Samuel mentioned how the Chinese had reported seeing Finney and Culler.
“All kinds of visitors coming to town,” Charles said. “Must be the Chinamen are preparing to take out some gold.” He laughed.
Samuel paused with his bite of salmon, realizing the truth. “Placer season’s ending, Pa. Could be that’s the case.”
July 1, the sun baked the meadows. Samuel hoped to get in at least half a day of mining before the catch basin drained. All morning he stockpiled gravel but mostly dug downward into the pit, hoping he would find some cobbles and some richer gold. He ran some of the gravel for a while and watched nervously as the water level quickly dropped. He sprinkled some of the remaining gravel and dirt into the stream of water. A few pieces of gold winked out of the black sand.
This is better. Some of the pieces were larger than grass seeds.
He threw in more dirt and washed it through. More gold.
Finally, he thought. Now that he was out of water, he was back into a pay streak.
He studied the pit. He was down a good eight feet, and just like last season, the water was gone—drained from the hills.
He shut down the flume. After cleanup, his pan held a third of an ounce, a great find for only a partial day. He stood and stretched.
Maybe I am done. He studied the gravelly hillside. The spring creek wasn’t enough. If he could get sufficient water ditched around to this side of the meadow from another source, he could operate longer. It might be possible, but it would take a lot of manpower and several weeks, maybe months, to do so. But then the entire hillside would be opened up for mining.
Samuel was surprised to see his father turn up the trail. Normally, he worked well into the evening as long as daylight remained.
“How’s your fortune today, son?”
“Toward the end, I was getting some good gold, but now I’m out of water.”
“Ain’t that the way. McLane’s is also feeling the pinch. We’re only operating one of the boxes.”
“Does that mean you’re done? That why you’re home early?”
“No, there’s still plenty of work.” Charles laughed. “I realized I got a couple things to take care of in town. Bring your gold.”
Samuel was beside himself wondering what his father was up to. On their way to Washington, his father talked about plans to begin work on the O’Riley, but Samuel knew enough to recognize when his father was avoiding what was really going on.
“Let’s drop in and see if Mr. Hinley has those assays done that you dropped off.”
“He won’t. I just took them in a few days ago.”
Entering the assay shop, Charles called out, “Ray, you got those O’Riley assays done?”
Hinley came out from the back, wiping his hands, adjusting his glasses. “Aye, Charles, I should say I do.”
Samuel was taken aback. It was as if Hinley had been waiting for them.
“These are fine assays, Samuel,” Hinley commented, sliding them over. “Your values are still running close to three ounces per ton. You should be up there beginning a drift.”
“We will be, but I’m still finishing up on the Sweet Mary, and we’re still waiting on a mill.”
“Aye, I have heard nothing new about the mill. It may be you shall never get one. If you wish, I may allow you to use the hammer.” Hinley nodded at the muller, smiling.
“Not funny, Mr. Hinley.” Samuel could hand work some ore but not the volume they would need.
“Come on, it’s not too late. We may still be able to catch Mr. Alexander,” Charles abruptly said. “Since we’re here, I have a few things to pick up.”
Samuel traipsed after his father as they entered Alexander’s Mercantile.
“I’m glad you dropped by. This is for you.” Scott handed a letter to Samuel.
The letter was from his mother, of course. Samuel stuffed it inside his shirt, where it could be considered on the ride back to the cabin—where he could wonder what news it held and cherish it.
His father picked out a few items, including some dried beef, dried fruit, some salt pork, cheese, crackers, and other items that Samuel took to be trail food. Samuel guessed his father was preparing for the move to the O’Riley. It made sense. If the assays had been low, his father would have told him they were heading home to Iowa.
Charles tossed over his pouch. Scott measured out some gold and handed it back. Charles glanced into it. “You’re leaving me some?” he joked.
“No sense in leaving you broke,” Scott said. “By the way, how’s your flume working out?” He eyed Samuel.
“You just saw some of the gold,” Samuel said proudly. “I was averaging better than half an ounce a day for a while.”
“That’s better’n most placers these days.” Scott finished the packages and reached for his pipe.
“But now the water’s drying up.”
Scott shook his head. “You’d never have guessed based on the flooding we had.” He began packing tobacco into his pipe. “You guys going to Slate Creek for Independence Day? Nearly the whole town is, the way I hear it.” He struck a match and began drawing on his pipe, letting out a puff of smoke.
“Why would that be?” Charles asked.
“Slate Creek is really going all out. I hear they’re bringing in a whole passel of fireworks—Sam’d like that.”
Samuel immediately thought of Bonnie and tried not to think anymore.
“It’s close to eighty miles, Scott. Not likely we’ll go,” Charles answered. “Need to pay you and finish up here as soon as possible.” He handed one of the packages to Samuel and grabbed up the other. They nodded to Scott and stepped from the store.
“I know you’d like to go, Samuel,” his father said, loading the packages into the saddlebags. “It’s just not possible.”
Samuel knew that. Besides, he had gold to dig.
When the two reached the cabin, Samuel anxiously opened the letter. It was not as cheerful as the last. Samuel guessed it was because his mother had expected them to be home by now. He had previously mentioned meeting Bonnie and visiting the ranch, but it was before he had gone to work there.
My Dear Charles and Son, Samuel,
It shall be over a year when you receive this letter since I have seen you. Not since the Southern Uprising have I been so lonely. I must say the truth, but I am confident when you receive this letter you will be informing me about the sale of the mine and your imminent return to your family. I truly miss your companionship and desire for you, both of you, to be here. Charles …
Samuel recognized his mother’s longing for his father. He was beginning to understand the need that a man and woman had for each other, and he found himself thinking of Lilly and then Bonnie. Why did Scott have to bring up Independence Day at Slate Creek? It could never work for Bonnie and him. He wished he were home in Iowa.
He skimmed the remainder of the letter before going back and rereading it, cherishing his mother’s words.
His mother talked about his grandma’s death. She mentioned how Elizabeth was growing and helping with the cooking and the garden. She mentioned his cousin Daniel again and how he was helping Uncle Jake till and plant the fields. Daniel was shooting squirrels and rabbits for game. But Samuel found himself wanting not to be tilling fields and planting crops. He thought of himself finding gold or perhaps of running cattle across the hills.
He handed the letter to his father, who studied it for a long while.
“She sounds good, does she not, son? It sounds as if the farm is doing well. That’s good. It makes it easier to be away.” He talked cheerily.
“She misses us, Pa,” Samuel blurted out the truth.
“Yes, she does, son.” Charles’s tone softened. “It’s okay. Things will be all right. We’ll be at this at most another month.”
In Samuel’s reply to his mother, he tal
ked proudly of the strike on the Sweet Mary and how they would soon be bringing ore out of the O’Riley. He also told of his ranching with the Strombacks and meeting Bonnie. He labored over using just the right words when talking about Bonnie, not wanting his mother to think into it too much. He ended by writing glowingly about their prospects.
When you see us riding in, dear Mother, we will be packing a goodly amount of gold. We will all go to the town and you will be able to buy all sorts of things. For sure a new dress for you and one for Elizabeth. For sure now, we will be laying out a new farm. Pa and you and Elizabeth will have a wonderful new home.
Only after he signed the letter and reread it did he realize he had left himself out.
He watched as his father read what he had written and caught a slight frown. His father added some lines, folded the paper, folded an envelope around it, and sealed it.
“You can post this from Slate Creek.”
“What?” Samuel could not believe what he thought he had heard.
“To blazes, son, you’re going to Slate Creek,” Charles said. “I was thinking on it, and your ma’s letter convinced me.”
Samuel broke into a huge smile and then bit his lip. “It’s okay, Pa. I can stay and run some more gravel. We need the money.”
“No, Samuel. You’re going,” Charles said. “I had sent word to Mr. Hinley for the assays. We have to take things into our own hands a bit. I want you to go back and see that man you saw last December and try to sell the mine, and I’d like you to advertise the O’Riley around town.”
“Is it worth it?” Samuel wanted to believe his father, but going that far only to advertise their mine didn’t seem prudent.
“We haven’t had any offers on the O’Riley sitting around here, except that fifty bucks you didn’t want to tell me about. We sure as blazes need a better offer than that,” Charles said. “And if you’re really wanting to, you can drop by and see that girl.”
Samuel felt his heart quicken and a knot formed in his stomach. “That will be tough, Pa. When I finished up ranching, I told Bonnie I was leaving. I don’t know if I can tell her again.”
His father was silent a moment as if searching for something else to say. Awkwardly he continued, “Well, go see some of the festivities at least, but I don’t recommend you go racing Spooky. We can’t take a chance on losing him before we head back.” Charles pulled off his shirt and poured some water for washing.
Samuel did not move.
“Better get your things together. You’ll need to get on the trail early. It’s going to be two days there and two back.” Charles doused himself with water. “You need some time for business as well.”
Later, as Samuel slowly undressed, things he thought he had buried began boiling up within him. He stared through the twilight; a couple of stars had appeared. God, where are you taking me now? he wondered.
SLATE CREEK,
INDEPENDENCE DAY 1872
Chapter 30
SAMUEL WAS ON THE TRAIL before sunup. He felt strange traveling the distance alone with no one to talk to or with whom to share a camp. He took his father’s advice and kept watch for strangers, especially for those they had run into before who could be trouble. He saw only a few men off the trail working at some of the placers. He paused briefly to say hello to Fred Burgdorf but passed up the obligatory swim at his hot springs. He would reach Slate Creek by tomorrow afternoon only if he pushed straight through.
Late in the evening he stopped for the night, a few miles short of Shearers’ ferry. He paused at the only level spot he could find near where he could find water. He checked for rattlesnakes and unrolled his bedding under a huge pine, thankful that there were no evening thundershowers. Instead, as he had descended into the canyon, the heat had steadily built. He figured it was still a sweltering eighty degrees.
Samuel was again up before sunrise. Spooky had grazed all night along the stream and seemed ready to go. To Samuel, Spooky always seemed eager to travel. When he reached the Shearers’, other travelers were just preparing to head down the trail. He visited for a short while, catching them up on their mining progress.
At the winter cabin, Samuel paused. The cabin was much the way they had left it. He walked down to the river. The sluice, undisturbed, seemed to be awaiting his return. He knew there was a goodly amount of gold in the bar—not enough by which to get rich, but enough to pay a decent wage, much like the hillside at the Sweet Mary.
He studied the bench. It was too steep for plowed fields like those that his father was used to, but a man could put in a good-sized truck garden by terracing the land like the Chinese did. Fruit trees could grow on the hillside, especially if a ditch was run higher up and the trees were watered. Between the two drainages, there was some grass for grazing, and a meadow near the second creek might produce enough hay to winter a few head of cattle. If necessary, his father could buy hay or trail animals out to Slate Creek for the winter, similar to what the packers did.
Samuel pushed at his hat. The day was already uncomfortably hot, far warmer than Warren’s camp in the mountains.
He passed Groff’s ferry across the river from him, and farther downstream, he again took notice of the Chinese stone hut. Several Chinese were busy at a couple of rockers along the river. He saw no white miners. They had returned to the mountain placers or quartz mines. Others were likely headed to Slate Creek for Independence Day as was he.
Late afternoon, he reached the town. Red, white, and blue bunting surrounded doorways and windows, and banners stretched across the street. Every building sported a flag. A crepe-covered grandstand had been erected in front of Slate Creek House.
People were milling in the street, and already Samuel sensed excitement. Scott had been right. Everyone from miles around was here. He wanted to go to the ranch and say hello to Bonnie, but he refrained. He would not impose on the Strombacks. Besides, Bonnie could be here in town attending some of the festivities. He glanced around, half expecting to see her.
He immediately sought out Ralph Clark, the man who had expressed an interest last Christmas. Clark looked over the assay reports but handed them back. “I shall pass. I’d much rather grubstake you and have you look for a better one.”
Samuel’s hopes were dashed. “There aren’t many quartz claims that go better than three ounces a ton, Mr. Clark. This one’s rich.”
“Yup, but times are changing.”
Samuel puzzled at Clark’s meaning. This was the man he had come so far to see.
“Anyone else you know who might be interested? I’ve come eighty miles to see you.” Samuel could not hold back his disappointment.
“Sorry, son.” Clark drummed his fingers. “There’s been a lot of speculation coming out of Warren’s camp but not a lot of results.”
Samuel fidgeted, not knowing what else he could say or do. He had come too far for a simple no.
“There is a guy in town who’s expressing interest in mining properties but mostly up at Florence,” Clark said. “But then, everyone’s interested in Florence. That was one rich strike until it played out. People still dream of the early days in Florence. They don’t think of Warren’s. His name’s Jesse Williams. He should be over at the hotel.”
Samuel thanked Clark and headed to Slate Creek House. A fancily dressed man in a white collared shirt, string tie, and black vest sat at a table with a newspaper, smoking a cigar. He appeared to be in his midthirties with dusty blond hair and a ruddy complexion.
“Name’s Samuel Chambers,” Samuel said, stepping to his table. “Heard you were looking at mining properties. I got one.”
The man looked up, his expression showing that he questioned Samuel’s youth. “Jesse Williams.” They shook. “How is it that a kid is offerin’ to sell me a mine? And how’d you know I was interested?”
“Mr. Clark referenced you.”
“Here, sit down.” Williams indicated th
e chair.
“Thanks.” Samuel sat. “Legally, the claim’s my father’s,” he explained. “I just happened to find it.”
“Well, that takes some spunk.” The man laughed and asked Samuel to tell him about it. Samuel recognized the interest. He was more hopeful when Williams carefully studied the assays.
“How accurate are these?”
Samuel explained his care in acquiring the samples.
“Not many folks know about cutting a good sample for an assay,” he said. “It sounds like you knew what you were doing. Too bad you don’t have a mill-run for me to consider.”
“Mr. Hinley does assays in Washington. He instructed me,” Samuel said. “We had hoped to have some mill-runs done. We’re waiting on Mr. Bradshaw’s mill. It’s still hung up in Mount Idaho, I believe.”
“Actually, I think it’s now on the trail.”
Samuel grinned. “Then you’ll for sure want to be looking at our mine.”
“Perhaps.” He folded up the assays and returned them. “I have a full schedule; however, I am taking out a couple days for celebration. Mostly because my guide is already overcelebrating.” Williams laughed and drew on his cigar, letting the pungent smoke encircle them.
Samuel stopped himself from fanning the smoke. He preferred his father’s pipe.
“He’ll be taking me up to Florence. I’m most interested in some properties up there.”
“You ought to drop by Warren’s first,” Samuel suggested.
“And why’s that? Properties in Florence not as good?”
“Actually, sir, they probably aren’t. It was the placers up there that were rich. And they’re mostly played out. The quartz ledges are proving real shallow. In fact, I hear they’re dismantling one of the stamp mills and taking it to Warren’s.”
Jesse Williams raised his eyes. “And you know this how?”
“The independent miners are looking to bring it into Warren’s to run rich ore such as ours.” Samuel emphasized rich.
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