Samuel thought. He could see Mann’s shop and wanted to hunt up and see if Chen was there, but he knew his father would not welcome going to visit the Chinese.
They dropped by to see Mr. Hinley, to get caught up on the mining news, and to drop off the amalgam for retorting. Samuel showed him the samples from the hillside above their cabin on the Salmon.
“It does not matter where young Samuel is, Charles. He shall manage to find something.” Raymond Hinley smiled, and then, adjusting his glasses and squinting, he began inspecting the pieces.
“This is kind of strange-looking rock, Mr. Hinley,” Samuel said, pointing to one in particular. “I can see some sulphurets in it and something metallic, but there’s a lot of blue and green as well. I thought it was pretty.”
Hinley looked up; his eye twitched. “Copper.”
“Copper?” Samuel glanced up and strangely realized that he was looking eye to eye with Mr. Hinley. Although somewhat short in stature like Burgdorf, neither Hinley nor Burgdorf had shrunk. Samuel felt a little funny.
“Aye, blue-and-green staining is a sure sign of copper. The only trouble with copper is that it does not take but a wee bit to thoroughly stain everything green.” He took out a lens and carefully studied the pieces. “Definitely mineralized.” He set the lens down. “I wager you noticed the pyrite?”
“I thought I did.”
“Good lad. There is also some chalcopyrite.” Hinley pointed out what appeared to be pyrite to Samuel except that it was a brighter yellow. “This is called chalcopyrite. It carries the copper. When exposed to weathering, the copper oxidizes to green.”
“Not much value then?” Samuel asked.
“It could very well carry some gold and silver. Most copper deposits do.” Hinley retrieved a canister and his ledger. “I imagine you will want an assay.” Hinley began writing a receipt. “On copper ores they are very difficult to run.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Aye, lad, I was hoping you would offer. And if you wish, you can come in and retort your amalgam.” Hinley chuckled. “Like I offered last year, Samuel, should you wish me to grubstake you, I shall. You have a tolerably good knack for finding respectable ore.”
Charles laughed. “He does, but he may not be wandering about as much this season. I need his help mining so we can get headed home.”
“I expect that is so.” Hinley stood back, eyeing Samuel and Charles. “Indeed, it is a pleasure to see you two.”
“You as well, Mr. Hinley.”
Chapter 17
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, they reached their cabin a few miles north of Washington along a small tributary of Meadow Creek. Something seemed wrong. At first, Samuel believed the snow had played havoc with the place. The door swung open. Rubbish was strewn about. He wondered if a bear or varmints had overrun the place. But Samuel remembered leaving behind a good pile of firewood, and there appeared to be none. Several rails from the fence were missing—possibly chopped up and burned.
Their cabin had been raided. A clawing, twisting feeling erupted within Samuel. The Salmon River robbery flooded back. How can this be happening again? Desperately he sought another answer.
Stumbling inside, a familiar sight met them. The bed frames were torn apart. Shreds of bedding and some tattered clothing, none of it theirs, was strewn about. What utensils had remained behind were on the floor. A plate with moldy scraps of food remained on the table. The stove had been turned over. Luckily the cabin had not burned.
Samuel did not wait to inspect any more of the cabin. He ran toward the placer.
Charles came fast on his heels. “Hold on, son. They might still be here.”
Samuel did not think so, not after seeing the moldy food scraps. He prayed whoever had been here had only used the cabin for shelter.
When he caught sight of the Sweet Mary, his worst fears were realized. He saw no sign of the sluice. The pit where his father and he had uncovered and left the boulders was a cavern. Dread and anger flooded Samuel. They had been jumped, and badly.
Samuel began shaking in disbelief. It was almost beyond his comprehension how anyone
could have dug up the area as it now appeared. Somehow they had managed to get under the boulders. Both had been dislodged and were now resting downslope of the pit. The pit itself had been dug down several feet.
His father had come up but said nothing.
“I can’t believe it, Pa,” Samuel whispered. He was reliving his discovery from last fall—how he had anticipated this moment to return, to get some powder, to blast the boulders and to get to the gold that had to be underneath. They had waited all winter for this. Now it was gone.
Water gushed through what once was the catch basin and through the cut where the sluice had been, gullied where the boulders had been, and flowed on out toward Meadow Creek.
“At least we have water,” Charles muttered.
Samuel knew how bitterly ironic his father’s words were. Most placers in Warren’s camp could only be operated a couple of months before the water drained from the hillsides. He had ditched water from around the hill from the spring near the cabin and dug the catch basin to store water for running the sluice. Even so, by midsummer water was insufficient even to fill the catch basin. It had been because of the unusually heavy rain last fall that Samuel had by chance returned to the placer and discovered the rich gravel.
“I’m gonna kill the bastards,” Samuel whispered.
Charles remained quiet.
“I’m gonna find out who they are, and I’m gonna hunt them down, and I’m gonna kill them.”
“Be easy, son,” Charles said. “I know I don’t have any words that will make it any better for you, but it’s going to be night soon. We need to fix our cabin.”
“You can have the blasted cabin, Pa. You can have it all!” Samuel shouted. “What in blazes does it matter anymore?” He felt a burning in his eyes.
His father turned toward the cabin.
Samuel found himself wandering up the hillside above the sluice, thinking. He found a smooth boulder and sat, watching the stars emerge. They had found good gold while on the Salmon, at least enough to live on. He had made a few dollars ranching. All of that had been stolen.
All winter he had dreamed of getting back here, of blasting the boulders, and of running the rich gravel that had to be underneath them. Now they found the Sweet Mary robbed, possibly of over forty ounces as he had calculated—well over six hundred dollars—enough to get the land his father wanted.
Who could have known about the Sweet Mary besides his father? No one. Finney and Culler had been suspected of breaking into sluice boxes along the Secesh. Possibly, it could have been them, but after roping Kan Dick, they were run out of town, and no one had seen them. Could Dudgin and Smith have robbed them? He doubted they would work this hard. Probably just some more ne’er-do-wells, he thought. Gold camps had a way of attracting scum. He shook his head and watched the sky a bit.
Maybe whoever it was was still snooping around. Samuel began to feel uneasy. His father had warned him to keep his eyes peeled. The hackles on his neck rose.
A branch cracked in the timber below, and he froze. His senses now on edge, Samuel strained to see into the darkness. He found himself reliving the night on the river when he sat in the rocks with the pistol ready. He wished he were at the cabin.
He edged down out of the timber, pausing occasionally to listen, straining to see. He heard another twig crack. Could be an animal, a deer. If it were human, they’d be making more noise. He told himself this but could not convince himself. He rushed blindly toward the cabin, where light streamed through the cracks.
Samuel entered, somewhat breathless. His father looked up, a bit startled, and then eyed him. “Glad you’re back.”
Samuel said nothing but sat, eyes cast downward. He had noticed that his father had cleaned up the mess and had stored their belongings. His bedroll was on the rope frame bed.
His father nudged him with a cup of coffee.
He took it, still not wanting to meet his father’s gaze. “Thanks.” He had a sip and allowed the heat to fill him.
“I know what you would say, Pa, and I know you’re right. You would say there has to be some good in all this. I’d like to believe you, Pa, but right now I’m just not up to it.”
“And I don’t blame you. All I can say is we’re still in one piece.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Charles continued, “It could be they figured someone was onto them. That’s why it appears they left sudden-like. Maybe some good gravel is left.”
Samuel could not reply. Whoever it was could be watching the cabin at present. The fear that had subsided was again welling up, but then the anger seeped back in.
“I can promise you this,” Charles said. “I’ll do my best to figure out who hit us. It may even have been the same two on the river. Like you said, they seem to know us. We’ll start by visiting Sheriff Sinclair in the morning. Somehow I’ll see justice is done.”
“Maybe that’s all we can do, Pa.” Samuel did not share his own thoughts. He was beginning to feel more strongly that it was Finney and Culler, here and on the river. If so, they would not take too kindly to him any longer, not after he had thrown lead at them.
Samuel felt very tired. He undressed and crawled into his bed. He was too tired to think anymore. Tomorrow they would begin trying to set things right.
Chapter 18
THE CABIN WAS COLD in the morning when Samuel woke. Clouds had drifted into the valley and shrouded the trees on the surrounding hills, threatening rain. Samuel pulled himself from his warm blankets and stoked the fire. Usually his father beat him to it. Maybe like him, the robbery had worn on him. Soon he had a fire and water on to boil for coffee. He patted the cold corn mush into cakes and fried them with the salt pork. His father joined him for breakfast.
Except for the robbery, riding into Washington had brought back good memories, as though he had never left. Maybe he would get a chance to visit Chen. He imagined Chen’s surprise. Samuel had last told him he was going back to Iowa.
At the combined jail and courthouse, they found a short, wiry man claiming he was filling in for Sheriff Sinclair. “William Stock,” the man said and shook their hands. “Been deputized to watch over these men.”
Several men were hanging around outside. Inside, the jail held another four or five. Samuel recognized a couple of them. No one seemed particularly under duress, and if Samuel was not mistaken, the door was unlocked.
“What in blazes is going on?” Charles asked. “Where’s the sheriff?”
“He’s out to Mount Idaho, trying to get some help on this little problem we’ve got. Won’t be back until next week.”
Charles eyed the mass of men.
“Howdy, Charles,” someone said. “Welcome back.”
“Howdy, Lee.” Charles nodded at the man and then turned back to Stock. “I need some help out at my placer.”
“Unless it’s a matter of life or death,” Stock answered, “I’m obliged to keep an eye on these prisoners.”
“Why?” Samuel blurted. “From the looks of it, most of them could come and go if they had a mind to.”
“Hey, it’s the kid,” another man greeted. “Hey, Samuel, you run into any more bandits?”
Samuel glanced in the man’s direction. “As a matter of—”
“Say, you fellows look like the Rescue Mine crew,” Charles interrupted. “At least I recognize Pete there and Snyder. What’re you guys doing here?” He stepped toward them.
“They are the Rescue crew, and they’re all in jail,” Stock replied. “Come out here where we can talk.”
They stepped out onto the street.
“What’s up at your placer?” Stock asked.
“It’s been hit.”
“Had a lot of that going around here, lately. Undoubtedly, it’s the Chinamen. Won’t do any good to pursue it. Too many of them, and they just play dumb.”
Samuel felt
a twinge of anger. Anytime anything ended up missing or there was any trouble of any sort, it was always the Chinese receiving the blame.
“These weren’t Chinamen,” Charles countered. “There was plenty of evidence that said plain and clear they were white, and since that’s the case, when can someone come out and investigate?”
“Not till Sheriff Sinclair gets back.”
“Not a good answer,” Charles snapped. “What if I was to say these men might be back and might not be too friendly to us?”
“Well, I reckon you have the right to protect yourself.” Stock shrugged.
“Thanks,” Charles responded. “Come on, son, I think we may get better help from Mr. Hinley. At any rate, we’re about to get rained on.” He took a quick glance at the increasing clouds.
William Stock scratched his head, muttered something, and turned back toward the jail, striking up a conversation with one of the prisoners.
Charles and Samuel reached Raymond Hinley’s assay shop as the rain began.
“Gonna be like last season. Could do without the rain.”
“Except it will help us run the sluice,” countered Samuel.
Hinley looked up as they came in. “I hope you are not expecting your gold or assay results yet, Samuel. You dropped them off just yesterday.” He grinned and adjusted his glasses.
“Nope,” Samuel replied. “We got trouble.”
Hinley frowned.
“The Sweet Mary was hit,” Charles explained.
Hinley’s eyebrows shot up. “To blazes, you say. Severely?”
Samuel nodded. “Someone’s spent a couple weeks there and cleaned us out good.”
Hinley stood, unmoving. He glanced from Charles to Samuel, slowly shaking his head. “That is simply intolerable. Just intolerable. I am certainly sorry for such news. I do not presume you have any idea who the scoundrels are?”
Charles shook his head. “We were up talking to that deputy, or whatever he is, up at the courthouse. He didn’t seem to be offering much help.”
“Aye, that is intolerable as well.”
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