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

by John Rose Putnam

“Well, you could be right. I don’t know, but we’ll be ready for him. Eban knows this country better than anyone, and it won’t be long before we’re at Sheldon and Daylor’s ranch. No one will bother us there. Then it’s only another day to Sacramento City. We’ll be fine.”

  Eban waved a tired hand ahead to a line of cottonwoods. “There’s the Consumnes River.”

  The waters of the river, running cold with melt water from high in the mountains, were welcome. Although not yet summer, the blistering sun had turned the back of her hands raw and red. Joshua’s shirt clung to her body miserably, and the hot sweat ran off her forehead and stung her eyes. They rested beneath the shade of a willow tree and let their horses drink their fill of the cool, clear water and then graze in the lush grass that grew near the bank.

  She sat and scanned their back trail for any sign of Jack. Joshua watched her for a while then took a brass tube from his saddlebags and handed it to her. “It’s a spyglass. You can see much farther when you look through it.” He showed her how to use it. She held it to her eye for a long time, certain that Jack would appear on the horizon, fast on her trail.

  Finally Joshua stood. “We’d best leave now.” He turned to her. “Are you ready, ma’am? It’s near dark.”

  She pulled the glass down and gave it to him, her eyes locked on his. “No, I won’t be ready until I’ve looked at your side. You’re bleeding. I’ll not have another man die because of Norton.”

  “It’s nothing. We need to go.”

  Eban held up his hand to stop him. “Let her look at it. Ain’t no harm in it.”

  Joshua tugged at his ear then sat. “All right, but try to make it as quick as you can.” He unbuttoned his shirt. She leaned over him. The torn shirt he had used as a bandage was soaked with sweat and blood. She pulled it off. The gash in his side was covered with dirt and oozed steadily.

  “This needs cleaning. Eban, would you—”

  “Right here.” Eban handed her some cloth for bandages and a bottle of whiskey. She poured some of the spirits over one rag and carefully cleaned the blood and road dirt from the wound. Joshua winced as the alcohol touched the open gash.

  “I’m sorry.” She continued wiping. When the wound was clean, she wrapped a fresh cloth around his midsection and bound it tight. “That should hold you for a while. It doesn’t look too deep. Does it bother you much?” She gazed into his brown eyes for any sign of pain. Instead, his eyes were soft and deep.

  “No, it just stings a little as I ride.”

  He walked her to Eban’s dun and she let him help her up. As he started to mount the mustang, he suddenly turned back to her and softly touched her arm. “Thank you, Maggie.”

  Instinctively she reached out and brushed his cheek. “You’re welcome, Joshua.”

  They crossed the Consumnes in the shallows and continued westward, the burning red orb of the setting sun hanging low in front of them. There had been no sign of pursuit as yet, but she and Eban rode ahead of Joshua, just in case.

  “Eban, did Joshua really give that poor soldier his horse?”

  “Why, he sure did. He walked maybe a hundred miles after that too.”

  “Is that where his leg got hurt?”

  “His leg? Oh, you mean that little hitch he’s got? No, he got that when we got to California. A few days after we managed to round up some new horses, General Kearny heard about a bunch of Mexican lancers at an Injun pueblo called San Pasqual. Well, everybody was dog tired after that hard trip, but they lined up in front of them fancy dressed Mexicans and was all set to get down to it.”

  “Oh, why do men have to fight and kill each other? Why?”

  “We was at war with Mexico, Maggie. We won. Didn’t you know?”

  “War? No, Eban, I had no idea. Please, go on with your story. I want to know what happened.”

  “Well, I was on top of the hill with what was left of the pack mules, and I seen the whole thing. Those soldiers trotted right up to them lancers, Joshua’s men on the right, and another smart feller on the left, but the guy in the middle was as cocky as they come. For some reason, some say he misunderstood a bugle call, others say he did it on purpose, but that jack-a-napes raised his sword and charged headlong into them Mexicans.

  “Well, those lancers killed a lot of good men on that charge, including the jackass that started it. Joshua realized the only way he could help out was to join the charge. He did it right off. The feller on the left wasn’t far behind. Soon hand-to-hand fighting filled that valley.

  “I reckon Joshua didn’t see one of them lancers draw down on him with a ten-foot spear till the last minute. He was on one of the new ponies, and it wasn’t near trained for army work. Maybe Josh tried to turn him too quick, but the animal reared up on his hind legs. That lance went right through the pony’s heart. The horse fell flat down and pinned Joshua’s leg under him. That’s probably when the leg broke.”

  “Joshua was trapped!” Her jaw dropped and her eyes popped wide open. Had it been just this morning that she had hated him?

  “Yeah, it looked bad for Josh. The Mexican came up and pulled his spear out of the horse before Joshua finally got that repeating pistol out of his holster and fired it. Josh says he must’ve missed because the guy grinned and started back in to finish him off. When Josh fired again, the Mexican dropped the spear and ran like a scared doe. Not long after that, our guys shot off a round from one of the cannon they brung out here, and the whole Mexican army broke and run.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She let out a relieved sigh.

  “I got Josh out from under his horse and took him to the sawbones who set the leg. I don’t know if it was the break or what come after, but the leg never did heal quite right.” Eban pulled the horse to a stop on the bank of a creek. “This is Deer Creek Slough. We’ll be at Daylor and Sheldon’s place in no time.” He led the horse into the stream.

  “Is Joshua a bad shot, Eban?”

  “A bad shot! Lady, that man can shoot the eyes out of a humming bird. He practiced all the time on the trail out here.”

  “How come he shot both Norton and the Mexican and didn’t kill either one of them?”

  “Just the way it was, I reckon.”

  “You said that the limp could have been caused by something that happened after the battle. What happened to him, Eban?”

  “Well, more than twenty guys died at San Pasqual, and a passel more got hurt. The next day we went on towards San Diego. Commodore Stockton had pretty good control there, but before we got far, them lancers jumped us again. We left what food we had and ran for the cover of a little hill in the middle of the desert. We got up it all right, but the Mexicans surrounded us.

  “Josh insisted on riding a horse instead of being carried with the rest of the wounded. On the top of that hill, he got a ring of rocks set up so we’d have cover from the Mexicans’ fire. Maybe he put too much use to the leg. That could have been why it didn’t knit up proper. It ain’t too bad, but I could tell that it hurt him bad back then. Now I’m surprised you even noticed it. It ain’t much, really.”

  “Perhaps. How did you get off of that hill?”

  “Well, they had us surrounded, but San Diego and all the navy guys there under Stockton sat on the coast only twenty-five miles away. So that night Kit Carson and two other men slipped through the lancers to get us some help. We lived hard the next few days, not knowing if they got through and all. We ran out of food and had to eat some of our scrawny pack mules. The men still call the place Mule Hill. But on that last day when all the navy guys showed up you should’ve heard the cheering. The Mexicans realized that we outnumbered them now. They didn’t waste much time getting out of there.”

  “Oh, Eban, that sounds awful. I’m glad you and Joshua got through it.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So am I.”

  Joshua splashed through the creek behind them. They rode on to the ranch house together.

  7 Sonoma

  The carriage rattled along behind the stallions at a brisk trot, the
mare, mule and gelding tied to the rear. Hank and Jess followed far enough back to stay clear of the dust.

  “Look, Mr. Vallejo, there’s another wheat field where somebody’s let their cows run loose. The house seems empty too. Must be the tenth one so far. It looks like everybody left their farm and headed to the mines.”

  “It is the home of Señor Garcia Flores. He has been gone for months. But it is not the cows of Señor Flores. It is not the wheat of Señor Flores. You see, amigo, these empty houses and abandoned fields all belong to Mariano Vallejo.”

  “Wow! All this is yours, sir? It sure is a lot.”

  “Sí. I fear many who have gone will never return. But we will soon be in Sonoma, and Rosalita will have a fine meal waiting for us there. You are hungry, no?”

  “Hungry! Mr. Vallejo, I’m as hungry as a bear after sleeping all winter.”

  “Bueno, amigo. Perhaps it is best that you wake your Pa now?”

  He turned in the carriage seat. “Pa, we’re almost to Sonoma.”

  “What? Oh, Tom, it’s you. Must’ve dozed off.” Pa wiped his eyes and sat up. He looked down at his left hand then rubbed it between his thumb and fingers.

  “Is your hand feeling better, Pa?” Tom saw the color was back in Pa’s hand. His face wasn’t so pale either. Maybe it was a good sign.

  “My hand? Why would you think something’s wrong with my hand?”

  “Cause you’re rubbing it kind of hard, Pa.”

  “Oh, just tingles some. Feels good though.”

  “Buenas tardes, Señor Marsh. I hope you are well rested. My hacienda is there. We will arrive soon.”

  Tom sat up when Mr. Vallejo showed them the large white house. “Holy smokes! That’s your house? Being a general sure must pay good.”

  Vallejo pulled the carriage around the square of the small hamlet of Sonoma and reined up in front of the spacious adobe. The terra-cotta tiles of the roof, sheltered by the foliage of large oaks, promised refreshing relief from the heat of the valley. The adobe walls, plastered over to protect against the erosion of the mud brick from the winter rains, gleamed in the sun.

  Tom hopped to the ground and went to the rear of the carriage to help Pa, just as Hank and Jess rode up behind them. “I can get out of this carriage myself, son. Go on and look after the horses.” Tom smiled. Pa was better. He was sure.

  A large Mexican woman and a boy hurried out from the house. Vallejo spoke to them quickly in Spanish then turned to his guests. “Amigos, may I present my housekeeper, Rosalita, and her son, José.”

  Rosalita smiled broadly and nodded. “Buenas tardes. Buenas tardes.”

  “They do not speak Inglés, but Rosalita is a fabulous cook. Please, she tells me that our meal is ready. Come, José will see to your animals. You are my guests, and the hospitality of Mariano Vallejo is famous in norte California.”

  Inside, the sitting room was real high-class with dark, carved oak furniture, a thick rug covering the tile floor, handmade serapes on the walls, and a sword and rifle hanging over a heavy oak mantle. The room oozed warmth, comfort and ease.

  “This way, señores.” Vallejo ushered them through a door into a spacious dining room just as Rosalita hurried out a second door. A lace cloth was draped over a solid oak table set with fine china, silverware and crystal. In the center sat a bowl of fresh cut flowers, and two silver candelabra were midway in from the ends.

  Vallejo stood behind a high backed chair at the head of the table. When they had all found a chair, the general sat. “Señor Marsh, I hope you would not consider it rude if I offer you a glass of the very fine wine we have here.”

  Jess waved his arm. “Yeah! I’ll have some wine.”

  Pa frowned. “Señor Vallejo, in spite of my bad-mannered son, I’m afraid we’ll have to pass on the wine. I’m much obliged for the offer. I hope you understand.”

  “Oh, sí. I understand completely. Shall we eat?” He turned and called out, “Rosalita, por favor.” A door opened and out came Rosalita with a tray of steaming hot dishes in each hand. “Enjoy, my friends. There is always plenty of food in my home. There are many who work for me and all must be fed. We have many guests and everyone is welcome.”

  The meal was a fantastic treat for Tom. He loved Rosalita’s tacos and tamales, and Mr. Vallejo told some super stories about California before the Bear Flag Revolt and the war with Mexico. Then he had great things to say about the United States and loved that his beloved California had fallen under the control of Washington.

  California was a land of chock full of opportunity, and a whole bunch of hardworking Americans would soon come to make it the richest place in the world. Mexico City had been too far away and didn’t care about the problems here, but now, since they found gold in the foothills, things would change fast.

  But the really best part of the whole meal came right at the very end. Pa and Mr. Vallejo went to the study to smoke cigars. Jess and Hank left for the barn to check on the horses, but knowing Jess, they probably had chasing the cow in mind. He was still nibbling at the leftover tamales when Rosalita came in, smiling from ear to ear and talking a blue streak in Mexican.

  She put a steaming hot mug in front of him, and somehow he got the idea that Mr. Vallejo had asked her to do it. So he thanked her. He even said gracias like Mr. Vallejo always did, and took a sip. Wow, was it good! Milk mixed with chocolate and some spices or something, it was the finest thing he ever tasted. Mr. Vallejo sure had it made here.

  When Rosalita came back in and began clearing the table, he decided to go out to the barn to check on Sadie, and maybe see what kind of trouble Jess was getting Hank into.

  Just like the house, it must’ve been the finest barn in the world and super neat. He found Sadie in a stall right next to Pa’s gelding. She had fresh straw and had been rubbed down and everything. She stuck her head over the gate to nuzzle him, glad he was here.

  “Sadie. Are you happy here, girl? Yeah, I bet you are. Look what I got you.” He pulled out a pear he had taken from the dinner table. She took it in one big bite and chomped down the whole thing, seeds and all. Sadie liked pears. He stroked her nose. A noise came from the back of the barn. “Hank, Jess, you in here?” He heard snickering. “I hear you, Jess. You’re chasing the cow, ain’t you?”

  Jess’s head popped up from a back stall. “What of it? You going to run to Pa and tell on your big brother?”

  “You know Ma didn’t want you drinking, Jess.”

  “Ma! Ma’s been dead for years. Ma didn’t want Pa drinking. Pa is just passing what he got from Ma on down to me. Men drink. Get used to it.”

  “I ain’t going to tell on you, Jess.”

  “Sure. You always say that, but then you run straight to Pa. Tattler.”

  “I’ll see you, Jess.” It seemed like Jess always got mean when he chased the cow. Tom didn’t want to be around him then.

  He walked back to the house. A half-moon sat low in the east, and a cool night breeze blew from the west. He had been riding Sadie for days and his backside was sore. Mr. Vallejo had told him that he would get to sleep in a real bed tonight. Right now that sounded good.

  He ducked into the dining room to see if Rosalita had taken the last of the tamales away. She had. Cigar smoke floated in from Mr. Vallejo’s study. He could hear voices through the partly open door. He walked closer.

  Mr. Vallejo was talking to Pa. “—is a good man, Señor Marsh. He has studied in Madrid and Mexico City and has an excellent reputation in San Diego. You were lucky to see him in San Francisco. I am sorry if this is what he has told you, but I must admire your courage, amigo.”

  “Hank’s a man now, and Jess’s got a few rough edges, but he’ll grow out of them, if the likker don’t get him. It’s Tom I got to fret over. I just hope I can give him what he needs. I promised his Ma. She loved all her sons, but Tom’s the youngest. Well, you understand, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, it is common, no? But young Tomás is, ah, shall we say, he is a unique young man?”

 
; “Yeah, I guess he is. Look, General, I appreciate what you done, but I need to get some rest. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll say good night.”

  “Sleep well, my friend.”

  Tom didn’t want Pa to know he had been nosing around, listening to him and Mr. Vallejo. He ducked back into the sitting room and plopped into one of the stuffed chairs. The man Mr. Vallejo was talking about, the one who studied in Madrid and Mexico City, was that the man Pa sold the farm to? It seemed funny that a guy would come all the way from San Diego to buy their busted down farm. He had a funny feeling about it all. He didn’t understand it.

  Pa walked in and saw him in the chair. “Are you ready to get some sleep, Son? We got another long ride tomorrow, all the way to Sacramento City.”

  Tom hopped up. “You bet.” Pa walked toward the back of the house, but Tom couldn’t help himself. The words just tumbled out of his mouth. “Did you sell the farm to that feller from San Diego?”

  Pa spun immediately, a deep scowl on his face. “How do you know about that?”

  Tom gulped. Maybe Jess was right. He was a tattler. He had just tattled on himself. “I’m sorry. I just happened by Mr. Vallejo’s study and I heard him talking about a feller from San Diego that you saw in San Francisco. I wasn’t eavesdropping, honest.”

  Pa’s expression eased some, but he still had a deep furrow between his eyes. “The man’s a doctor. I talked to him some about . . . ah, about the trip and me always being tired and all. He seemed to think my going to the gold country was a good idea.”

  “Oh, he’s a doctor. What did he tell you?”

  Pa looked down at his feet and stroked his chin like he always did when he was thinking. “He said everything’s going to work out just like it should, Son. Ain’t no reason for you to be concerned about nothing.”

  “I reckon that’s good news.”

  Pa just said he was going to be all right, but deep down Tom wondered why he didn’t believe it. Pa wouldn’t lie to him. He never had. Why did he still feel like something was wrong with Pa? Tom didn’t understand. He followed Pa to the bedrooms in the back of the house.