Salmon River Kid

by Joseph Dorris

  At least three dozen men, including some Chinese, were upstream where the creek had left its banks. They were shoveling dirt and hauling rocks to fill the cut and form a berm, trying to divert the water back into the channel.

  “Should start to drop fairly soon, Samuel,” Reynolds continued. “Not a lot of country above us.”

  “Lord sakes, we got waked in the middle of the night. Lightnin’ and thunder all about, and then a terrible crash from the buildings goin’ in,” Ma Reynolds said. “I came out of the bedroom and water was just a gushin’ in, fillin’ the house. I thought I had lost poor George for sure.” Her face was strained. “Terrible feelin’, Samuel, terrible feelin’. When I got ahold of George, I didn’t care so much for the stuff. You get that way in close times.” She pulled George more tightly to herself. George’s eyes were wide.

  Samuel realized that the ground sluices and other placers upstream had most certainly been washed out. Any trapped gold had been liberated and was now washing past the town.

  Samuel pitched in with the other men, forming a human chain, passing rocks one at a time from the old tailings above the town and tossing them into the cut. Toward midafternoon, they had blocked the creek and forced it back into its old channel. Water began draining from the street and buildings. Samuel decided he had done as much as possible and would let the townspeople finish the work of filling the cut.

  Scott Alexander and he talked for a moment.

  “I feel bad about just getting nails and heading back to work.”

  “You did your share, Sam. I saw you out there,” Scott said kindly. “I know you have little time, and this isn’t putting any grub on your table either.”

  “I know more than a few people just lost everything. At least my pa and I still have our cabin and a chance to get gold.”

  “I’d say a lot of folks just lost a chance to get gold that washed down that creek, in other ways as well.” Scott smiled and tapped his pipe. “I’m guessing some may pull up stakes now and leave. I’ve been hearing rumors from a few who’ve been thinking about it anyway.”

  “Like who?” Samuel worried it might be some of his friends.

  “The Manuels and the Osborns. This town hasn’t been exactly favorable to raising families.”

  Samuel’s heart sank. He liked the comfort of the families. They meant civilization and reminded him of his own family. “I sure wouldn’t want to see them leave.”

  Scott started to speak and then was quiet. Samuel wondered if he had intended to remind him of his own intentions to leave.

  Samuel headed back toward the cabin, his thoughts bothering him. The creek had already dropped considerably. The flash flooding had stopped. Best of all, the sun remained shining. Maybe this is Old Man Rain’s last effort, he thought.

  Samuel was surprised to find his father at the cabin busy stretching the bedding and clothing in the sun across some shrubbery.

  “Might dry faster in the sun, especially since the fire was out,” he explained.

  Samuel was slightly embarrassed. He explained how he had been helping in town.

  “Then you are forgiven.”

  Samuel finished helping his father and together, they returned to the flume. By evening, it was complete. For the first time, Samuel would be able to shovel dirt directly into the flume and have the water carry the slurry into the sluice.

  “Hope all this time and expense pays off for you.”

  “It will, Pa. And if not, I ’spect I’ve already got buyers for the lumber. Some buildings in Washington were ruined.”

  Samuel fixed dinner and shared what he had seen in town. The businesses uphill had completely escaped any damage. None of the Chinese, as far as he knew, were harmed, because their huts were all built on a hill.

  His father shared that some of the sluice boxes at McLane’s had washed out and some tents were ruined, but otherwise, they should be operating by Monday.

  Chapter 27

  SUNDAY, THEY VISITED Alexander’s for supplies—cornmeal, beans, a few potatoes, and some salt pork. Charles added another gold pan to their stack along with some kerosene and more candles.

  Charles dumped out their gold. “After this, what will we owe?”

  Scott glanced at Samuel.

  “Include his bill as well, Scott. We’re in it together.”

  Samuel realized that his father had guessed about his grubstake from Scott.

  Scott shrugged and put the dust on the scales. He did some figuring in his ledger. “I can carry you on some of this, if you wish. Keep some dust for whatever else you might need.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  Scott smoothed his moustache and tapped with his pencil. Finally he said, “Adding in what I think you will need for powder and the rest of your supplies for the O’Riley, you will still need about a hundred dollars.”

  Charles whistled. Samuel said nothing but fidgeted. He wondered if they should not leave town today. They would never get that much gold in a few more days.

  Back on the street, Samuel turned to his father. “I just know we’ll do okay, Pa. But if we don’t try, for sure we won’t get anything.”

  “We could have saved what we just spent.”

  Samuel couldn’t answer, and an ache crept into his chest.

  Charles softened. “We’ll just have to keep at it a bit longer, son. But by the Lord, I swear we shall be home by Christmas. We sure won’t spend another winter around here.”

  Nothing they did seemed to get them ahead, and Samuel wondered when a person should quit—how long should one keep trying? He rode in silence back to the cabin and dropped off their supplies.

  “I’m going to start running gravel,” Samuel said.

  “It’s Sunday, son,” Charles reminded him.

  “I gotta be doing something.”

  “They have another miners’ meeting tonight. Being we’re likely to be here for a time, you and I should attend,” Charles said. “Besides, we got other chores. We’ll have some of those potatoes for dinner and head on back.”

  As before, they met in Ripson’s Saloon, and Michael Rayburn officiated the proceedings.

  “The main issue from last meeting was the Chinaman issue. We were debating if a Chinaman can own a claim or not. If you read the new law, it’s not totally clear. I quote, ‘All valuable mineral deposits in lands belonging to the United States, both surveyed and unsurveyed, are hereby declared to be free and open to exploration and purchase, and the lands in which they are found to occupation and purchase, by citizens of the United States and those who have declared their intention to become such, under regulations prescribed by law …’ and so on and so forth.”

  Ben Morton spoke loudly, “It’s pretty clear to me. Like I said before, Chinamen can’t be citizens, so the lands aren’t open to exploration or purchase by them. They cannot own a mining claim, plain and simple.”

  A muttering of agreement erupted.

  “We have the right to remove them yellow heathens from every scrap of land hereabouts, and now.” Morton emphatically flayed the air.

  Clarence Johnson and Melvin Crukshank shouted their assent.

  Rayburn searched the room. “Look, I have asked Attorney Poe to further address this issue. Please give him the floor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” Raymond Poe stuck his fingers into his lapels, acting as if he were about to give a great speech. “I did examine the law in some detail since last discussion; furthermore, I took the liberty to discuss it with others at Mount Idaho and Slate Creek. They come to the same interpretation and agreement as do I. Simply stated, the Chinese cannot enter lands and file claims, but they can purchase them, or, better stated, they can purchase the mineral rights. They cannot own the land. But just as a citizen initially does not own the land, the citizen still has the right to mine and extract valuable minerals. The difference remains the pate
nt. Any citizen, after proving up a claim, can apply for patent and purchase the land, which gives him and his heirs title. Chinese cannot be citizens and thus cannot get patent.”

  Even after Poe’s explanation, fierce muttering and angry replies continued.

  Samuel was surprised when his father raised his hand.

  Rayburn recognized him, “Mr. Chambers, you may have the floor.”

  “Watch this,” a man next to Samuel whispered to his partner. “His boy’s good friends with them Chinamen.” He glanced Samuel’s way, but Samuel pretended not to hear.

  Charles rose. “Samuel and I have been here since last season, and I reckon you should know that we’re planning on heading out soon, so what I have to say needs balancing with that. That being said, we wish for a good future for you and this camp.

  “I can’t say what I really think about the Chinamen. I’ve not had any problems with them—they seem to keep to themselves. My son’s had considerable amount of doin’s with them. He and that Chinese boy do some packing and peddling together. He tells me most of the Chinamen don’t really want to be here. They’re trapped, you might say. Isn’t that right, son?”

  “Yes, sir, Chen tells me that, and other things as well.” Samuel felt everyone’s stare.

  “Like what?” someone asked.

  Samuel glanced nervously around, reluctant to continue.

  “Why don’t we let Samuel tell us?” Townsend asked.

  “He ain’t twenty-one,” Johnson muttered. “He can’t vote on mining proceedings.”

  “Nothin’ says he can’t talk. I’d like to hear what the kid thinks.”

  Samuel was uncertain. He didn’t think he could say it the way Chen had shared.

  “I reckon he can talk,” Rayburn said. “Any objections?”

  Samuel found himself standing. The room had gone silent. “I reckon I really don’t have much to say. I’m just saying what Chen and some of the other Chinese tell me. The Chinese didn’t come here to stay. They came here to escape what was going on back in China. They lost a war with Britain and were being made to pay huge taxes, which has pretty much ruined Canton—that’s where most of the Chinese have come from. Most of them lost their farms and many are starving back in China. They came here to get money to send home to their families to feed their families and buy back their land. They call this the land of the foreign devil. They don’t want to stay here. They want to go home.”

  “We’re the devils, hey? They’re the devils, thieves, and heathens. For sure, I say, send ’em back,” Johnson hollered.

  Muttering erupted.

  “Let the kid talk.”

  Samuel stumbled on. “That’s just it, Mr. Johnson. Not many of them can go home. They also had a war in China. Now some of the Chinese are hiding out from the emperor. They’d be dead back in China. And a lot of them that came here have to work for the bosses who paid their way here. They can’t make enough money to ever go home—sort of like slaves.”

  The muttering began dying down.

  Charles said, “I don’t know about all what my son says, but I will say this. Many of us just fought a war to end slavery in America. If that’s what it’s like for them, maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong for us to allow the Chinamen an opportunity. Besides, as all you know, it wasn’t Chinamen who robbed me and my son last winter or here back at the meadows.”

  The miners had become silent. Some clapped a bit. Several got up and left.

  Samuel sat down. “Thank you, Pa,” he whispered.

  “’Fraid a few people don’t take cotton to your point of view,” Charles whispered. “You may have just made us a few more enemies.”

  Samuel was silent, wishing he had not talked.

  The formal meeting ended. The independent miners remained to discuss bringing in a stamp mill to process their ore.

  Matt Watkins caught them on their way out. “Mr. Chambers, those were mighty fine words you and Samuel had,” he said, “and I respect your opinion.”

  Charles paused under the overhang of Scott Alexander’s store.

  “Now, I know you haven’t been able to prove up and sell your quartz mine, and I know you got jumped on your placer.”

  “In other words we’re busted. What have you in mind?”

  “Sorry,” Watkins continued. “It seems pretty clear to me, even more so now, the Chinese don’t have claim to O’Riley’s old placer. I know Lance Baroon, who leased it to them, isn’t a citizen. I’d wager he won’t even be in the country until this fall. Past the time for refiling.” Watkins paused. “Well, that claim is rightfully yours. All you got to do is refile.”

  “Thank you, Matt,” Charles said and then gazed down the meadow. “Wetter this year than last when we got here, don’t you reckon, Samuel?”

  “I understand your feelings, Mr. Chambers, but if I know the status of that placer, someone else is also likely to figure it out. As your friend, I advise you to stake it. If you don’t want ownership, you could sell the mining rights back to the Chinese. It’s got to be worth at least five hundred dollars.”

  Samuel’s heart caught. For a fleeting moment, he imagined what five hundred dollars would look like. Then he considered the Chinese. They might not have the money.

  Charles turned to Watkins. “I appreciate your thoughts. Unfortunately, the way I see it, those Chinamen wouldn’t understand. They’ve already paid for the lease, new law or not.”

  “You don’t leave me much choice then, Charles. If you don’t stake it, someone else will. They’ll throw the Chinamen off.” He paused. “Sleep on it, Charles. Let me know in a few days?”

  Charles remained silent. They caught up their horses and rode back to the cabin.

  Samuel stoked the stove and pulled the coffeepot to the front. “What do you think, Pa? About what Mr. Watkins says?”

  “There’s things Mr. Watkins didn’t figure on. We won’t be here long enough to do any good, just you and me. The reason those claims are doing well right now is because of the Chinamen. There’s a lot of them, and they can live on two bits a day. I think we’ll still have a better bet with the O’Riley.”

  “If the mill ever gets here,” Samuel muttered.

  “It will,” Charles replied. “Got to be careful about the Chinamen, though. I know you’re friends with the Chinese boy, and I don’t cotton to seeing the Chinamen being pushed around. Just be cautious.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said anything tonight. Maybe you’re right and I made us more enemies.”

  “No, you did good speaking your opinion, and you backed it up with some grit, not like Crukshank and Morton.”

  “Do you think they’ll vote to throw out the Chinese?”

  “After what you said, I doubt it. Unfortunately, those like Ben Morton will be even more stubborn.” Charles rose and dished up some beans for himself and Samuel.

  Samuel didn’t know what to think. People were angry, and in truth, some of the Chinese did cause problems.

  “We’ll have to figure a way with those Chinese placers. Maybe I’ll partner up with Mr. Hinley. He’d watch out for our interests.”

  “At least we got through one day without rain,” Samuel said.

  Charles gazed off toward the mountains. “Even though the Sweet Mary might be looking good, I’m going to head back to McLane’s where the pay’s reliable. If you hit it really big, come and get me.”

  Samuel woke to cold. The moonlight showed that a ground fog had filled the meadow. Its dampness had seeped into the cabin. He rose to stoke the fire. His father turned in his bedding. Samuel realized he had not been asleep.

  Lord, maybe we do need to restake and sell the rights back to the Chinese. Even for a few dollars. Samuel had trouble falling back asleep himself. He thought of his mother and sister, alone now that his grandma had died. He thought of Uncle Jake and his family—how difficult managing the fa
rm alone had to be, especially with only one good leg, and how much they depended on Samuel and his father to send some money. The last had been when he was at the Strombacks’ ranch, and that was very little. He thought of his words at the meeting. In a sense, he and his father were slaves as well. They were slaves until they had the wherewithal to go home, and that might never happen.

  Chapter 28

  SAMUEL FELT A LITTLE ODD when his father headed down the meadow toward McLane’s placer, leaving him to dig the promising new spot by himself. Maybe he knew how much it meant to him. He had invested several days and good money in building the flume and relocating the sluice. He felt a little trepidation now that he headed there to operate for a full day. Maybe he had been premature; maybe he had misjudged the gold. Repeatedly, there had been color in the pan, only to prove later that it was a misfire.

  He felt good this day. The weather had warmed, and the rain had turned the meadows into a riot of color-spangled green. The conifers sported bright green tufts of new growth. The sky was deep azure.

  He opened the gate to the flume and directed the water into the sluice, checking that he had a good flow strong enough to roll a small cobble through.

  With high spirits, he swung and sank his pick into the earth, dislodging some gravel. So it begins, he told himself. One swing became two, then became three—became dozens. But this time, he didn’t need to load buckets. He shoveled the dirt and gravel directly into the flume next to him. This gave the water more time to break up the clods of dirt and clay and tumble it for a longer distance, allowing more time for the gold to be released. Most importantly, it gave time for it to settle to the bottom of the box where it would be washed into the sluice and trapped in the cleats.

  He ran to the sluice to check its flow. A good, steady turbulence curled over the top several cleats. He had learned to judge the flow and the turbulence. Too much and the gold could not settle. Too little and the cleats packed and allowed the gold to slide over and out. Now the flow was good. Already a fair amount of black sand had collected, as well as numerous tiny particles of gold.