It seemed to take Jack forever before he rounded up both horses and saddled them. When he finally got back to the tent, Norton was still propped up against the barrel slurping whiskey, but a dirty bar rag was wrapped around each wound. Jack raised an eyebrow at Bill. “You take care of them gunshots?”
“Arm’s scratched. Bullet’s still in the leg.” Bill tossed down more whiskey.
“Grab some grub and whiskey. Let’s ride.”
Bill took his rifle, the coffee, and two bottles and left the tent. Jack shoved the beans under an arm and picked up the rest of the whiskey. Norton grabbed the bar above and tried to pull himself erect. “Oh! I hurt!” He flopped back down. “Give me a hand here!”
Jack frowned. Maybe Bill was right about Norton. He gave the big man two of the bottles then yanked him to his feet. He half dragged him outside to his horse and helped him mount. When Jack got on his own horse, Bill was already near the first curve on the trail. Jack kicked the horse to catch up.
“Hey, wait up,” Norton yelled from behind. Jack ignored the drunk and caught up with Bill just past where the road curved west.
Bill had stopped by a dark stain in the dirt where blood had soaked into the sand. “Someone fought here. One man backed away.” Bill followed footprints Jack couldn’t see. “Mounted here. Rode off.” Bill nodded down the trail.
Jack sat in the saddle and stared at the ground, searching for the signs Bill had seen, shaking his head. “Backed away? How can you tell that?” No one answered. Jack looked up. Bill had ridden off.
Weaving drunkenly in the saddle, Norton appeared from around the curve. “Slow down. I hurt when I ride fast.”
“We’re burning daylight. Let’s go.” Ignoring Norton’s plea, Jack galloped off after Bill.
Near a stream several miles down the trail, Bill stopped again. “Met here. Three people, two horses.” He stared down to fresh tracks on the road. “Can’t move fast.”
The scar on Jack’s face twitched. It always did when he was excited. He rubbed it. “Good. We’ll catch up soon.”
Far behind, still reeling, a bottle hanging loosely in his hand, Norton rounded a bend. “Wait up. I’m hurting here.”
Bill spit and glanced in Norton’s direction. “Drunk’s holding us up.”
“Yeah, ain’t he.” Jack yelled back, “Hurry up, Norton! We ain’t got time for lollygagging.” He trotted off beside Bill.
6 The Heat of the Valley
“Pa . . .”
“Tom, you got to stop riding back and forth checking on me. You’re wearing Sadie out.”
“But, Pa, you scared me near out of my skin yesterday.”
“Go tell Hank to stop at the next creek we come to. We need to rest the animals.”
“Yeah, Pa.” Tom hung his head. He had made Pa mad now.
Pa smiled, not a whole smile, but a kind of ragged half-smile. “I’m fine. You just do like I told you.” It still made Tom feel a lot better.
“Sure, Pa.” He rode to catch up with Hank. He didn’t think Pa was anywhere near well. Pa’s face was still pale and he slouched in the saddle, but he had his mind set to keep going, and he could muster up a smile now.
He reined Sadie up between the pinto and the buckskin. “Pa says to rest at the next creek.”
Hank glanced at Pa behind them. “How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s really all right.”
Jess stood up on his stirrups. “Oh, what do you know? Pa’s riding ain’t he?”
“So now you’re some sort of know-it-all, Jess?” he snapped. “That’s what you said yesterday, and look what happened.”
“You’re just a worrywart, little brother. A worrywart.”
“Stop it. I ain’t no worrywart. Pa’s bad sick, I’m telling you.” Tom was yelling now.
Hank threw his arms out. “All right! That’s enough. Both of you stop it right now. Tom, there’s probably a stream at the bottom of this hill. Ride down and have a look.”
“Yeah, I’ll go.” When he was almost out of earshot, Tom turned back and yelled, “I ain’t no worrywart, Jess.”
As he neared the bottom of the hill, a line of green showed him a creek was there. Where the trail crossed, he saw the stream. Sadie snorted and pawed the ground. “So you smell the water, do you? Okay, Sadie, we’ll go down and you can have a drink. Come on, girl.”
The sun here in the valley burned down without mercy. Even the wind blew hot, not cool like back at the farm. Sweat soaked his clothes. His skin prickled like the cactus pears on the hill behind the cabin. But the shade of the cottonwoods felt great. Tom plopped down beside Sadie and stuck his head under the stream. Then he took off his shirt and let the cool water wash over his sun-stung skin.
He thought about staying, but Pa might need him for something, so he pulled on the wet shirt and climbed back onto Sadie. “Sorry, girl. We got to go.” Sadie wanted to stay in the shade as much as he did. He had to pull hard to turn her back up the trail. “Come on, Sadie.”
“Buenos días, amigo.”
Tom almost jumped out of the saddle. He didn’t see anybody when he rode up. The man must have hidden behind a cottonwood tree. He wore a flat-topped hat and funny tight pants, but he didn’t look like he’d been chasing the cow. “Hello, mister. Where’d you come from?”
“Ah, you are Americano, amigo. I do speak your language. I am Mariano Vallejo, at your service. I was here, by the tree, having a drink of water when you rode up. I was afraid you were a bandito, but now I can see you are not. Unfortunately, I am in need of assistance. My —how do you say it?— my cart has lost a wheel, but with your help, I am sure it would be repaired quickly, por favor.”
“Well, mister Vah . . . yea . . . ho . . .”
“Bueno! Now you say it faster.”
“Vah-yea-ho, Vallejo. I got it.” Tom grinned.
“Bueno! You learn quickly.”
“Well, Mr. Vallejo, like I was saying, I’d like to help you, really I would, but we got to get to Sonoma today, and my pa ain’t feeling so good. I need to get back to him right away.”
“Then you are in luck, amigo. It would be my honor to take your . . . ah, your pa with me to Sonoma. It is a very comfortable cart.”
“Well. I reckon, but I got to—”
“But, amigo. I would be in your debt, and Mariano Vallejo always repays his debts. My housekeeper, Rosalita, is such a cook, ahh.” He flipped his hand open in front of his face to press his case. “Come, amigo. It is but a little way from here.”
“Well, what about my brothers?”
“Of course! You are all welcome at my home. Shall we go?”
Tom looked back up the trail. No sign of Hank or Jess. “Well, I guess, but let’s make it quick.”
“Gracias, amigo, gracias. This way, por favor.”
Tom followed the Mexican feller across the creek and up the hill. Vallejo had been right. It wasn’t far. “Holy smokes, Mr. Vallejo, that ain’t no cart! It ain’t no wagon neither. That’s a buggy, and it’s about the fanciest buggy I ever seen.” Large enough to seat six in upholstered seats front and back, and covered with a fringed canvas top, the buggy was a far cry from the simple wagons Tom was used to seeing the Mexican farmers use.
“Sí, amigo. Your, ah, your pa will have a pleasant journey to Sonoma, yes?”
“And look at them stallions, a matched pair. Wow, they sure are something.”
“Oh, they are magnificent animals, but here is the wheel. As you can tell, I cannot lift the axle and put the wheel back alone.”
“Yeah, I reckon not. I’ll pry her up for you, sir.” Tom grabbed the tree branch Vallejo had found to use as a lever and stuck it under the axle. He pushed down hard. The back of the buggy rose. “Hurry, Mr. Vallejo. It’s heavy.”
Vallejo lifted the wheel and tried to align the hole with the axle.
Oh, darn!” The back of the buggy dropped down suddenly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vallejo. I just can’t hold it no more.”
“Sí,
the, ah, the buggy is heavy.” Vallejo sat down on a rock and wiped his forehead with a lace handkerchief. “I am sorry, amigo. It is more difficult than I thought.”
“Tom! Tom, where are you?” It was Hank, yelling from the creek.
“Hank, I’m up the trail. I need your help.” He turned to Vallejo. “It’s my brother. He’ll give us a hand. He does this stuff all the time.”
“Bueno! Bueno, amigo.”
Hank and Jess charged up the path, each with a long flintlock rifle in their hand. They split up behind the buggy with Jess going to the right and Hank to the left. Both men pulled the guns to their shoulders and cocked them. Vallejo stood, his hands to his side, palms forward.
Hank spoke first. “Tom, you all right?”
“Yeah, Hank, sure. What’re all the guns for?”
Jess pointed at Vallejo with the muzzle of his rifle. “You said you needed help. What’s going on? Who’s this Mexican feller?”
“Oh, who’s the worrywart now? This is Mr. Vallejo. We was fixing his wheel. He’s going to give Pa a ride to Sonoma and put us up for the night. Put the gun down.” He turned to Hank. “We’re having trouble with it, Hank. We could sure use a hand.”
Hank looked at Jess. “Put the gun down, Jess, then go on back to the creek and tell Pa we got him a buggy ride. We’ll be down to pick him up.”
Jess pranced the pinto, looked warily at Vallejo then back to Tom. He shook his head, cradled the rifle in his arm, and rode off.
Hank walked over to Vallejo. “Sorry about the guns, Mr. Vallejo, but we got to look out for our little brother. You understand. I’m Hank Marsh.” He held out his hand.
Vallejo shook it. “Sí, I understand, Señor Marsh.”
“Call me Hank, please.”
“Sí, Hank, as I was saying, I would do the same for those I love. I am grateful to you and young Tomás here. It would have been a shame to leave the buggy here and ride to Sonoma without a saddle.”
“Well, we’ll get that wheel on for you, sir.” Hank bent over the axle. He wiped a handful of grease from the back of the wheel mount and spread it around the front then rolled the wheel in place. “Now if you guys will lift her up, I’ll pop this wheel back on.”
Tom and Vallejo pushed down on the lever together. The buggy rose. Hank slid the wheel onto the axle almost effortlessly. “Let her down.” The buggy settled on all four wheels. “Now if you got another pin, Mr. Vallejo, you’ll be set.”
Vallejo pulled a pin and a hammer from under the front seat. Hank quickly pounded the pin into place. “She’s as good as new, sir.”
“Gracias, señor, gracias. Now, shall we find your pa?” Vallejo climbed onto the upholstered seat. “Tomás, I would be most grateful for your company on our way to Sonoma. Would you care to ride with me?”
“Go ahead, Tom. Sadie can use the rest.” Hank took the mare’s reins and tied her to the buggy.
Tom hopped up beside Vallejo then rubbed his hand across the seat. “Wow, this seat sure is soft. Thanks, Mr. Vallejo.”
“It is my pleasure.” Vallejo cracked the reins and turned back toward the creek. “You said your pa is ill, Tomás?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Hank and Jess don’t believe me, but they almost never do.”
“So what makes you think he is not well, amigo?”
“Well, he’s always tired now. Then yesterday he wanted to camp early. He was lagging behind us and sleeping in the saddle. His face was pale and his hands were clammy feeling. Then a rattler spooked the horses, and instead of holding on, he grabbed his chest and fell flat on his back. He was out cold. We got him to his bedroll and built up the fire. Hank had to help him onto his horse this morning. He ain’t never done anything like that before, Mr. Vallejo.”
“Your pa is a very determined man, amigo.”
“Yeah, he wants to get to the goldfields real bad.”
He could see the creek now. Jess helped Pa to his feet. A stabbing pain hit Tom in the gut. It just wasn’t like Pa to have to be helped like that. Pa was always the one who did the helping.
Hank came over, and he and Jess got Pa settled in the back. Pa took a couple of deep breaths, his hands on the edge of the seat. Then he leaned back and sighed. “Much obliged, mister. Jess said there was a feller with a buggy, but I wasn’t expecting a fancy carriage like this. I’m Thomas Marsh.”
“Gracias, Señor Marsh, I am Mariano Vallejo. I am grateful for the help of your sons.”
“Vallejo . . . General Vallejo?”
“Mr. Vallejo, you’re a general? Wow!”
With Maggie again on the back of Eban’s dun, they rode among low hills covered in a sea of brown grass. Deep ruts from wagons that once carried rough timbers from Sutter’s Creek marked their way. To their rear the towering Sierra sparkled white above green foothills. Far ahead a pale orange haze warned of the coming night.
For most of the morning she had ridden behind Joshua. They hadn’t talked much, but with her arms around his waist she could feel wet blood from the wound in his side. He had fought for her and against Norton. Maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t like Jack at all.
Eban showed her a swath of green angling in toward the trail. “That’s the Consumnes River ahead. We’ll rest up and water the horses, then it’s only a short ride to Sheldon and Daylor’s ranch. No one will hurt you there. Get some hot food and a place to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll have you in Sacramento City. You’re going to be just fine, Maggie.”
“Jack will find me. He’ll find me anywhere. He swore he would.” She let out a sigh and turned to look back down the trail. She was sure Jack would come after her. Nothing Eban said could change her mind. Jack scared her to death, and now Bill had showed up again. She couldn’t tell them about Bill. They might leave her, and that scared her more than Jack did.
“Whoa, now.” Eban quickly reined in the dun at the top of a rise. She sucked in a noisy breath. Two enormous birds sat in the middle of the trail. Shrieking horribly and flapping their huge wings, they guarded what remained of some animal dead along the road. “Hi-ya! Get out of here!” Eban yelled. The birds squawked angrily but fluttered a short distance away.
“Oh, they look awful.” A chill ran down her spine. Beady, evil eyes bulging from blood-red heads followed them as they passed.
“Yeah, vultures can put the fear of God in the hardiest of men.” Even Eban’s steady voice quivered. The scavengers flapped back to their banquet, screeching hoarsely.
He looked back and let out a short, breathy whistle. “I was wondering, Maggie, if you’re the one that fixed up Rufus Ward last Saturday night. You done a nice job.”
“Was that his name, Rufus? Yes, I helped him. I tried to help all of them if I could, but sometimes . . .” She looked down and grimaced, remembering the two beyond her help.
“We ran into him on the way to Sutter’s Creek. He told us the whole story. He’s mighty grateful to you.”
“I felt so sorry for all the men Norton hurt. I tried to do what I could.”
“Jack was in cahoots with Norton on them crooked card games, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, they robbed a lot of men out of their money.”
“Norton done the card cheating, but I’d bet Jack cheated Norton somehow.”
“Jack divided the money. Norton always complained.”
“It figures. How’d a gal like you ever get hooked up with the likes of them two anyhow?”
She gasped. “I don’t know.” A chill swept over her. She trembled. She wanted to forget how she met Jack, and why she met Bill.
“It’s a hard land you come to, and it’s especially hard on the women, but it’s a beautiful land too. California belongs to America now. Maybe someday it’ll even be a state. Things are going to get better and better here. California will become something special. Maybe we can be a part of that.”
“If you’re right, I hope I live long enough to see it.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants then looked back over her shoulder again.
“Jos
hua’s behind us right now. He’s watching our back real close. If Jack and Norton are coming, they got to get through him first, and Josh is a lot tougher than he looks. We come through the desert together. If there’s any place close to hell, it’s that desert—nothing but sand, snakes, and sun. It was supposed to be winter, and still it was hot as blazes in the daytime and cold as January at night.”
A jackrabbit leaped up and bounded off across the grass toward a herd of antelope watching warily from the top of a hill. Eban stopped talking and watched until the long ears no longer hopped above the grass.
“Well, we run out of food, then we run out of water. The horses started dying, and a lot of those solders had to walk. Weren’t long before they walked through their shoes and cut their feet up pretty bad. One soldier couldn’t go on. Then here comes a brash young officer who gives that trooper his horse, and he walks all the rest of the way to California. That’s where we finally got some real food and plenty of water. And best of all, we got a bath in a hot water spring. Man, that was the best bath I ever had.”
“Joshua was an officer in the army and he gave another man his horse?” Her voice was stronger. The trembles were gone.
“Yes, ma’am. Led a whole troop of soldiers and done a fine job. Went to West Point, they tell me. Done right well there too.”
“West Point? Joshua?” She was interrupted by the clatter of hoof beats coming from the trail behind them.
Eban quickly turned his horse to face whoever was coming. It was Joshua, returning at a gallop. He reined up beside them.
“I can’t see sign of anyone following us, Eban. The trail looks clear, back several miles at least. If anyone followed us, they aren’t close.”
“Well that’s good news. Maggie seems real sure Jack and Norton are after us and going to do us in when they find us.”
“I shot Norton twice. I can’t see him following us right now. I’ve got my doubts that Jack has the guts to come by himself.”
“No, Jack will come. I know he will.” She put a hand on her stomach. It suddenly felt queasy.
Hangtown Creek: A Tale of the California Gold Rush (A Tom Marsh Adventure Book 1) Page 7