Salmon River Kid

by Joseph Dorris

  Samuel came out above the terraces. The garden was lush green with growth. Samuel laughed to himself. Both Chen and Sang Yune must have worked all winter broadening the terraces and cutting a new, lower one. Water sparkled in the ditch that carried it from the creek across them.

  He spotted the two Chinese hoeing along one of the rows and hollered. They looked up, set aside their hoes, and headed his direction.

  Sang Yune could not contain his wide grin. He repeatedly bowed and chatted exuberantly.

  “He say he is vehlie happy to see you and that you look well.”

  “I am happy to see him and thankful again for what he did for me.”

  Chen explained. Sang Yune spoke again.

  “Come, Sam, he say we should go to his house and visit.”

  They made their way upward toward the stone hut. Samuel found it hard to believe Sang Yune lived here all winter. The room was tiny with no window and only a door covered by a simple flap of cloth. And where did Chen stay when he was here as well? There was little room. But Samuel noticed two pallets of blankets inside along with a tiny table and oil lamp. He wondered how Sang Yune survived the winter with just an oil lamp.

  “You did work all winter,” Samuel exclaimed. “The garden is even more incredible.”

  “Yes. Now we grow even more.”

  “Anything new?” Samuel asked.

  “Potatoes. Turnips.” Chen brightened. “Some squash.”

  Samuel shook his head, amazed. Sang Yune listened closely, bowing, nodding as Chen interpreted.

  “Does Sang Yune ever come to Washington?” Samuel had never seen him there.

  “Yes. Sometimes he comes. But he stay here most of time to chase away animals from garden.”

  Sang Yune took the pot from the fire and added some tea leaves. He found three small cups.

  It occurred to Samuel that the man did not live in the stone hut at all. He lived outdoors, where he also cooked his meals. He came to the hut for shelter at night or in the worst of weather.

  Later, Chen lugged up some water from the nearby creek and set it on to boil.

  “That’s going to make a lot of rice,” Samuel observed.

  Chen laughed. “Not for rice. For bath. Almost every day take bath. Not like you stinky, white foreign devils.”

  Samuel stared at Chen.

  “I joke, Sam,” Chen managed, starting to grin. “But it is custom to take bath almost every day. You can if you want.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just have to stink.” Samuel shook his head. “Besides, I just had a bath at Ma Reynolds’s.” Last Sunday, he thought. Samuel felt uneasy. Every night? He was lucky to get one once a week.

  When the water was hot, Samuel took his leave. Chen did not ask where he would stay the night, but Samuel had figured on continuing down to the canyon floor for his camp. He planned on hunting at daybreak when the deer would be near water.

  He spent the night with a small fire for company and the sounds of Spooky cropping the nearby grass. He also kept his rifle ready and at arm’s reach. Muted thunder reached him from a far-off thunderstorm, but for once, it did not rain.

  In the morning, Samuel shot a doe and headed back toward Warren’s. It began raining by the time he reached the cabin.

  “Blasted rain.” He pulled his collar up and his hat down more tightly. He remembered last year. Most of June it had rained.

  He checked the sluice. Water gushed from the catch basin.

  “Lord, you’ve sure given us water this year. Just wish you would have given us more gold.”

  He studied the gravelly hillside. How could there be gold in one spot but not elsewhere?

  Samuel walked toward the end of the hill to where a small drainage came in. Another meadow stretched beyond. Samuel was certain a bed of gravel lay beneath it as well, along with gold. But like the main meadow, the soil and gravel were too deep, and there was no grade. Any prospect would have to be at least eight to ten feet deep before it hit any consolidated gravel or bedrock. Sure, flour gold could be found throughout the gravel, but it didn’t amount to much, not until just above bedrock.

  Making his way back, Samuel noticed a few cobbles sticking above the mat of needles beneath the lodgepole pines. An area about ten feet square formed a slight mound.

  His heart began to race. Where he was standing, gold-bearing gravel could exist only a few feet down, but he would need water. He gazed back uphill toward the cut they had made. It would be tough to do, but he could build a flume and bring the water another hundred feet to the west and then downslope past this new area. For the first time, he might even be able to shovel gravel directly into the flume and have it carried into the sluice. It would cut his work in half, making this spot pay even better—if there was any amount of gold.

  Samuel started laughing. There was bound to be more rich spots on this hillside, possibly many more. This could be one. He shrugged. Until the mill was operational and they were hauling ore from the O’Riley, he might as well continue mining right here.

  Rain settled in while he began his first hole. Like last season, he planned to dig a series of prospect pits and sample the area. It could be there was no gold. But if he was right, there would be good gold.

  Reaching a depth of three feet, he began running into larger cobbles—a good sign. He fairly shook with excitement. This matched exactly what they had dug before when they had hit the rich pay streak.

  He eyed the distance to the sluice and figured it too far for lugging forty-pound pails. Shortly, he had Molly. She protested, but Samuel counterbalanced two pails across her, and led her to the sluice. He made several trips until he figured he had a good sample of gravel.

  The rain continued to increase.

  “Won’t need to carry it to the sluice pretty soon. Could just build a ground sluice here and shovel in the dirt,” he muttered. Water ran from his hat brim and soaked through to his skin. He was tempted to quit. I won’t melt, he told himself. I gotta see if I’m right.

  He dumped a bucket of dirt into the sluice, sprinkling it into the stream of water, watching it wash through. Immediately, a few flecks of gold caught behind the upper cleat. Samuel’s heart began hammering. “Thank you, God,” he whispered. It’s the same!

  Oblivious now to the pelting rain, he continued digging and washing buckets of gravel. The gold remained consistent. He picked out a few pieces the size of grass seeds. The Sweet Mary had a new life.

  Shaking with cold, his hands numb, his teeth chattering, Samuel finally gave up. He washed some of the black sand from the upper cleats and took a panful back to the cabin.

  In its welcome warmth, he stripped off his soaked clothing and built up the fire. He returned to panning the black sand in a tub of water. Samuel stared in disbelief, a solid line of rich gold showed at the edge of the black sand. He had spent only a couple of hours after reaching the gravel layer and had at least a third of an ounce.

  Samuel had the pan on the stove, drying out the sand, when his father came through the door. They both stood still a moment, Samuel in his underwear.

  His father laughed. “Don’t blame you.” He began pulling off his coat and shirt.

  “Pa, you ain’t gonna believe it.” Samuel grabbed the pan and shoved it in front of his father. “I did it.”

  Charles peered in. “That’s good gold, but where’s it from?”

  “The Sweet Mary.”

  “What, the past two days while I was gone? I thought you were going to check the O’Riley and get another assay.”

  “This is from a couple hours today, Pa! A new spot.”

  “Glory be,” Charles exclaimed. “Tell me about it.”

  Samuel explained while his father continued to pull off his own wet clothing. Soon they were both sitting amid hanging, dripping, steaming clothes, talking about Samuel’s new pay streak.

  Samue
l explained his plans for a flume.

  “I don’t know about lumber for a flume. That might cost a lot,” Charles said. “I really don’t know our best options anymore.”

  “A month, Pa,” Samuel said. “I figure we can work the Sweet Mary until Mr. Bradshaw’s mill is in. Once the mill is running, it won’t take us but a couple weeks at most to get enough ore to get the assays and convince someone to buy the O’Riley. In the meantime, I can be finding gold.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right. If there is anything we should’ve learned by now, it’s to stay on the gold when you’ve got it. It appears you have some.”

  Chapter 26

  IN THE MORNING, Samuel immediately headed to Washington to see Raymond Hinley and Scott Alexander.

  “I got a couple more samples off the O’Riley,” Samuel said, placing the canvas bags on Hinley’s counter.

  “Aye, this may help if you get any inquiry,” Hinley replied. “You have done admirably well in obtaining assays.”

  “I could see some gold in a couple of the pieces,” Samuel said excitedly. He dumped out the best samples and searched through the ore before handing a piece to Hinley. “Ya gotta look close, but I swear, I could see gold.”

  Hinley positioned his glass and began scanning the specimen, his eye twitching. “Without a doubt, Samuel, without a doubt. Take yourself a look.” He handed the glass and specimen to Samuel.

  Under the lens, Samuel thought the gold stood out like yellow stars in a field of snow. “Looks really good, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I wager these will be good samples,” Hinley replied. “Will you be doing the work, or shall I proceed with them?”

  “I ’spect you better go ahead,” Samuel admitted. “You see, I need to do some work on the Sweet Mary. I might have another rich spot.”

  “Should I be surprised?” Hinley shook his head. “I shall hope you do, Samuel.” He offered Samuel some coffee.

  Samuel was impatient to get going, but for as many times as he had bothered Hinley and interrupted him, now was not the time to run off. “Thanks.” He took his customary stool.

  “You should know the Celestials are doing well.”

  Chen had alluded to that when they were out peddling, but something bothered Samuel. If Hinley knew, then word would get out. Rumors of gold in the air were to highwaymen like blood in the air was to a pack of wolves.

  “I do not refine much of their dust. They take it out directly to Lewiston, but I have examined some of it, and I have heard they are finding some beautiful gold.”

  “Do you know from where?”

  “Aye, It appears most of it is from the claims up Slaughter Creek.” Hinley shook his head. “Those claims were supposed to have been played out a long while ago. Indeed, they had been abandoned.”

  “Until Lance Baroon refiled on them and leased them back to the Chinese.”

  “Aye, for a few dollars a year to keep him in whiskey.” Hinley frowned. “I did not share this with your father. I did receive an offer on the O’Riley … for all of fifty dollars.”

  Samuel felt as if he had been punched. “It’s a good thing you didn’t say anything. Was the man joking?”

  “Actually, I told him he should go seek his own ledge.”

  Samuel laughed.

  “Based on your assays, Samuel, I am certain you shall have ore that goes well over fifty dollars a ton, and you are likely to hit some high-grade pods similar to those on the Rescue. Some of the Rescue crew were following some rich leads last winter before they were locked out. They were getting as much as fifty dollars a day on the high-grade they found.”

  “I knew it. The O’Riley has to have some ore like that.” Samuel was anxious to get out to the mine and would, just as soon as they had money for drilling and blasting.

  Another man whom Samuel didn’t recognize came into the assay office.

  Samuel rose to leave. “Thanks, Mr. Hinley, I got to get some stuff from Mr. Alexander.” Samuel was out of the door and headed across the street.

  He clumped across the puncheon floor a little more louder than usual as he entered Alexander’s Mercantile.

  “I need a small grubstake if I can, Scott.”

  “Well, well,” Scott mused. “I’ve offered before, but now you’ll have to convince me.”

  Samuel explained. Soon he had packed his saddlebags with nails and some new canvas and was leading Molly, headed out toward William Bloomer’s sawmill for some lumber.

  Maybe his father would not approve, but this was between him and Scott. Samuel knew he would have at least another sales trip, and with the gold off the Sweet Mary, which he was bound to find, he would have the grubstake paid back quickly.

  Procuring the wood, Samuel began at once fashioning the boards into a U-shaped box. He tapered one end so it would slip into the head of the next section. He cut lodgepole pines and prepared to elevate the flume for most of the distance, but the rain returned.

  Curtains of rain marched across the meadow, and the clouds descended, masking the treetops. Large areas of the meadow had turned to standing water. The steady drum quickly soaked through his clothing again. He worked until chilled and unable to continue before he turned for the cabin.

  He half expected his father to return as he had the previous night. Again, Samuel spent much of the night drying his clothing.

  That night, the rain increased in intensity, driving into the cabin through the walls and roof. Flashes of lightning lit the night with crackling, booming thunder reverberating through the meadow. Nearby strikes almost deafened Samuel. He thought about his father. They slept in canvas tents at McLane’s. The wind and driving rain could easily rip them and, by now, probably had. He worried about the cabin—worried that it might not hold up. Places inside were like small waterfalls.

  Unable to sleep, his bedding soaked, Samuel got up and dressed and huddled near the stove in one of the few somewhat-dry areas of the cabin. He shivered. If he was going to be wet, he might as well be somewhat warm. Samuel added some small twigs to the dying fire and blew on the remaining coals, coaxing a small blaze. He added more twigs until the fire was able to dry and consume the fuel.

  Outside, the lightning continued to flash, followed by instantaneous exploding thunder. He hoped that the rain would not wash out his catch basin or destroy his sluice box and flume.

  He boiled some coffee and then sat, shivering and wet, through most of the night. Toward morning, the rain finally tapered off. The water rushing in the spring creek and the rivulets of water cascading down the hillside toward the meadow drummed a constant rhythm.

  As the sky began to grow light, Samuel built up the fire and strung up their bedding and clothes to dry. Almost unbelievably, the sun rose into a cloudless sky. Lingering fog rolled from the meadows.

  Doesn’t matter—it’ll be raining by evening, he told himself.

  He returned to the flume. Water coming from the catch basin thundered through the cut, washing quantities of muddy gravel with it. It could have been worse; he could repair the breech. He only wished he could have positioned the sluice in the cut during the night. It would have trapped some gold for sure.

  The boards were soaked and difficult to hold and nail at the same time. He cut the lodgepoles into short lengths and configured them into tripods to prop up the flume. Finally, he had a hundred feet of flume crossing the shoulder of the hill and over to the edge where he had discovered the new gravel. He tapped into the catch basin and watched as the muddy water flooded the flume and flowed swiftly along. The water moved with such force that it slammed into the end and shot high into the air where the flume turned downslope toward the sluice. Samuel had no choice but to build a wall and a baffle to dampen the water to keep it in the box, but he had run out of nails. Guess it’s back to Scott’s for more.

  The trail was flooded. When he reached Meadow Creek below the cabin,
he found a raging river. He urged Spooky into the torrent. The animal hesitated and then surged out into the water, lunging through until he caught the opposite side, where it ran less deep.

  Most of the trail was under water, much of it a small creek. Spooky splashed along it and sometimes hesitated when he was not sure of the depth. Fortunately, where Steamboat Creek entered Meadow Creek, it spread over a relatively shallow area, and Spooky slogged through.

  Samuel could see men milling about the streets of Washington, and then he could see damage from flooding. At least three buildings near the creek had been swept into the torrent. Hinley’s assay shop escaped, but the water was up to within a few feet of it. A section of interlocked logs of the boardinghouse next to the shop now hung over the raging creek.

  The east end of town was completely flooded. The creek had burst onto the street near Ma Reynolds’s boardinghouse and cut a new channel down its center for a number of yards before swinging back into its bed below the town. It was a pounding muddy torrent, carrying timber and boards and broken bits of buildings.

  Samuel rushed toward the boardinghouse. Belongings had already been carried out onto the street and stacked to one side. Ma Reynolds, appearing worried and forlorn, stood nearby with her small son, George.

  “Are you okay?” Samuel asked.

  “We are all out safe, Samuel.” She held George, patting his head. “The first floor got flooded.”

  Peter Reynolds came over. “Hope things are a bit drier out your direction.”

  “I survived.” Samuel gazed about. People were trying to remove belongings from the buildings that had been swept into the creek. Another building was leaning crazily and badly damaged.