“It’s still here,” Samuel whispered. It had not been a dream.
He returned to his small pit and resumed wrenching free the gravel and shoveling it into the sluice. He paused only to remove cobbles and to make certain that the sluice was not packing up on him.
At noon, he wandered back to the cabin for a bite to eat and a chance to ease his arms and back.
As he returned to work, the sun shone warmly, making it difficult to believe there had been so much rain. But the good flow of water in the box was proof of the recent rain. He shucked his shirt.
He had learned to pace himself. His hands had long ago become calloused. This had becomes his life: hard work, hope, and reward. Most of it was of hope—always the next swing of the pick, the next shovelful of dirt, the next swirl of water in the pan—always the hope it would reveal gold.
Late afternoon, Samuel began to tire, but the light remained good and the water and weather held. He pushed on until dusk, near nine o’clock, when he at last blocked the water and cleaned the black sand from the upper cleats into his pan. He also washed the canvas into a bucket. If the sluice was set correctly and the water flow was correct, the upper cleats usually trapped 80 percent of the gold. The canvas trapped only a small amount, most often the flour gold, but it all added up.
While the light faded, he squatted next to the catch basin, washing the fines. The sight was incredible. Samuel could see better than three quarters of an ounce, maybe ten dollars, not counting the gold he could not see—more than what his father would earn in two days.
He jumped up and did a jig, threw his hat as high as possible, and yelled. This was what it was all about.
In the morning, he could hardly force himself to make some breakfast before he headed back to the sluice. The long flume was clearly one of his best accomplishments. As long as the water held, he could process a lot of gravel.
The gold continued to accumulate in the sluice, but it did not appear as much as the previous day, and this concerned Samuel. He wondered if he had the water flow wrong or the angle of the sluice wrong. He adjusted both and ran for another hour. The gold remained about the same.
He surveyed his pit. The walls appeared consistent, which meant there were no obvious rich streaks or deposits. There was no apparent difference between the gravel from a day ago and this day. He puzzled as to what had happened.
He dug deeper. The gold did not appear to increase as it should have. Samuel began to wonder if the gold occurred in a thin zone, not necessarily on the bedrock, but in a deposit that had been swept down during some unusual event, maybe by some severe flooding.
By late afternoon, he called it quits. He had recovered about half an ounce. It was good, but not nearly as good as the previous day.
The next day he continued digging downward. The sides of the pit sloughed in as he did so. For every couple of inches that he worked downward, several feet fell in.
There was gold in the gravel, but not as much. He began to feel discouraged. He was beginning to realize that streaks of gold ran throughout the gravel. The only way to work the Sweet Mary profitably would be to wash the entire hillside. His sluice was simply too small, and even if he had adequate water, he could never shovel enough gravel by himself.
His pick hit a rock, larger than what he had been finding. That was good. Heavier gold could be trapped around or underneath it. He worked around the rock, and then hit another. His heart quickened. Large rocks usually meant more gold.
He pried loose the small boulder and began pushing it out of the hole.
A trickle of dirt and gravel spilled into the hole, and at the same time, a voice said, “You need a hand with that?”
Samuel froze. He spun away and scrambled back from the boulder, letting it slip back into its place. His rifle was several feet away.
The man laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump you.”
Samuel remained cautious. He studied the man, who appeared about his father’s age, decently dressed in a vest and coat with light-colored eyes, light brown hair, and a stubble beard. He seemed pleasant enough. Samuel’s heart began to settle.
“Howdy, what can I do for you?” Samuel asked.
“Actually, Samuel, I was thinking I could do for you.” He jumped into the hole. “Come on, let’s get this out of here.” He put his hands to the boulder and began rolling it up the side of the pit.
Samuel was too surprised to move.
The man straightened. “Sorry, name’s Terry Cochran.” The man offered a hand.
Hesitantly, Samuel shook.
“You are Samuel.” He leaned down and grasped the boulder again.
Samuel still didn’t move.
“I know because you’re the only kid in these parts.”
Samuel figured his explanation made sense, and together they rolled the rock from the hole.
“Thanks,” Samuel said.
Samuel had noted that Cochran’s horse was a good-looking bay. He had a decent outfit, not worn out and ragged like most, especially like those coming into the country prospecting.
“You wouldn’t be looking to buy mining properties?” Samuel speculated.
Cochran laughed. “Nope, I’m just riding through.”
Samuel doubted that. The Sweet Mary was not exactly on the main route.
“So, if I can ask, Mr. Cochran, what’s the nature of your business?”
“Saw you needed a hand is all.”
“There’s plenty more rocks where that one came from. You could be lending a hand for a long while.”
“All right, let’s see about that.”
Cochran took up a pick and began working. Samuel stood by, surprised. Finally, he picked up his shovel and began pitching gravel into the flume.
Shortly, they changed positions. Samuel started to explain how to feed the sluice, but it was obvious from the first shovelful of dirt that Cochran knew how. Samuel did not ask. Instead, he swung the pick and dislodged more gravel.
They worked steadily, moving double the amount of gravel, astounding Samuel. Good gold began showing in the sluice, but Cochran did not seem overly interested in checking on the gold.
“I gotta take a break,” Samuel finally said. “Can I offer you some chow?”
“I’d be obliged.”
Samuel heated the coffee. Cochran ate as if he had been hungry for some time.
Samuel guessed that the man was just in need of some grub; however, things seemed out of place. His dress said he had money, and if so, he could have gone into Washington to resupply and have a plate of chow. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to see him. Despite Samuel’s unease, something told him that he could trust the man.
“Here’s something for dinner later on.” Samuel wrapped up some cold corn mush with some venison and handed it to Cochran.
“Much obliged, Samuel.”
They returned to work and worked steadily for several hours. A crack of thunder rumbled through the valley. Cochran eyed the building thunderstorm. “If you don’t mind, I reckon I best be off. I have a long trail ahead.”
Samuel walked with him to catch up his bay and gave him a hand while he saddled up.
“Mighty fine horse you have, Mr. Cochran.”
“He has served me well,” Cochran said and pulled down tightly on the cinch. He flipped the stirrup back into place, swung into the saddle, and reached his hand down. “Thank you for not asking, Samuel. I know it’s been on your mind since the moment you set eyes on me. Just let me say people have a way of disappearing in this country. Some don’t realize they’ve disappeared. I may be through again sometime. Do me a favor, however. I’d appreciate it if no one knows.”
“How about my father?” Samuel asked.
“Tell him.” Cochran turned the bay, but instead of heading west out along the trail or north down the meadows, he headed east back into
the timber toward wilderness.
Samuel watched until Cochran had disappeared. He found himself wondering if the man had even existed.
He walked down to the sluice to check how the gold was accumulating. The sight surprised him. A respectable nugget had wedged itself above the top cleat. Shaking, he examined it. It was more rounded than those he normally found. There were two others but smaller, also wedged in the riffle.
He ran back to the pit and shoveled more gravel. He went and checked the riffles. The gold was as he customarily found it—nothing bigger than a grass seed.
Samuel stared back at the timber where Cochran had disappeared, his thoughts troubling him.
Lightning streaked across the sky to the north, followed shortly by reverberating thunder.
He stopped running the sluice and began a cleanup in case of heavy rain. He finished just as it came—hard, cold rain with some hail. Samuel carried the pan with the best gold he had ever mined back toward the cabin.
He noted his father turn up the trail. He ran to the cabin, lugging the pan and meeting him.
“So how’d the flume work out?” his father asked after they had settled down to dinner.
“Incredible,” Samuel managed. “I think I have over three ounces of gold.”
“In three days?” Charles’s eyebrows shot up. He pushed his hands through his hair. “Must of hit a pay streak.”
“I had some help,” Samuel said. He went on to explain Mr. Cochran’s visit. “Do you know him, Pa?”
Charles stared at him hard. “You’re lucky, son. If it had been somebody else, you could have ended up dead.”
“So you know him?”
His father hesitated. “I cannot say I do.”
Samuel felt even more confused. “The way he talked, I think he was looking for someone. He said people have a way of disappearing around here.”
Charles tightened his jaw. “I don’t know, son. Many reasons to be here other than just gold.”
Samuel knew men didn’t just show up and disappear. He would think on Cochran’s visit for a while. He had some comfort knowing that usually he could piece things together and figure things out. “He said he might be coming back through.”
“I ’spect by then he’ll let us know. Probably he has some unfinished business he doesn’t want word to get out on.” Charles began pulling off his boots. “I’m tired, and this thunderstorm seems to be hanging around. Might get some sleep while I can. I ’spect you’ll be running the sluice tomorrow.”
“I’m hoping to finish getting the gold we need for the O’Riley.”
Chapter 29
SAMUEL WORKED THE SLUICE for another day, but by midmorning, his eagerness had diminished. Despite the large nugget he had found when Cochran left, the gold decreased. He knew some of the reason he had done well was Cochran’s extra set of hands, but it was clear he had worked through the pay streak.
The catch basin was now draining and not quickly replenishing. Samuel blocked the flow into the flume, and while the basin filled, he dug and hauled buckets of gravel to a spot from where he could shovel it into the flume. He removed the cobbles, washed them, and stockpiled the remaining gravel. In the afternoon, he released the water and began running more gravel. He avoided checking the sluice, making certain he could run as much gravel as possible with the limited water.
Samuel shook his head and stood back. How could it be that they had had so much water a few days ago, a steady supply, and he had been able to run the sluice without let-up? Now it was nearly gone. He suspected that much of his water leaked from the flume and drained into the gravel under the catch basin. Unless there was constant rain and the ground was saturated, the catch basin was near useless.
The following morning, Samuel headed into Washington to meet up with Chen. He loaded up Molly at Alexander’s, and soon they were both headed back toward Steamboat Summit, both fully packed. Chen had vegetables sticking out of everywhere, more than usual.
Lake Creek was full of salmon.
“Maybe on the way back, we get one,” Chen said.
The huge fish raced under the shadowy banks toward cover. Last season, men had brought them into McLane’s camp, and Samuel helped fix them for chow until he and the men had tired of them. “Salmon aren’t filling,” they had told him.
They turned down the Secesh for a distance and stopped at some of the placer camps. None of the camps was of much size, partly because there were very few good gravel benches. Some of the miners were salmon fishing. When they recognized Samuel and Chen, they warmly greeted them and came up from the river to trade.
The day had been sultry, and now that evening was on them, the mosquitoes were thick and swarmed about Samuel’s face. He swatted at them ineffectively and sought higher ground, looking for a drier campsite. Shortly, he found an opening in the timber among the beargrass clumps.
“We’ll need to haul some water, Chen, but up here we shouldn’t have as many mosquitoes.”
“Yes, they are vehlie bad.” He waved his arms wildly.
Chen began a small fire while Samuel rounded up water containers. He kept a wary eye out for other men, thinking briefly of Cochran. It seemed he was always encountering someone. Thankfully, Cochran had seemed a decent man.
Chen had his customary rice and chopped vegetables. Samuel ate dried beef with beans.
Samuel started to tell Chen about Cochran but then remembered the man’s request that he keep quiet.
“You haven’t seen any strangers about, have you?” Samuel asked.
Chen appeared surprised before slowly shaking his head. “Other Chinese have.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ahn Kwan and Lok Ming see the men who rob Chinese pack train and rope Kan Dick.”
Samuel froze; his mind raced. The Chinese still thought Finney and Culler had robbed the pack train, not Dudgin and Smith. “How many men?”
“Ohnee see two men,” Chen replied.
Samuel breathed easier. Dudgin and Smith had a partner. “Probably it is Finney and Culler. They’ve been known to break into sluice boxes. I think they were the ones that broke into ours on the river.”
Chen’s eyes widened. “You tell the sheriff?”
“Yep, but until now, no one’s seen them. When I get back, I’ll let the sheriff know.” So Finney and Culler are snooping around again. “Where did Kwan and Ming see them?”
“Maybe near here.”
“This is near where they broke into some sluice boxes. We best keep our eyes open.” Samuel glanced around, feeling a shiver. They might not hesitate to jump Chen and him for the gold they now carried, even a small amount.
“Uh, Chen, you should know it wasn’t Finney and Culler who jumped the Chinese pack train—it was Quinton Dudgin and Ramey Smith and some other man.”
Chen paused and studied him, questioningly.
“Dudgin and Smith were the men who killed Bender and also tried to kill me. My pa described their horses, and I remembered them.”
“Yes, you told me.” Chen shook his head. “Many bad men are here.”
“I doubt Dudgin and Smith are here. They probably went to Canada. If they’re caught here, they’ll be hanged.”
“Should catch and hang Finney and Culler.”
“As far as anyone knows, they haven’t killed anyone.”
“They almost kill Kan Dick,” Chen said bitterly.
Samuel was quiet. If they had killed Kan Dick, he doubted anyone would have done anything.
“Not matter, Sam. Many think the Chinese should leave. Say the gold is Ahmehlican gold.”
“Like Ben Morton,” Samuel said.
Chen nodded. “We want to go back to China. We have to find gold so we can.”
“I know, Chen. You’ve told me this.” Samuel felt troubled. “I don’t want you to leave, Chen, even when you do get
enough gold. You and your uncle are hard workers.”
Chen shrugged. “Maybe we never get enough gold. But you are vehlie good at finding gold. Maybe you will go soon.” He rose and retrieved his flute and, squatting, began playing.
Samuel understood why Chen identified with the other Chinese. He also realized that if any Chinese person could succeed in America, Chen could. He had learned to read and write English, not only so he could conduct business but also so he could help his countrymen.
The Chinese were odd, that was true. They had their problems—their opium and rice whiskey, gambling dens and slave girls, but they seemed happy and worked hard. They seemed much happier than many of the white miners, Samuel decided.
In the morning, Samuel and Chen continued on to Ruby Meadows and Miller’s camp. Samuel visited with Mr. Thomas at the Ruby placer, where his father had worked, and caught up on news. The gulch now appeared mostly played out.
Thomas seemed to notice his look. “We got our eyes on another gulch up creek,” he explained. “If you had an interest, you might be able to horn in on some good ground south of here. There’s some new placers opening in the meadows in that direction.” He pointed. “Problem will be getting water to them.”
Samuel laughed. “That’s the problem everywhere.”
“Yep, the early days, it was easy pickings along the streams, but now we gotta work to get water to where it’s needed.”
They visited a few placers on the lower meadows and then turned back toward Warren’s following the Secesh trail. At Lake Creek, they turned up toward Burgdorf’s place and paused at a deep hole, where they trapped a couple of salmon. They loaded the huge fish into the baskets in which Chen had carried his vegetables.
“We could catch more and sell back at Warren’s,” Chen said.
“Perhaps,” Samuel agreed, “but not for much. There’s far too many.” The stream was thick with swarming fish. Besides, he knew the miners preferred beef.
Back at the cabin, during a dinner of fresh salmon and potatoes, Samuel compared pay with his father.
“Dang near enough to outfit for the O’Riley, son. I’ve got over fifty dollars.” He handed Samuel his pouch. “I can keep on at McLane’s for a few more days to make certain.”
Salmon River Kid Page 21