Samuel understood. He felt a tenseness building in his chest.
“Okay, you ready?”
“Ready.”
His father lit the notched fuse and held it close to one of the fuses. When the flame started spitting, the fuse ignited. He moved to the next fuse, and when the notched fuse again began spitting, that fuse also quickly ignited. White smoke and sparks began filling the excavation. Samuel thought the fuses were burning much faster than their test fuse. He fought a desire to immediately leave the hole and get away.
His father worked unhurriedly, continuing to light each fuse, counting loudly, until all fifteen were lit.
“Okay, come walk with me. We don’t run. We walk away—together.”
They climbed out of the shallow excavation and walked toward the camp. Samuel fought the impulse to run. He peered over his shoulder; white smoke poured out of the hole. Heart hammering, he expected the blast at any moment.
They reached the dynamite cache and waited.
“We both count the explosions to ourselves and then compare,” Charles said.
As if on cue, the rounds of dynamite exploded in rapid succession. Samuel counted and thought he had fifteen but was not certain. The explosions echoed throughout the valley, and tiny fragments of rock rained down. White smoke rose above the excavation.
“How many?”
“I’m pretty sure I got fifteen.”
“I know I did,” Charles replied. “You have to be certain. If not, we wait a few minutes in case one hang fires.” He smiled. “Now, a hang fire—that’s a dangerous stick of powder.”
Samuel was eager to get back to the excavation to see if a vein of gold had been exposed. It had been his dream since he had begun looking for a quartz ledge.
Dust and smoke lingered over the hole.
“Let it clear out a minute, Samuel. No sense in breathing in that stuff. About like nitro, it’ll give you a headache.”
They took their time in returning to the excavation. Even so, the stench of burned powder hung in the air and stung Samuel’s lungs and eyes.
Samuel studied the broken rock, somewhat dismayed. A few jagged gray chunks lay askew, and smaller fragments were strewn about, but overall, the rock appeared hardly disturbed.
“It was no good.”
“Looks pretty broken up to me. Remember, all we wanted to do was fracture the rock so we can muck it out.”
Samuel jumped into the pit, looking around for chunks of ore. Gray dust coated everything, and the ore was indistinguishable from gangue. He knocked pieces together and blew off the dust, looking for the quartz. “Can’t tell what’s what with all the dust.”
“Most of the ore will still be in the vein. And if you miss a piece, it’ll show after the next rain.” Charles heaved a heavy chunk over the lip.
Samuel began turning over the pieces, checking for quartz, tossing out the pieces that didn’t have quartz and stacking those that did.
They broke free the larger pieces with their picks. Those too large to lift, they broke down further with their hammers and tossed them out of the hole.
“Get any pieces too large, we’ll have to drill and blast them.”
Samuel noted that none of the rock below the drill holes had fractured, nor had any rock behind the four corners fractured. Although his father had explained it would not, Samuel had to see it to believe it.
“How much ore do you figure we blasted loose?” he asked.
“You’re the one who’s good at numbers, son,” Charles replied. “Figure your vein is a foot wide. We’ve just gone down two feet.”
“Sixteen cubic feet,” Samuel quickly replied. “That’s a bit more than a ton.” The realization was sobering. All this work for just a ton, he told himself. He could almost not bear the thought.
Charles leaned on his pick. “Being it’s Saturday, we should load what ore we can and take a trip to the Bradshaw and see how the mill’s coming along. It’s about eight miles. We’ll have just about enough daylight to get there, drop this off, and head home.”
They began packing ore into the packs for Molly until they figured they had about 350 pounds. They packed an additional 150 pounds of ore each onto Buster and Spooky.
Four of the miles were without trail. The worst portion was coming off the steep ridge below the O’Riley, where they had to head east along a heavily timbered slope. They cut long traverses to keep from rolling an animal and painstakingly wound their way around the numerous blow downs.
“Might be we need to do some trail work,” Charles observed. “Cut a few of these fallen trees and straighten out our trail.”
Striking the Meadow Creek trail, they turned down it for a short distance back in the direction of Washington and then cut up the drainage that led toward the Summit vein. Here the trail was well established, and they encountered no further difficulties in reaching the Bradshaw mill site.
Samuel was relieved to see that the mill had arrived. Pieces were arranged next to a crude foundation and a partially completed frame that had been erected near a strongly flowing stream.
Lloyd Stanton noticed them ride in and greeted them. “Howdy, Charles, I see you’re finally bringing us something.”
“Didn’t think there was a rush.” Charles nodded toward the pieces.
“Give us a week or so, we’ll be firing it up.” He nodded toward Samuel. “This is your son, I take it.”
“Yes, sir, I’m Samuel.” He remembered seeing Mr. Stanton about town, but had never been introduced. He was a heavy-built man, apparently used to swinging a hammer. He had dark hair, and like all the men in this country, his face was etched by the wind and weather.
A couple of men came over to greet them and take a breather. They introduced themselves as Michael O’Shaughnessy and Liam Connolly.
“We’ve already been hauling down ore from the Summit and Keystone,” Stanton explained. “You’ll see the piles uphill adjacent to the mill. I’ll show you where you can unload yours.”
They followed Stanton to a level area next to the mill. A large platform that had been built into the hill extended out to the mill frame.
“You’re still going to be our first run,” Stanton said, “unless you’ve decided to keep mining. In that case, I’ll run the Summit ore, and you’d be up in early August.”
“Way we’re going, it might end up being August. It’s going to take a bit of time to mine and haul seven tons.”
“We could run less, but I’d like to see how this plant is going to operate at its capacity.”
“And I’d like to see a convincing result so we can sell out,” Charles added.
They unloaded the ore. O’Shaughnessy and Connolly helped. To Samuel, the pile appeared pitifully small. No one commented, but Samuel had begun doing some figuring. They had over four tons at the O’Riley ready for hauling. They had just dropped off about six hundred fifty pounds. They could drill at best five holes a day. He shook his head. A week and a few days would not be enough time to mine and haul seven tons.
They turned back down the trail at dusk, heading for Washington and their cabin.
Chapter 36
SAMUEL DESPERATELY wanted to cling to his sleep. His father rose before him, and the tantalizing odor of bacon and coffee drew him from his bed.
“We got a fair amount of figuring to do, son,” Charles said. “Mostly we need to figure out how to haul seven tons of ore to the mill and also be drilling and blasting.”
“Maybe I can borrow another mule and make a trip at night.”
“We’ll think on it.” Charles poured some coffee. “For today, we prepare what grub we can for the week and get ready.”
Samuel rubbed his hands and examined them. They were calloused and cut. “I can see why the hardrock stiffs board at Ma Reynolds’s. They don’t have to worry about things like cooking. They can get a bath
once a week. Get their clothes washed. Wish we could do that.”
“We could if we were drawing eight dollars a day.”
Later, Samuel headed into town with a list for supplies his father had decided they needed. He noticed several Chinese in the street. A number of townsfolk stood by as well, some talking. It seemed to be a procession of sorts. Samuel glanced around for Chen.
Instead, Samuel found Scott. “What’s going on?”
“Seems they hung that poor Chinaman that stole the boots.”
Samuel’s breath left him. “I can’t believe it.” He felt queasy. “I heard they were looking for him, but hanging him for a three-dollar pair of boots?”
“Four,” Scott corrected. “But I guess that’s what they value a Chinaman’s life at. Caught him on the trail. Poor cuss said he just found the boots in an abandoned cabin. Claimed he didn’t know they belonged to anyone.”
Samuel sat down, a numbness enveloping him.
“They had him in jail last night, but while that deputy wasn’t looking, someone hauled him out, and they hung him.” Scott shook his head. “Trouble is, I believe the poor bastard. He probably didn’t know.”
Thoughts of Chen, Chen’s uncle Mann, and Sang Yune overwhelmed Samuel. It could have been any of them. He pushed his hands through his hair.
Scott studied him, a deep frown. “I wouldn’t get too involved, Samuel. They’re just Chinamen.”
Samuel shot Scott a look and staggered to his feet. “They ain’t just Chinamen, Scott. Chen and Yune … they saved my life.”
Scott said nothing more.
Angrily, Samuel left. He headed to Mann’s to check on Chen, the sick feeling storming his stomach. The store was closed.
The Chinese had gathered, and Samuel realized that the bundle they held was a body. Townspeople stood by, observing. A procession of Chinese, burning numerous joss sticks and carrying the body, slowly headed up the hill behind their huts.
Samuel spotted Chen and caught up to him. Chen looked away.
“I’m sorry, Chen.”
Chen bit his lip. “It is okay,” he answered at length. “It is okay he is dead. Life is not so bad now.”
Is that what their lives mean to them? Samuel wondered.
“Can I come?”
Chen stopped and shrugged. “Okay.”
A man handed Chen a wad of bright red rice paper perforated with holes. Samuel remembered the holes had something to do with the devil. Chen tossed bits along the path.
“For the devil?” Samuel asked.
“Yes. If devil finds him, he takes him to hell. But devil will get lost going through all the holes and so cannot get to his body by time he is buried.”
Samuel followed with Chen until they had reached the cemetery. The Chinese and some white miners gathered around. Some of the Chinese bowed politely, recognizing Samuel, but none spoke.
A man standing waist-deep in a freshly dug grave reached out to help with the body. Several men removed the shrouds, and sets of hands gently lowered the clothed body into the ground. In death, the man had no color, neither white nor yellow—just gray. Quickly they filled the grave. Chen and others scattered more brightly colored perforated rice paper around the site. “More paper, devil get confused,” Chen commented. “Now we go back and eat.” Chen turned toward the Chinese section of town.
“I guess he doesn’t get to go home,” Samuel said quietly.
“Oh, he go home,” Chen quickly replied. “In year, maybe two, the bone collector come around and take his bones back to China, back to man’s family.”
Samuel was mystified. “He won’t be bones for years.”
“He will. Buried shallow. Worms eat flesh, so his bones will be ready. His spirit is in his bones. Devil is in his flesh, not in his bones. Bone collector cleans his bones so there is no devil,” Chen affirmed, nodding.
“I go to eat now. But just for Chinese.” Chen made a quick bow toward Samuel.
“I understand. I figured as much.” Samuel did not intend to eat with the Chinese. He didn’t figure the whites were too popular with them at the present.
Samuel turned to go. “I’m sorry about this, Chen. It’s not right.”
Chen returned a steady gaze, his dark eyes solemn.
BRADSHAW MILL
Chapter 37
ON THEIR RETURN to the O’Riley, Charles and Samuel stopped at Faust’s blacksmith shop and picked up newly sharpened steel.
“Swap it out in a couple days,” Faust reminded them. “You’ll need to do that if you’re drilling steady.”
“I’ll send Samuel in.”
They reached the O’Riley, and after stowing gear and taking care of stock, they returned to the excavation.
“We still got some rock to muck,” Charles observed. “But we need to figure out how to get more of this to the mill or figure on staying here all summer. When Mr. Stanton gets that mill operating, he isn’t going to be wanting to wait on us, and I’m not waiting until August.”
“I know, Pa. I should have been hauling it already.”
“Buster ain’t going to like it, but I’ve been thinking—you can load him with three hundred pounds or so and maybe get close to eight hundred pounds a trip. I’ll stay here and muck and drill. We won’t be drilling as fast, but you’ll be hauling ore a lot faster.”
“I’ll get the better deal.”
Charles laughed. “I don’t know about that. See how it works.”
They began loading ore. Molly was used to standing still while being loaded. Buster was not. The moment he felt the added weight, he wanted to start moving. It took some doing to get him to stand steady.
Samuel headed out, winding his way off the timbered ridge toward the saddle. In a few places, he tried to move some of the downed logs and straighten the trail. The area reminded him of the ridge where he had come out of the timber and stumbled upon Dudgin and Smith. He shivered, remembering Bender’s bleeding body lying in the dirt. He scanned the deep undergrowth, half expecting to see the men. And now Finney and Culler were about. He felt dangerously vulnerable. This was about midway from the mill, and even farther from any help. He pulled his rifle out and checked it. He did not feel at ease until he finally struck and turned down the Meadow Creek trail.
At the mill site, he greeted O’Shaughnessy and Connolly and began unloading. Each bag was near seventy pounds, and he struggled to untie and lower them to the ground. He lugged each to their pile and dumped the ore. He glanced at the ore from the Summit and Keystone. Some had the same gray specks running through the quartz. He assured himself that the O’Riley ore appeared no worse. If anything, it had more gray.
Stanton came over. “Howdy, Samuel. Got time to check it out?” He waved at the mill.
“Sure.” Samuel needed to see how the mill was progressing and get an idea of how soon it would be ready.
“Not much to look at yet. They should be trying to install the stamps in a day or two. But you can get an idea how she’s gonna work.”
The frame stood nearly finished.
“That waterwheel is my best accomplishment. Mr. Bradshaw didn’t think we could get that to work up here, but I got a flume built coming out of the creek farther uphill. By the time that water reaches here, it has a lot of force behind it. Turns the wheel, no trouble at all.”
Samuel could tell Stanton was proud of his work. The catwalk where they presently stood was about twenty feet above the floor. The wheel was impressive. It stood about twelve feet in diameter and had been fitted to the mill for turning the camshaft that would lift the stamps.
“After the ore’s cobbed, it’ll be shoveled into this hopper where it feeds down into the stamps and is pulverized.” Stanton indicated a yawning hole that fed into a chute. “Water mixes with the powdered rock, and the slurry that contains the gold washes out onto a table where it will be amalgamated and t
hen run through a sluice.”
Samuel crossed the catwalk to look down into the mill.
“What if we don’t have our ore here by the time you’re ready?”
“I won’t wait. Mr. Bradshaw has ore from the Summit ready to go.”
“Then I better get these critters back up the mountain.” Samuel stepped off the catwalk toward the stock.
“You’ve still got a few days. If need be, you could hire Mr. Baker or someone to haul it down for you. Baker’s been the one packing ore down from the Summit.”
Samuel thanked Stanton. He knew his father would not hire anyone, not if he could figure a way on his own. He glanced at the sun. They might be able to get in two trips a day, about sixteen hundred pounds. The stock probably couldn’t handle much more.
Back at the O’Riley, Samuel explained what Stanton had told him.
“We can only do what’s possible, son,” his father said. “You figure on it, but I’m thinking one of us drilling and one of us hauling will be the most efficient.”
“Want me to take my turn drilling?” Samuel asked.
“Maybe tomorrow. For now I’ll see how I hold up,” Charles said. “I got a bit more weight behind my swings than you.”
Samuel didn’t argue. He knew his father had more muscle, and anyone could pack animals. He prepared to load more ore.
“I can take the ax and cut a few of the downed trees. I think I can straighten the trail a bit below us here and save some travel time.”
His father helped him load another eight hundred pounds and returned to drilling. Samuel headed back toward the mill. He stopped several times and cut timber. After an hour, he had connected several switchbacks that would save a couple hundred yards. Can’t do too much of this, he realized, or I won’t get anything packed.
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