Hangtown Creek: A Tale of the California Gold Rush (A Tom Marsh Adventure Book 1)

by John Rose Putnam

  Maggie rode behind Eban on the dun dressed in Joshua’s butternut gray shirt and dark brown corduroy pants. As they passed the tree line and entered the forested foothills, she let out a sigh. Eban was taking her away from this misery, but Jack would come after her. She knew he would. He had sworn he would.

  But she was leaving with two strong men. Maybe, God willing, she could live again and find the dreams that drove her across the whole of the wild lands between the Mississippi River and California. Those dreams seemed so far away right now.

  Her doubt drowned her mind. Bill had found her again. He was watching her now, she was sure, but he wouldn’t interfere. He wanted to kill Jack this morning. Now he would bring Jack after her, and probably Norton too. She shuddered. Why now? Why today? She didn’t love him. She didn’t want him. Couldn’t he just understand?

  When they reached the stumps of the logging scar, she pointed out her hut to Eban. “Jack won’t be back here today, not as long as people are drinking in his saloon.”

  Eban stopped just past the logging scar. “I’ll wait for you here. If there’s anything you want, you best get it. You’ll need your bedroll for sure.”

  She slid from Eban’s horse and ducked through the leather-hinged door. Made from scrap lumber from Captain Sutter’s logging operation, the hut was tiny with only room for a bed in the rear and a small table and stool under the one glassless, shuttered window in front.

  She rolled the leather Indian dress inside her blanket and threw it across her shoulder. Then she rummaged under the bed until she found a small buckskin bag. Thank God Jack hadn’t realized it was gone. From it she pulled a small pistol and stared at it with dread before stuffing it in a pocket of her pants. The bag itself went inside her shirt.

  At the door she turned and looked back at the only home she had known in almost two years. The clash of emotions rose again. More than anything she wanted a home of her own, a happy loving home, not this hovel of misery and hopelessness. Silently she prayed, Oh, please, let me never see this horrible place again.

  She put her hand on her pocket and felt the small pistol, then she turned from the shack and ran back to Eban. Maybe she would get away from all this and maybe she wouldn’t, but no matter what happened she wasn’t coming back. Her jaw was set. She would rather die.

  Eban held out his hand to help her up. “Is that all you want?” She nodded and took his hand. He helped her mount and they started up the hill. She had seen no rifle behind the cabin, but she could feel him. He was watching her. Bill was close.

  After Eban left with Maggie, Joshua sat down on the log and reloaded the Colt. The gun was the latest in firearms know-how. Instead of the single shot pistols that were currently in use, the Paterson Colt had a revolving cylinder that held five loads of powder and balls plus the percussion cap that lit the charge. Each time the hammer was pulled back, the cylinder would roll to the next chamber, the trigger would click down from the belly of the gun, and the weapon was ready to fire again. Five shots in less than a minute provided a distinct advantage in a tight situation. If he ran into Norton or Jack, the pistol could make the difference. He put the Colt back into the flapped, army style holster.

  He returned to his mustang and loaded the rest of his gear. The mining equipment that they had paid so dearly for at Sam Brannon’s store in Sacramento City would be left behind. It was a shame, but the horses couldn’t carry the extra weight. After a quick scan of the campsite, he mounted and rode downstream in the direction of Jack’s Saloon, and the peril it held for him.

  He didn’t mention this in front of the woman, but he was sure if the three of them rode out of the camp together, one or another of the miners along the way would run to Jack with the news. Jack paid off favors with free whiskey. It was a powerful draw to many of the men here. Alone, if Joshua made it past the tent without being seen, he, Eban and Maggie might pick up a whole day before Jack figured out what happened.

  The smell of smoke filled the air. Men were already in the stream washing the sand for gold. The saloon was just ahead. Beyond it was the trail that led through the valley and on to Sacramento City. If he could reach it he would be in good shape. He unfastened the flap on the holster.

  He passed the tent. All seemed well. He could see the trail was clear up until it made a sharp turn toward the west. He tapped his horse to pick up the pace. He had fifty yards before the curve and the protection it afforded from the view of those in the valley. He began to feel that he might make it.

  He gave the horse another nudge. He was at the curve. He looked back for any sign of pursuit. It was a mistake. Norton leaped from the side of the road. With an oath, he raked him from the mustang and threw him hard to the ground.

  The horse spooked, bolting headlong down the trail. Joshua scrambled to his feet as Norton swung a roundhouse punch at his head. Joshua ducked and counterpunched the big man in the gut. Norton caught him in the jaw. He reeled backwards against a tree. Again he pushed to his feet and ducked another blow.

  Norton picked up a piece of timber and came at him with a vengeance. “You lousy tin soldier. I’m going to break you in half.”

  Joshua ducked the first swing, but the second pounded his leg. He crashed down.

  Norton thrust at his head. He rolled left. Norton’s club shattered on the ground. Joshua scrambled to his feet and popped Norton’s chin with another hard right.

  Norton laughed. “You’re a dead man, soldier boy. I’ll cut your gizzard out.” He pulled his knife and swung it in a wide arc. Joshua dodged it easily. Slashing in wide sweeps, Norton pursued him. Joshua continued to back away. A horse approached from his rear. He couldn’t look.

  Norton swung again and then brought the blade back quickly. Caught off balance, Joshua tumbled to the ground. Norton dived with the knife outstretched. Joshua rolled away and leaped to his feet. He kicked Norton’s ribs. The big man grunted. Behind him the hoof beats stopped.

  Norton sneered and crouched. “You’re a cheat and a coward. I’m going to feed your carcass to the buzzards.”

  Norton lunged. Joshua dodged. The blade slashed into his right side. He yelped, but the attack had pulled Norton past him. He could see the horse now, standing patiently on the trail. It was his horse. If he could get to the mustang he had a chance, but now the raging lumberman was between him and the animal.

  Blood poured from the gash in his side. Norton came again. Joshua waited as long as he could then threw his body at Norton’s legs. The big man thudded to the ground. Joshua rolled to his feet, pulled the Colt, and cocked it.

  “My gun trumps your knife, Norton. Get back to your hole.”

  “Go ahead, shoot. I’ll be on you in no time.”

  Norton stood, then charged. Joshua fired. The ball ripped through the lumberjack’s shoulder, spewing blood. Norton kept coming. Joshua fired again. More blood splattered from Norton’s thigh. He roared then toppled over. Joshua backed to his horse. Norton’s curses rang in his ears.

  For several miles he rode hard, thankful for his narrow escape. When he came to the stream where Rufus Ward had camped he pulled off the trail to wait for Eban.

  He sat with his back against the same tree that Rufus had and opened his shirt. The wound still bled badly. He took off the slashed shirt and ripped it to strips. Then he tied the strips around his waist to stem the flow. He got up and pulled his last shirt from his bags and put it on.

  When he was done, he settled back against the bay tree and reloaded the two spent cylinders of the Colt. He felt very lucky to have escaped Norton. The big man had come close to killing him, and there was still a possibility someone else followed him. He could be in for another scrape.

  She held tight to Eban as he picked his way through the trees at the top of the hill. Along the crest he found the game trail.

  “We best let this old horse rest a bit. The climb’s been hard on him, and we got a ways to go yet.” He swung his leg over the dun’s neck and hopped to the ground. Then he helped her down. They sat
on a fallen tree in the shade of the forest. He offered her his canteen. She drank greedily.

  “I guess we’re out of harm's way now, at least till we meet Josh. I hope he makes it all right. He’s taking a big chance trying to sneak out past the saloon. Josh ain’t got no lack of guts. He was one of the bravest in all of Kearny’s little army.”

  Why was Eban talking about the tall one? Didn’t he know how she felt about him, how scared she was that he was just like Jack? Eban talked too much. She wanted to scream Shut up about him!

  “Army they called it. Reckon that was overstepping it. Couldn’t have been but a hundred of us. And that was after Kit Carson and the rest of us met up with General Kearny along the Rio Grande. The general decided that we was to come back with him and sent our messages on with some other men.”

  What was Eban talking about now? At least he wasn’t talking about the tall one.

  “But that Josh, now he was a—”

  “No!” The scream burst out of her. “I hate him! Don’t talk about him. He attacked me. I wasn’t trying to do anything and he came after me.”

  Eban pulled the canteen from her and drank. Suddenly ashamed of the way she had acted, she turned her back on him. She couldn’t bear to face him right now. They sat quietly for a while, giving the horse time to rest.

  At last Eban stood. “We’d best be going.”

  They picked their way down the overgrown game trail in silence. Finally the trail leveled out. They must be at the bottom of the hill. She gathered her courage. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Eban. I shouldn’t have.”

  “I don’t know why you was with a feller like Jack. It ain’t none of my business, but it wasn’t a good place for you to be. Joshua might’ve saved your life today. Maybe you ought to think on that.”

  She let a gasp. Eban was right.

  “Don’t fret, Maggie. Everything’s going to work out just fine. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Joshua checked the sun. It was near midmorning. Eban and Maggie hadn’t shown up. He imagined all sorts of things that may have happened, but there was nothing he could do. He checked his wound again. The bleeding had stopped. It seemed better.

  At last he heard muffled hoof beats coming from up the valley, then a familiar whistle. He answered, and rode onto the trail. Out of the woods came Eban with Maggie behind him.

  “Good to see you, Josh. Sorry we’re late, but I had more trouble on that hill than I planned on.”

  “Good to see you too, Eban, ma’am.” He nodded to Maggie. “I was beginning to think something happened to you.”

  Eban gave the dun a pat on the neck. “We’re fine. Did you have any trouble?”

  “I ran into Norton on the road past the saloon. He came after me with a knife. I shot him in the arm and the leg.”

  “We best get on our way. Somebody’s apt to come looking for us any time. Maggie, you should ride behind Josh for a while. This horse is pretty tired.”

  As Joshua got down to help her onto the mustang, she noticed the blood on his shirt. “You’ve been hurt. Let me look at it.” It was the first civil words she had said to him. He smiled.

  “It’s nothing, just a scratch. I’m sure it’ll be all right. We need to go. There’s too big a chance someone from the camp will catch up with us if we stay here any longer.” He mounted in front of her and they followed the trail through the wooded foothills before breaking into the looming grassland that was California’s central valley.

  5 Pursuit

  Thin wisps of light snaked through thick clouds of tobacco smoke as Jack wiped dirty glasses behind his bar. Three men were enjoying an early drink when they heard two shots. Unfazed, they continued their conversation. Here gunfire was common. A bigger problem was Jack’s black mood, and the men had moved to a poker table to give him as much privacy as possible.

  The flap flew open and a miner’s head appeared. “I got a hurt man here.” The man pushed inside with Norton draped on his shoulder, blood oozing from wounds on his shoulder and thigh. He propped Norton against a barrel close by the entry, took a look about, tipped his hat, and ducked back out through the flap.

  “Norton, what you done now?” Jack’s mood turned darker.

  “That soldier boy shot me.”

  “Don’t you know better than to go up against a man holding a loaded pistol? Much less the fancy rig that army feller’s toting.”

  “The yeller coward was sneaking out of here. Caught him up on the trail. I got my licks in.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “What was you doing up on the road?”

  “Looking for your Injun woman like you asked. Get me a drink.”

  “Might’ve asked you to look for that slut, but I don’t remember asking you to get shot doing it.”

  “Just get me a drink!” Norton roared.

  Jack brought a bottle and pulled the money for it out of Norton’s shirt pocket. He returned to the bar and resumed wiping his glasses with a dirty rag. A fragile sense of normalcy returned to the tent. The three miners picked up their conversation. Norton was intent on his whiskey, bleeding freely and guzzling straight from the bottle.

  The flaps again flew open. A man, straight black hair dangling beneath a wide felt hat, an eagle feather stuck in a beaded band, strode inside. He leaned a powerful Hawken rifle against the bar and turned toward the three miners. They downed their whiskey and left in a rush.

  Jack filled a glass without asking. “You show up just to run my customers off, Bill?” He left the bottle.

  Bill turned back to the bar. The handles of two pistols stuck out from under his buckskin jacket. “Farmers. Don’t belong here.” He picked up the glass.

  “Ain’t seen you in a year. How’d you find me?”

  “Missing a woman, Jack?” Bill tossed the shot down easily.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Seen her heading over the hill.” Bill nodded toward the north.

  “Heading over the hill! With who?”

  “Older feller, riding a dun.” Bill put the empty glass on the bar.

  Jack slammed his fist into the planks. “Snyder! I should’ve known. I’ll be back.” He stormed from the saloon and ran to the shack beside the tent. Tossing the bedding aside, he pried a large, flat rock from beneath it. Underneath was nestled a small metal box. He flipped open the lid. Empty! “Damn!” He hurled the box to the ground. Cursing loudly, he stomped back to the saloon.

  Bill still stood at the bar. “Snake in your pants, Jack?”

  “Stash is gone. Must’ve been eight, nine hundred dollars. Took my hideout gun too. The woman must’ve stole it before she run off.” Jack rummaged through a crate behind the bar. When he looked up, Bill was pouring a shot from the bottle Jack had left there. “Help yourself to my whiskey.”

  Bill emptied the glass. “Appreciate it.”

  Muttering under his breath, Jack grabbed the bottle from Bill’s hand, put it to his lips, and drained the contents. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and continued. “She went off last night. Didn’t think she’d have the guts to run out on me.” He grabbed more whiskey from behind the bar and pulled the cork with his teeth.

  “Rode out this morning.”

  “Yeah, I was up at her hut. Norton’s soldier boy showed up. I warned her what would happen. She must’ve gone anyway.” He took a long pull from the bottle. “You’re half Injun. You can track anybody. Find her for me? I’ll pay you in whiskey.”

  “Likely two days, maybe more.”

  “Ten bottles if you get her in two days.”

  “You throw for supplies?”

  “Done! Have another.” Jack grabbed another glass and poured both of them a shot. “Where you reckon they’ll go?”

  “Head for the fort.”

  Jack opened a barrel, dumped two scoops of beans into a bag, then tossed it onto the bar. “I told that slut what’d happen if she run off,” he fumed. “I’ll show her what comes when you run afoul of me.”

  “What about the feller?” Bill t
ook a sip of the shot.

  “There’re two, Snyder and the soldier. I’ll kill them both.” Jack yanked another barrel top up, pulled out a full bag, and waved it at Bill. “A pound of ground coffee.” He threw it beside the beans.

  “You ain’t killed a man, have you, Jack?”

  Jack looked at Norton. He moaned and slugged down booze from the bottle. “I’ll have too. Norton’s useless.”

  “Ain’t as easy as it looks.”

  “I got no choice. I owe half the money she stole to Sutter. This bar was his idea. He owns the tent and everything in it.”

  “Sutter?”

  “Yeah, he wanted people to think there was gold here. Now everybody knows the gold is over by his saw mill. People are leaving every day. Soon they’ll all be gone. I’ll bring my horse around. We got a half day before dark.” He turned for the flap.

  A bottle flew past his head and bounced off the canvas wall. “I need more likker. What kind of a saloon is this?”

  “Norton, I ought to bust a cap in you myself. First you go and get yourself shot and now you ain’t in no shape to ride after that soldier and my woman.”

  “What’re you talking about? I need a bottle.”

  “The soldier that shot you stole my Injun woman, that’s what. I’m going after her with Bill here. You’re shot up and useless. All you can do is cry for your bottle.”

  “I’ll break that soldier in half. I can ride. Get me some likker. I’ll be fine.”

  “Sure, Norton, I’ll give you a bottle, if you’re coming with us.”

  Bill grabbed Jack’s arm and whispered, “He’s drunk, hurt. Slow us down. Leave him be.”

  “He’s a wild man when he’s riled. He’ll kill that soldier and Snyder both, and save me the trouble.”

  Bill pushed a finger at Norton. “Causes trouble, I kill him.”

  “Suit yourself. No skin off my nose.” Jack pulled away and gave Norton the whiskey. “I’ll bring your horse around, Norton.”