Salmon River Kid

by Joseph Dorris

  “We’ll just have to stick closer together, son,” Charles said. “Come on, help me load these.” He hefted a sack of ore.

  At the mill, Stanton met them. “I told Samuel yesterday we should have the mill running midweek. I’ll finish the table and do a test run. I’m obliged to tell you if your ore’s not ready, I’ll have to get going on the Summit ore.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Charles assured him.

  They unloaded and piled the ore.

  “We need more ore than this, or we won’t recover enough to even begin paying for what we’ve spent,” Samuel muttered.

  “We still got a couple days for mining and hauling,” Charles said.

  They reached their cabin after dark, took care of the stock, and fixed a simple dinner before turning in for the night, exhausted.

  In the morning, Samuel woke to his father preparing some coffee. He stood and dressed, surprised to find himself not as stiff and sore—surprised to realize he had toughened to the hard work. He took a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks, Pa. It’s kind of good not to be swinging a hammer or packing ore.”

  “It is at that. I’m glad the good Lord invented Sundays.”

  They sat a few minutes eyeing each other.

  Samuel spoke first. “You once told me the good Lord said that when the ox is in the ditch, you have to get it out. And I reckon those holes aren’t going to get drilled by themselves.” He drained his cup. “I’m willin’ if you are.”

  Charles laughed. “Glad you said so, son.”

  They packed and headed toward the O’Riley, picking up new steel on the way out of town.

  They put in three more holes before Samuel headed toward the Bradshaw with another eight hundred pounds of ore. When he returned, his father had completed another hole. Six remained. It was evening. They called it quits and had dinner.

  “We’re nearing five tons at Bradshaw’s,” Samuel said.

  “Then when we get this round finished and hauled we’ll have something over six,” Charles said. “That may be the best we do.”

  “Maybe this last round will show a solid vein of gold.”

  Charles laughed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not as long as there’s quartz showing.”

  They began the next morning again double jacking, putting in three holes before deciding to load the remaining ore and sending Samuel on to the mill.

  “I can finish another hole, son, maybe two, but the steel’s pretty shot. You better swing by Washington and rotate it out. We can finish tomorrow and blast—that’ll have to be the last of it.”

  “You bet, Pa,” Samuel said. “If you can, maybe drill another hole on the vein. Get some more ore.”

  “I’ll see how far I get.”

  Samuel reached the mill and unloaded. It stood essentially finished except for the sluice table. O’Shaughnessy and Connolly were pulverizing ore, breaking the pieces down, and getting them ready for shoveling into the hopper.

  “You really think what you’re finding at your mine is going to be worth all your trouble, lad?” O’Shaughnessy asked.

  Samuel took offense. “The assays came in really good. I’m thinking it’s better now that we’re deeper.”

  O’Shaughnessy laughed. “That’s what everyone who’s ever tried to sell a mine says. The deeper ye go, the richer it gets.”

  Samuel hesitated. “A dollar says it will go richer than that stuff you’re fiddling with.”

  Both O’Shaughnessy and Connolly laughed. “Save your dollar, lad. We all be gamblers in this business.”

  But O’Shaughnessy’s comment got Samuel to wondering. Maybe the ore wasn’t richer the deeper they drilled on the O’Riley.

  It was late when Samuel left the Bradshaw and headed toward Washington. He wanted to check on the Sweet Mary and see some gold. He was tired of mucking and hauling rock.

  He dropped off the steel and headed through town. On the outskirts he noticed cattle in the meadows and figured they had been brought in for slaughter. At first he thought they were Burgdorf’s, but then he recognized some of the animals. They were Jon Stromback’s cattle. Excited, he started looking for Art and Rex. He dropped by Jay Dubois, the butcher, and found Art there, completing the sale.

  “Art,” he hollered. “What you doin’ at the end of the world?”

  Art glanced up. “Well, I’ll be. If it ain’t Samuel. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

  “We would be, but we still haven’t finished work on the O’Riley. How is everyone?” He hoped Art would say something about Bonnie.

  “Everyone’s good, even Bonnie,” Art replied. “But your run-in with Rex had a lot of people talking. Cooled his heels for a bit.”

  Samuel ran his hands through his hair and grinned. “Anyone not heard?”

  “Probably a few folks up here.” He turned to Jay Dubois. “Hey, you heard about how this kid dances with another man’s gal?”

  Dubois looked up. “Samuel? You got the wrong kid. He’s the most honorable man in these parts. No foolin’.”

  Samuel felt himself turning red. “I was honoring Mr. Stromback’s wishes,” Samuel sputtered, half thinking that Art was serious. He was thankful folks had not heard of his visit with Lilly, or maybe if they had, they were not saying anything.

  Art grinned. “Actually, it was the other way around, Mr. Dubois.” He leaned over the counter. “You saw the ugly cuss who rode in here with me? He was dancing with this man’s gal.”

  Samuel was really red now.

  “Bless my stars. That gives us folks here in Warren’s hope for you.” Dubois grinned. “We were getting mighty concerned there wasn’t going to be a followin’ on generation around these parts. Fact is, people around here were startin’ to take bets on whether or not you’d ever land yourself a gal, or if you’d just spend the rest of your life being a sourdough chasin’ gold around these hills.”

  “Come on, guys,” Samuel tried to get a word in. “You musta noticed there ain’t too many gals around these parts.”

  Art laughed. “Fact is, Mr. Dubois, he’s right about that one. That Bonnie is a real nice-looking young woman. She’d have this entire town stood down because they’d be too smitten to do a lick of work.” Art finished signing the papers that Dubois had handed him. “They’re all yours, Mr. Dubois. I’ll pick up the payment in the morning if I can.”

  “That’d be fine,” Dubois replied. “Have a good night.”

  Samuel turned to Art as they left the butcher’s. “Where you guys staying? Where’s Rex?” Samuel had to ask, although he didn’t really care to see Rex.

  “Don’t have a place yet. Gotta find Rex and see what he wants to do. I’m sure he’s over at one of the saloons. Don’t mind if I join him.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Art eyed him. “You ain’t growed up that much since I last saw you.”

  “I can have coffee.” Samuel laughed. “Or we could go to Ma Reynolds’s. She serves up some wicked pie and buttermilk.”

  “You know, Samuel, pie’s a better idea.”

  Shortly, they were seated in Ma Reynolds’s dining area, and she was setting down a huge slab of apple pie with fresh buttermilk in front of them.

  “Sure is good to see you, young’un. How’s your pa doin’?” she bubbled. “How’s the mining goin’?” Young George came over, eyes big, and said hi to Samuel.

  “Thanks, ma’am. Pa’s fine. We’re finally about to run some ore.” He gestured at the pie. “Best pie in these parts, Art.”

  Art took a bite. “Yep, might even give Mrs. Stromback a run for her money.”

  Samuel felt a bit guilty having pie. All he had was four bits to his name.

  “So, how come you weren’t at the Independence Day celebration?” Samuel asked. “I saw you riding the appaloosas with Rex. Then you were gone.”r />
  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “I do.” Samuel paused with his next bite of pie.

  “I was trying to keep you alive.”

  “What?”

  “Rex saw you standin’ there next to Bonnie and went crazy. He literally swore he was fetchin’ his gun to kill you. I told him to calm down—that I knew for a fact you were leaving this country and he’d have Bonnie all to himself again.”

  Samuel stopped eating.

  “Fact was, I didn’t know with certainty, because you and your pa hadn’t been by, and the expressman, Mr. Hunt, didn’t know what you two were up to. I took Rex out for a drink. You might say I kept my eye on him most of the day.”

  “Did Mr. Stromback know?”

  “He might have guessed,” Art replied. “We were nearby at the saloon. Rex’d wander out to spy on you, and I’d convince him you weren’t any competition, to let Bonnie visit with you one last time, and so on. Eventually, though, I ran out of stories.”

  Samuel knew Rex was crazy. Rex had already taken a shot at him once to scare him.

  “I didn’t see you at the dance when Rex showed up.”

  “Nope, he slipped out on me. Guess he figured what I was up to. Luckily, you handled it like you did. He didn’t know what to think.”

  Samuel almost laughed.

  “Unfortunately, he figured it out later. He ran on and on to me how you made him look like a fool.”

  “He could’ve looked in a mirror and saved me the trouble,” Samuel said almost seriously.

  “Yep.” Art chuckled.

  “He still seeing Bonnie?” Samuel could hardly bear to ask.

  Art was quiet. “How about some more pie?”

  Samuel sat back. “I guess that means yes.” His stomach tightened.

  “Look, Samuel,” Art said quietly, “unless you and your pa have changed your minds, I’m guessing you two are still planning on leaving. Bonnie’s going to have to find someone. Rex works hard when he’s got his head on straight.”

  “But Rex?” Samuel almost shouted. He saw Ma Reynolds had been listening. She turned away.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Well, I guess I better get on down to my cabin, Art. You can spend the night there if you want. Don’t have much grub, though.”

  Art laughed. “Thanks, I think I’ll stay here.”

  They got up to leave.

  Ma Reynolds came over, taking the plates. “Now, Samuel, don’t you be a stranger. You come visit, okay? George likes it when you come by.”

  “I’ll try. Thanks for the pie.”

  They headed out into the street and walked toward the butcher’s for their horses.

  Samuel heard Rex holler a greeting at Art. He recognized the man and his stubble of a beard, unkempt, coming down the stairs from one of the rooms from above the saloon, adjusting his trousers. Samuel felt his stomach turn, and a blinding fury filled him. He walked toward the man, fists clenched.

  “You filthy scum,” Samuel spat. “This how you honor Bonnie? You want me to share with her what you do with other women soon as you leave the ranch?”

  Rex walked directly to him. “Mind your own damn business, little boy. I’ll bed who I want, when I want.” He cursed.

  All reason fled Samuel. He saw only hatred and disgust. He ran at the man and blindly swung, his fist barely grazing him as Rex stepped aside.

  Light and numbing pain exploded in Samuel’s head. He felt Rex’s punch before he saw it coming. He tried to strike back, but his arms felt like lead.

  He felt two more punches, one to his nose sending another blinding flash through his head as he felt the blood spray across his face, the second to his gut, doubling him over, causing him to gag and cough, to spit blood.

  “Leave him alone. He’s just a kid.”

  “Bastard of a whore.” Rex spewed filth, cursing Samuel, and landed another punch.

  Samuel felt a force hammer into his chest; he couldn’t raise his fists. He doubled over, blood streaming down his shirt. He pitched headlong into the gravelly dirt. He felt a blow into his ribs as he began to vomit, trying to get to his hands and knees so he did not choke.

  “That’s enough.” He heard shouting and scuffling. Other voices and shadows above him were fighting.

  He felt a boot smash into his side, knocking him over, back into the dirt; he rolled over, seeing vague shadows of men, seeing the dimming sky, hearing far away voices.

  “He’s a kid” were the last words he remembered before the blackness came.

  He woke at Ma Reynolds’s, groggy and in throbbing pain. Dr. Sears, dressed in his high-collared shirt and a string tie, was looking him over. Ma Reynolds dabbed at a cut on his nose.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Dr. Sears said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Samuel could see three, but said, “Four.”

  “Work on it.”

  “Okay, there’s three.”

  Dr. Sears harrumphed. “He’ll survive. Nothing broke I can tell. Just cut up and got the senses knocked out of him.” He made a note.

  “I didn’t mean for you to be back so soon, Samuel,” Ma Reynolds said, continuing to dab at his cuts.

  Samuel tried to smile, but the pain caused him to flinch.

  Samuel saw Art. “Where’s that bastard Rex?”

  “A couple men were going after him. He lit out for the ranch, I ’spect.” Art studied him. “You okay?”

  Samuel tried moving. He could flex everything okay; it just hurt. “That’s twice,” he muttered. “I dang near get killed being dragged by Spooky; now I get laid out by a crazy man.”

  “You did call him on his morals, and you were swingin’ at him with murder in your eyes. The way you took off after him was somethin’ else. I never seen you like that, Samuel.”

  “You defending him?” Samuel asked, incredulously.

  “Not in the least,” Art replied. “You just set the record straight for anyone around who might have had ’spicions about Rex’s character, though.”

  Dr. Sears returned his attention to Samuel. “You’re going to be sore for a few days, lad, but nothing worse than that, far as I can tell.”

  “I’m getting used to hurting ever so often.” Samuel tried to smile again.

  “You’re probably also going to look like you went through a stamp mill.” Dr. Sears pulled out a couple of small bottles. “Here’s something for the pain and some salve for the cuts. I’d recommend you stay here the night, just in case.” He stood.

  “I’d be tickled to have young Samuel,” Ma Reynolds quickly replied.

  “I’ll check back in the morning.” Dr. Sears closed up his medical kit and stepped out.

  “Where’s your pa, young’un?” Ma Reynolds asked.

  “He doesn’t need to be here,” Samuel said, sitting up. He didn’t want to think about his father coming in to see him laid up again. “Doc says I’ll survive. I’ll get back out there tomorrow like planned.” He lay back.

  “It’s good he’s half a day away, Art,” Samuel said. “You think you saw me mad, wait till he hears about this. Rex might just want to keep on heading west. My pa’s liable to do something more than just think about killing him.”

  He lay in bed, looking out the window at the trees on the hillside as he had done a season ago. The view was all too familiar. He half expected Lilly to come through the door. He suddenly wished she would. He had defended Bonnie; look where that had gotten him. Lilly would not have needed any defending.

  Ma Reynolds stuck her head in. She seemed to do that at the most inopportune times. “You be needin’ anything, young’un, you just ding the bell. Now you get yourself some sleep.”

  Samuel did not fall asleep for a very long time. He listened to the noises of the boardinghouse—men snoring, one he tho
ught was Art, George waking up and wanting water, and the rustle of Ma Reynolds.

  Chapter 39

  SAMUEL WOKE to the late morning sun. It must have been the laudanum, he guessed. Still, he was angry with himself for sleeping so long. Gingerly, he sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. Pain wracked his side. His face was swollen. He could barely see from the one eye, but he had to get out to the O’Riley and help his father.

  “Lord sakes, he’s finally movin’,” Ma Reynolds exclaimed when Samuel stumbled in to the kitchen. “Set yourself down and I’ll prepare you some fixin’s.”

  Two miners looked up when he came in. Neither said anything, but they stared hard at him.

  Samuel managed to sit. “Mighty obliged.”

  Art showed up and joined him. “I was waiting before I headed out to see how you were farin’.”

  “Greater than a honey bee in a field of clover.” In truth, Samuel could hardly lift his arm, and his side was on fire.

  Ma Reynolds frowned. “I’m a thinkin’ I ought to fetch Doc Sears again. You may a had your ribs busted.”

  “Could be,” Art said. “He had you laid out, Samuel. I sure don’t know why he had to go and kick you.”

  One of the miners at the nearby table interjected, “I think it were me, boy, I’d a be huntin’ that feller down and be packing me ol’ six-shooter when I did.”

  “Fer sure,” the man next to him agreed. “I’d put lead in him fer sure. Kickin’ a man when he’s down—that calls for it, fer sure.”

  Samuel nodded, wincing. Right now he couldn’t even lift a pistol.

  Ma Reynolds brought him a heaping plate of eggs, ham, cornbread, and jelly. He found himself famished and despite the pain managed to get some of it down.

  He looked up to see Dr. Sears coming in. “Mrs. Reynolds says I ought to give another gander at those ribs of yours.”

  Samuel protested but not too strongly.

  Back in his room, shirt off, Sears prodded him some more. When he touched one spot, Samuel felt numbing pain; he could hardly breathe.

  Sears kept muttering and prodding until Samuel wriggled out of range.

  “Can’t rightly tell for sure,” he muttered. “That’s the thing about busted ribs. Don’t often know unless they’re sticking out of your carcass.”