Late evening he had made the round trip. His father had completed four holes. Hardly speaking, they ate and turned in for the night. Samuel remembered thinking that maybe swinging a hammer wouldn’t be as bad.
In the morning they returned to double jacking, Charles swinging the hammer, Samuel turning the steel. When they switched, Charles examined the steel.
“Dulls pretty fast. We’re going to need to rotate it already,” he said. “I guess I can pack a load of ore, and you can drill. We’ll switch when I get back, and on your trip out, you can head into Washington with the steel.”
“And then come back here?” Samuel was confused.
“No, stay at the cabin. Bring the steel back in the morning.”
Samuel helped load the animals and saw his father off. In the resulting silence, he had the urge to relax for a bit, but he could not bring himself to do so. If he only had a single hole drilled by the time his father returned, he would not be able to live with himself.
Soon he was at the excavation working at one of the drill marks. They had agreed to forgo trying to do an eight-by-eight-foot shaft and instead go after more ore. They extended the drill holes along the vein and narrowed the excavation. They figured that if the future owners wanted to use the site as a shaft, they could widen the hole.
Within several swings, the ache came back to his shoulders. He ignored it.
Samuel could take more swings single jacking, but each swing had less power and cut less rock, and the work went more slowly. With each crack of the hammer against steel, hardly any dust or chips flew. The steel sank almost imperceptibly. He turned the steel, hit again, ringing his hands, releasing mostly powder. He flushed the hole. At this rate, he would not even get one hole drilled.
He settled into his work, losing track of time. He did not expect his father could make the trip in much less than four hours. He missed having his company, not so much to talk to, but just the comfort of having someone near.
The sun climbed to its zenith, and the day warmed. Sweat stung his brow. Samuel stripped off his shirt, hoping for a cooling breeze. There was none. At this elevation the sun had an unusual intensity. He was tanned, but he knew he would burn from too much exposure.
He frequently gazed downhill for sign of his father. He had finished the one hole and had begun a second, drilling it to a foot when his father finally returned.
“Your turn, son.” His father greeted and immediately began sacking ore.
In half an hour they were loaded, and Samuel was headed down the trail. “I’ll see you in the morning, Pa.”
“I’ll be here. You have my horse.” He grabbed his hammer and headed toward the excavation.
By evening Samuel had dropped off his load of ore and had reached Faust’s blacksmith shop in Washington. The man was gone, but Samuel left the steel, planning to pick some up in the morning.
At the cabin, Samuel scrounged to find enough food for a meal. He ended up boiling some cornmeal for mush. There were a few dry beans, some sugar, and salt but little else.
In the morning, still hungry, he headed toward the O’Riley. When he was still well below the mine, he could hear his father’s steady blows ringing against the steel. He rode up to let his father know he had arrived.
“Everything good?” Charles asked.
“Yep, but we forgot we didn’t leave any grub at the cabin.” He began unstrapping the steel and easing it to the ground.
Charles studied Samuel. “I guess you’re right.” He set down his hammer. “Take a moment for some chow, then.”
“I’m okay.” He really was not, but he wanted to get packing immediately.
“Come on, then, I’ll help you load these animals. You can make the first trip.”
Shortly, Samuel was on the trail back down the ridge, heading for the mill. Again, he felt strangely alone. He cut a few more trees but decided to wait until later to see how their time was going.
O’Shaughnessy and Connolly greeted him when he arrived. They were working on putting the camshaft into place. The stamps would be installed next. Stanton assured him they were on schedule and would soon need the ore.
Samuel unloaded the ore and headed back toward the O’Riley. Again, he could hear steel against steel as he neared the mine. It was a good sound, but it reminded Samuel of how difficult it would be to meet their goal. His father would not quit trying, he told himself, nor would he.
His father had drilled two holes and begun a third. Samuel helped him load the ore and then took over the drilling. By evening, when his father returned, he had finished the third hole and nearly a fourth. Not quite four holes and sixteen hundred pounds a day, he realized. He continued drilling and finished the hole while his father fixed dinner.
Samuel sat with his father for dinner. He mopped up every scrap of the cornmeal mush and wanted more.
His father eyed him. “Guess you better get us some more grub when you go in tomorrow night.”
Samuel thought about the cost of supplies. They had not mined any gold for some time and were now living completely on credit.
The next day was much the same. Samuel drilled and his father hauled ore. They switched when his father returned. Samuel was barely into the trees when he heard his father’s hammer, but he felt good. Tomorrow they should be able to blast.
He reached the Bradshaw, unloaded his ore, and headed toward the cabin. The sun had set and evening was upon him. More than ever, he worried about being dry-gulched, and he carried his rifle at the ready.
Even at the cabin, he felt spooked and slept uneasily. He thought about his father miles away at the mine, without even a horse.
In the morning, Samuel had some time before Scott would be at the store, so he wandered down to check on the Sweet Mary. He surveyed the hillside and came away with the same feeling he always had. There was gravel with good gold but little water to run it. He eyed the water in the catch basin. It held water now but not enough to run more than a couple of hours.
Samuel longed to see some gold. They had spent days at the O’Riley and seen none. Carefully, he released the water into the sluice and shoveled some dirt into the flume. After a few minutes, he checked the upper riffles. A few sparkling yellow specks sent shivers through him. There was nothing as good as seeing gold.
Finding the O’Riley had been good. Mining it was discouraging, brutally hard work. He missed placer mining; it was hard work as well, but at least there were moments when he could see the gold.
When he reached Alexander’s, Scott had not yet arrived. Men were loading a pack string that stood outside Ripson’s Saloon. Samuel thought it was unusual in that it was midsummer—too early for people to be heading out for the season. Then he noticed Lilly standing by. Miss Hattie held an arm about her.
Lilly immediately began waving. “Why, Samuel,” she said. “I’m so pleased to see you. I didn’t think I’d get to.” She was shaking, coming toward him.
She had no color to her face and, strangely, reminded Samuel of the dead Chinese man.
“I haven’t been in town for a few days.” Samuel touched his hat. “Lots of work lately.”
“I don’t care what people think, Samuel,” she whispered. “You are the kindest gentleman in Washington.” Her words were slurred.
Hattie came up. “Don’t pay too much of a mind to her, Samuel,” she whispered. “She’s not well.”
A queasy feeling rushed through Samuel.
“I don’t care if you found someone else, Samuel,” Lilly whispered. “You’re still my man.”
Samuel glanced frantically around. Only the packers were present, but he hoped she wouldn’t say anything more.
“It’s okay, Lilly,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“She’ll be okay, Samuel.” Hattie tried to steer Lilly toward a horse. “She’s leaving us.”
Samuel felt stunned. “Going?”
He could not imagine Lilly being gone.
One of the packers gave her a hand. “You hang on good, you hear, Miss Lilly? I’ll be right behind you. You holler if you need to stop.”
“W-where you going, Lilly?” Samuel asked, his voice quavering.
“Lewiston.” Lilly smiled faintly. “Going to go get me some sunshine and have me a vacation.” Her voice wavered.
“You take care of yourself, Lilly,” Samuel called. The pack string began to move out.
“You come visit me in Lewiston, Samuel.”
Samuel was careful not to agree. “I’ll keep that in mind if ever I get there. Thank you, Lilly.” He waved.
“Thank you, Samuel.” She blew him a kiss. “The most handsome man in the territory.”
Samuel watched as the pack string passed through town, Lilly swaying in motion with the horse, heading out toward the main trail. He no longer cared what people had heard or what they thought. An emptiness filled the pit of his stomach.
Miss Hattie came over to him. “She’ll be all right, Samuel.”
Samuel shook his head. He knew she would not be all right.
“Look, Samuel, she told me if she didn’t get to say good-bye to tell you that she really did care for you.”
Samuel felt hollow. He had been right about her feelings for him, and when he told her about Bonnie, she had hidden them. Underneath, Lilly really was a good person.
Samuel turned to Hattie. “She’s not going to get better, is she?”
Hattie tried to look away but could not. “No, Samuel, most likely she’s not.”
“How long has she known?” Samuel asked.
“Last winter when she got sick.”
Samuel realized she had known during his visit.
“I know what you’re thinking, Samuel,” Hattie said. “She was so happy after you visited her. That’s all she talked about. She was glad for you that you met someone.”
Samuel felt a knot in his throat. He realized what he could have shared with her. “Even though I—”
“She told me you wanted to marry her,” Hattie said. “She said she never had a man tell her that.” She lowered her voice. “She said you refused her when you visited, that it would not be honorable to your gal at Slate Creek. She wished she was that gal. She really loved you, Samuel.”
Samuel felt the ache inside break and wash through him. He wanted to sit down, wanted to be left alone, wanted to run after Lilly. It was not so much what she could have given him; it was what he could have given her.
Chapter 38
ON HIS TRIP back to the O’Riley, Samuel found himself thinking about Lilly and Bonnie—that things would have been different had they found the real lost ledge, had the Sweet Mary been rich, had anything worked out better for his father and him. Instead, they faced returning to Iowa the same way they had come—broke.
He reached the excavation, not realizing things were silent. His father was packing dynamite into the drill holes. Samuel had almost forgotten and rushed up to help.
“Thought I’d get a jump on this, knowing you’d be getting grub and supplies.”
“But this is the best part, Pa.”
“Here, I’ve saved you a couple holes.” Charles pointed.
Samuel began loading the holes, and when he finished, his father cut two starter fuses and notched and ignited them. Samuel lit half the fuses with one while his father lit the second half.
They walked toward their camp, getting distance between them and the blast. Something about watching and hearing the dynamite exploding, seeing the shower of rock fragments, and watching the plume of white smoke rising was extremely satisfying to Samuel. It seemed a perfect finish to hours and hours of drilling and offered a rare moment of rest.
Shortly, tightly spaced explosions began rocking the woods. After the smoke cleared, they returned to the excavation, eager to see the exposed ore.
It was about the same yield, maybe three or four cubic feet more, but anything more helped. The vein seemed to be holding its width. If anything, it appeared to be getting wider.
After cobbing and stacking rock for a while, his father paused. “Best get you loaded while we still got daylight. You can get another load to the Bradshaw and see how they’re doing on the mill.”
In a few hours, Samuel reached the mill and unloaded the ore.
“You gonna make it?” Stanton asked. “We should be running by midweek.”
Samuel knew they couldn’t. “We’re tryin’.” Stanton wanted to run seven tons. They had mined less than six and had hauled four. He pushed the animals, heading back to the O’Riley. Tense minutes passed into hours. The desperate need to get the ore mined and hauled pressed upon him.
At the O’Riley, his father had finished mucking and had stacked the ore for sacking.
“Mr. Stanton says he should be ready to run midweek.”
“Best we keep drilling, then.” Charles picked up the long hammer.
Samuel grabbed the steel. Why try? It would be impossible for them to drill and blast another ton, let alone haul three tons by midweek.
When his father called it for the day, Samuel could hardly stand. His entire body ached. He hardly remembered dinner, and after he pulled his blankets around himself, morning came all too soon. He forced himself to stand and took a few minutes to knead his sore muscles. After a quick bite and some coffee, they resumed double jacking.
“We’ll need to take the steel in tonight. And I’m guessing when Stanton gets the mill done, he’ll want a test run before they can get to us. That should give us another day.”
Samuel felt a little hope. He held and turned the steel; his father swung, ringing steel against steel, making Samuel’s hands vibrate. With each turn, small chips bounced from the hole. Occasionally, he flushed the hole and removed the mud. After two hundred strokes, they changed positions.
Samuel swung the hammer, striking steel. His father turned it. He swung, feeling his shoulders, feeling his muscles bring the hammer down, swinging and striking the steel. He brought up the hammer and swung it down in a full arc onto the steel. He lifted again.
He no longer worried about missing, and he and his father talked.
The day heated. They stripped off their shirts. Sweat stung their brows. They switched positions, took a few moments for water, and returned to swinging the hammer and turning the steel.
At noon, they broke for more water, something to eat, and a short rest, and then they were again at it. As difficult as it was to swing the hammer, it was almost more difficult to pause. Each time they did so, Samuel found that his muscles tightened, and the ache quickly returned to his neck and shoulders.
Samuel led off with swinging. His father held the steel. They drilled another hole and then another. By late afternoon, they had five holes drilled and another started.
“That’s more like it, son, but we better load some ore and head to the Bradshaw if we want to get back to the cabin before dark.”
They began sacking the ore.
“Ho, the camp.” A voice reached them.
Samuel glanced up to see Sheriff Sinclair riding up from below.
“Welcome.” Charles straightened and adjusted his hat.
Sinclair swung down and eyed their work. “Got a mighty good-looking operation here. Always wondered where you guys were.” He eyed Samuel. “So this is what you discovered?”
“Yes, sir,” Samuel replied. They both knew Sinclair was not just visiting.
“We can rustle up some coffee back at our camp,” Charles offered.
“No, thanks. I’m up here to let you know I rounded up Finney and Culler.”
At first, Samuel could not believe what he had just heard. An immense weight lifted from him. The two men who had robbed them were in jail.
“I read them the charges you and Samuel have against them after we talk
ed the other day,” Sinclair explained. “They just laughed. Said it was a misunderstanding, said that they’d have their bond money in a couple days and be out.”
“They shot at me,” Samuel managed, now shaking. The sudden relief had turned back to fear.
“Seems to me you shot at them.” Sinclair eyed him. “At least, that’s what they’re saying. Saying they were just minding their own business.”
Samuel felt a burning tightening in his chest. He glanced frantically toward his father.
Sinclair must have sensed Samuel’s desperation. “Well, for now they’re in jail, but I’m going to have to let ’em go if they can bond out.” He frowned. “I didn’t think they’d have any money.”
“Probably ours they stole last winter,” Charles spat.
“Likely is, but you might be thinking on your statements. The judge should be here around about the end of the month to hear the Rescue case. If Finney and Culler do bond out and stick around to be heard, you two will be testifying.”
Charles nodded. “Then I doubt we’ll be testifying. They won’t stick around.”
“Right. Which is why I’m here. They might want to come after you.” Sinclair adjusted his hat. “Maybe you might have some other information you’ve thought of so I can have more of a reason to keep ’em.”
“Nothing more than what we’ve told you.” Charles gazed toward the horizon. “How long until you have to turn them loose?”
“Probably when I get back.”
“Maybe you could take a trip to the South Fork to check on things.”
“I was thinking that, but it won’t matter much—three or four days at best.”
“Good. We’re shooting one last round here, and then we’ll be packing ore to Bradshaw’s mill. We should be done about then.”
The sheriff swung back into his saddle and turned his horse toward the South Fork. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Charles called after him.
Samuel stared at his father. His heart was pounding. “If Finney and Culler are turned loose, there’s no telling what they might try—especially after having been thrown in jail on account of us.”
Salmon River Kid Page 28