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

by John Rose Putnam

  He focused the glass towards Mormon’s Island again. “There’s Eban.”

  “Is he all right?” She scooted to the top of the rock to look, her first real sign of life since Jack and Bill swam the river.

  “I think so.” He leaned in and refocused. “Oh, now I see why he’s taking so long. He’s got a mule and it isn’t cooperating at all. It’s bucking and kicking and just won’t go.” He pulled the glass down and chuckled. “That mule is really loaded down. Eban picked up a lot of stuff. It’s close to sundown. Let’s get a fire going and start some dinner.”

  She smiled for the first time all day. “I’ll cook. I haven’t had a chance to cook for anyone I care about in a long time.”

  Maggie was hard at work by the fire when Eban got in with the reluctant mule in tow. “Never seen an animal put up such a fight about carrying some food. No wonder that miner sold her so cheap.”

  Joshua lent a hand in unloading the mule. “Jack and Bill passed by here a while ago. I thought maybe they ran into you.”

  “Jack and Bill? Where’s Norton?”

  “Norton wasn’t with them.” He turned to the rock he had been on. “They swam the river over there. Two men rode hard up the trail right behind them.”

  Eban shook his head, the sour news pulling down the corners of his mouth. “We got to stand guard tonight anyway.” He yanked the saddle from the dun and walked to the mule.

  “Are you men hungry? I’ve got some food for you.” A wonderful aroma drifted in. Joshua took note of it and remembered that he hadn’t eaten all day.

  After dinner Eban put down his empty plate and went to the fire for coffee. “Maggie, I’ve had a lot of beans and bacon in my day, but I never had none that tasted this good. You done a fine job.”

  A hint of a smile flashed in her eyes, “One day I hope I can cook you a real dinner on a real stove. You two enjoy your coffee. I’m going to get acquainted with the mule. What’s her name?”

  “The old miner I got her from called her Clara. He forgot to mention how much trouble she is. I never seen a critter so balky.”

  Maggie stroked Clara’s ears and gave her a handful of their precious sugar. Clara nuzzled up to her. “So you like sugar don’t you? Ah, you poor thing. They’ve really worked you hard, haven’t they? Maybe I can get Eban to lighten your load some. Would you like that?”

  Clara snorted and bobbed her head as if she understood. “Eban, this mule is old and tired. It’s no wonder she didn’t want to carry such a heavy load. Can we lighten it some for her tomorrow?”

  “Anything we take off her will have to go on our horses. I got enough food for three months and everything we’ll need to mine. I even got you a tent to sleep in.” Eban shrugged.” I reckon we can split it up some. We’re less than a day from Coloma.”

  “Oh, thank you, Eban. Did you hear that, Clara? Things will be easier for you now.” She gave the mule another scratch and returned to the fire.

  Joshua picked up his rifle. “You two get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch, wake you at midnight, Eban.” He walked to the gap between the rocks and sat. Eban doused the fire, and darkness enveloped the camp.

  Joshua settled back against the rock and listened to the gentle sounds of night. The river gurgled on its way to Sacramento City, a mockingbird sang from a nearby tree, and leaves rustled in a faint wind from the west. Above him the pale gray swath of the Milky Way silently arced through the tiny pricks of light that filled the dark sky.

  It seemed so peaceful here. But across the camp Maggie tossed fitfully in her blanket, occasionally moaning or mumbling. Today had been hard for all of them, but for her it must have been especially tough. Yet she had handled herself well. Like a regular trooper, she showed a lot of grit.

  12 The Saw Mill at Coloma

  Tom followed Pa. Hank, with the mule in tow, rode to Pa’s right. They were in the foothills now, and the American River twisted and turned on its way west to Sacramento City. Small groups of men stood in the shallows near the shore washing dirt from their large, flat pans. They passed three Mexicans in wide brimmed hats, hard at work around a small sand bar. Tom wondered if they had worked for General Vallejo.

  A party of Indians mined just offshore in the silt that had piled up in front of a large rock. The men dug with sticks and their hands while the women stood in the stream and washed the soil in flat, woven baskets.

  He could hear Jess yelling from the trail in front of them. As usual he had ridden ahead of everyone else. In no time Jess appeared around a bend, waving his hat and riding hard, his hair still a tangled mess. “It’s Weber Creek just ahead. We’re almost to the saw mill.” Jess stopped by Pa, grinning like a fox.

  Hank reined in the buckskin. “Great news. How far is it?” He had been taking more of the load the last couple of days. This trip was hard on Pa, and Hank tried to do what he could.

  “Can’t be more than a quarter mile. We can be in Coloma tonight. Be mining tomorrow.”

  “That’s great. Is there a good ford?”

  “I talked to a guy who says there are potholes to watch for, but you can get across.”

  Hank turned to Pa. “We’ve got a couple of hours of daylight. Can you make it?”

  Pa rubbed his left hand like he had on the way to Sonoma. His face looked kind of pasty too. “I’ll give it my best.” His voice sounded weak and shallow again.

  Around the bend and down a long, treeless slope, the waters of Weber Creek widened at the ford. Several miners worked along the shore far downstream where the creek met the river and the water eddied. He could see the trail on the far side of the stream before it disappeared into the trees.

  A loud clatter of pots and pans, then, “Damn!” Tom hopped down from Sadie.

  “You watch your cussing, Tom. How many times I got to tell you?”

  “Sorry, Pa, but the rope that’s holding my gear broke. I got to fix it.” He began to gather the spilled cooking gear. “You guys go on. I’ll catch up.”

  Pa frowned. “Are you going to be able to cross that stream by yourself?”

  Tom didn’t like being treated like a kid anymore. He wanted pa to know he could hold his own. “Sure. Jess said it wasn’t that deep. I know you need to get to Coloma before night. I don’t want to slow you down.”

  Pa grunted suddenly and grabbed his chest. Then his face twisted funny like a bee stung him or something. He shook his head. “You yell out if you get in trouble.”

  “I won’t get in no trouble.” It wasn’t like Pa not to put up much of a fight about him crossing that creek alone. Pa was acting funny again.

  Hank rode up beside the bags on the ground. “I told you to tie that load down good. Next time make sure it’s going to hold.”

  “I tied it good. The dang cord broke. The knot’s still tight,” he snapped at Hank, mad. Pa trusted him to cross the stream, but Hank dressed him out cause a rope broke.

  “Then you need to check it for wear. This trip is going to be tough on everything we got. You’ve got to be careful.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

  “All right. Hurry up, will you?” Hank rode off, pulling the mule. Pa and Jess went with him.

  Tom repacked the cooking gear and grabbed the bag of clothes. He tied the cord back together and hung both bags across the saddle.

  Down at Weber Creek he could see Jess plunge the pinto into the stream. Near midstream the water rose up to his saddle and the current rolled around him. The pinto, his head barely above the water, struggled to keep his footing. The rush of the current pushed Jess well left of the trail, but he finally managed to climb up the other shore.

  Hank and the mule splashed in next. He aimed more to the right than Jess did but still had a lot of trouble with the current. At last he made the trail on the far side.

  Pa went in last, and the bigger, stronger gelding had less of a problem. Pa turned back from the far shore and waved at him before disappearing among the trees. Tom climbed back up on Sadie and continued downhill to Web
er Creek.

  The water rose quickly up to his knees, then his thighs. He tightened his grip on the reins as water rushed over the saddle. The mare moved to the left, pushed by the current. He pulled hard to try to keep her right, but she was stubborn and kept left.

  Suddenly Sadie’s head sank below the water. She kicked her back legs. Tom fell forward, screaming for Pa. Then his head sank under the muddy water, washing his hat from his head. The rush of the water pushed him from the saddle, forcing him downstream, away from Sadie. The reins ripped from his hand. His boots filled with water, pulling him down. Struggling, sinking, drowning, he needed air.

  Tumbling in the murky, dark current, groping for the surface, his foot hit a rock. He pushed—and prayed.

  His hand rammed into something soft. A leg! Sadie! Fumbling about, he found a stirrup then worked his way up to the saddle. With one big heave his head popped from the stream. Breathless, he wheezed, gasped and sucked in air as fast as he could.

  The mare had her feet on the bottom again making her way across the creek, but far downstream from the trail. It seemed forever until his feet found the sandy bottom. Finally Sadie worked her way up onto the far shore. Shivering from the ice-cold steam, he collapsed to his knees and hacked water from his saturated lungs, gulping precious air between coughs.

  When at last rid of the water he had inhaled, he went back to his horse. The bag of clothes and Sadie’s saddle blanket were soaked. Pa might trouble over him, but riding the mare with a wet blanket would raise sores on Sadie’s back. Hank would yell at him then, so he unsaddled Sadie and threw the blanket and clothes over bushes. His teeth chattering, he curled up on the grass, hoping the hot sun would quickly warm him.

  The intense, dry heat of late afternoon soon had its effect, and Tom began to dry. Below him the steam bubbled and splashed as it rushed to meet the American river. Small wrens and bushtits flitted from shrub to shrub, chirping. The staccato pulse of a woodpecker punctuated the repeated high-low calls of a mockingbird. Surround by the gentle hum of nature and warmed by the sun, Tom fell asleep.

  Jess pulled up the pinto and spun him around. “What’s wrong with the mule?” He was eager to get to Coloma. Now Hank had stopped suddenly and jumped to the ground. He had one of the mule’s feet up, scraping at it with his knife.

  Hank pried around the shoe with the blade. “This shoe is loose. We’ll have to get it fixed in Coloma. It might last till we get to town, if we’re lucky.”

  Pa rode in real slow. He held on to the saddle with one hand and the reins with the other. “Did anybody see Tom cross that creek? He should’ve caught up with us by now.”

  Hank let go the hoof and stood. “No, he was still at the top of the hill when I crossed.”

  Jess pulled off his hat, ready to go. “I’ll ride back and look for him.” As much as he wanted to get to Coloma, this was the kind of action he loved.

  Pa nodded, his eyes half closed. “Go ahead, Jess. Hank and me will be right behind you. We’ll camp at the creek.”

  Jess popped the pony’s rump and galloped back down the trail. At Weber Creek he saw no trace of Tom or the mare. “Tom! Tom, where are you?” No answer. He walked the pinto downstream yelling Tom’s name. A deep concern crept into his mind. He always picked on Tom, teasing him, and Tom got awful sore about it sometimes, but they were brothers, after all, family, and that was that.

  The current had been surprisingly strong when he crossed the creek. It pushed the pinto far downstream. If that current had overtaken Tom, and if he was still alive, the boy could be anywhere. He went by the spot where he had left the creek. Still no Tom.

  “Tom, where are you?” He heard no answer, only the rush of water. If something had happened to Tom he knew he would feel real bad about it. Pa would be crushed too. He’d pulled a lot of tricks on Tom. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

  He worked his way around a large rock that jutted into the creek. “Tom, answer me. Tom!” The pinto raised his head and let out a whinny. Another whinny answered from the woods to his right. It was Sadie. He was sure. “Sadie, come here, girl.”

  The mare bounced in from the brush, bobbing her head and snorting. At the creek she stopped and pawed at the water. Then she turned back into the woods. He sloshed out of the stream after her.

  In a small clearing just past the brush, he saw Tom, curled up on the grass and sound asleep. His clothes were hung on the nearby bushes. Jess let out a grateful sigh. His brother was all right.

  Jess gave him a hearty shake on the shoulders. Tom snapped awake. Recognizing Jess, Tom’s eyes grew wide and a bright smile beamed across his face.

  “Jess! You’re here.” Tom threw his arms around his neck.

  “I’m glad to see you, little brother. What happened?”

  “Sadie went under the water. I got washed off her and almost drowned.”

  “Well, it’s good you didn’t drown. Pa’s sure to be in a stew. Can you stay right where you are while I go get him? We’ll camp here tonight.”

  “I’ll be fine. Jess—thanks for coming back for me.”

  He mussed Tom’s yellow hair like Pa did. “Always happy to help out my favorite little brother. Sit tight. I’ll be back.”

  For Joshua, another tough day on little rest neared its end. He had roused Eban well after midnight and tried to sleep but, like Maggie, he had tossed and turned for hours. She woke him just after sunrise with a cup of hot coffee and some pan bread.

  Eban already had Clara loaded and ready to go. After Maggie showered her with attention and more sugar, the mule agreed to tag along, so by late afternoon they arrived at the boomtown of Coloma, the heart of the gold county.

  Where a big loop in the river ended, two men unloaded barrels from a barge tied to a crude pier. In the center of the loop atop a hand-dug ditch that cut across from east to west, stood the open-framed saw mill. The water that rushed through this millrace turned a large wheel, powering a saw that sliced huge logs into thin planks on the platform above the wheel. It was in this millrace that James Marshall, the saw mill’s builder, discovered gold in January.

  Past the saw mill a blacksmith’s shop and stable, a general store and several saloons were open and doing a brisk business. More buildings, in various stages of completion, were rising along the road, the seeds of a town growing rapidly in a wilderness that only months before had been completely unknown to all but a handful of trappers and mountain men.

  Joshua’s mind raced with the importance this rustic new town could have to the United States, to the whole world, if, indeed, there proved to be ample gold in these foothills. Something about the vast spaces in California, the commanding power of the high Sierra, the broad breadth of the central valley, the magnificent splendor of the coastline from San Diego all the way to San Francisco, made him certain a massive gold strike and a biblical flood of immigrants to exploit it was in the offing.

  Suddenly the squeal of children’s laughter dragged him from his thoughts. Maggie and the chestnut dashed toward a small cottage in the flats south of the saw mill then disappeared behind it. Clara honked and loped after her. Joshua tensed.

  “Easy, Josh. She’ll be all right,” Eban spoke softly behind him. Joshua spun, immediately disarmed by Eban’s toothy smile. “Come on, let’s take a look.”

  They found Maggie sitting on the grass playing with several small children. The mule and the chestnut grazed nearby. “Maggie, you shouldn’t run off like that. It’s too dangerous.”

  She looked down shyly. “I know, but I heard the children and . . .” She lifted her gaze to his, her jaw set. “I haven’t seen a child in nearly two years. Can you understand?”

  “I understand well enough, but I don’t think Smiling Jack will.”

  “Him.” She sneered. “He didn’t understand anything.” The smallest child, a toddler, pulled at her arm. She scooped the little girl up and lifted her high over her head. The child erupted in laughter. Maggie joined her then looked back to him. “Jack won’t try anything now,
not in the daylight with people around.”

  A woman appeared at the cabin’s back door, a checkered apron stretched tight over her middle-aged waist, her hair wrapped in a red bandana. Maggie smiled brightly at the children’s mother. “How do you do, ma’am? I’m Maggie Magee. These children are adorable. I hope you don’t mind if I talk to them a little. I just love children, and I haven’t seen one in way too long.”

  The woman looked at her hard without answering then turned her gaze to him and on to Eban. “Snyder, it’s been a while. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Wimmer. Yourself?”

  “I’ve seen the elephant.” She turned back to him. “And you, young man, you got a name?”

  “Afternoon, ma’am. I’m Joshua Stone. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Well, pleased to meet you too, Joshua Stone. Now don’t you two men have some things to do? Maggie and me are the only women around here, and I know I could surely use the company of another woman about now. What do you say, Maggie Magee? Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  Maggie glowed. “Why, yes, ma’am, but what about these guys?” She held up the little girl again, and got more giggles as a reward.

  “Any kid-watching you want to do, you’re welcome to it. Come on kids, let’s have some milk.” The children scurried to the door. “You men come back about suppertime. If you leave us alone till then, I’ll feed you. Fair enough?”

  “Wait a minute now,” Joshua balked. Leaving Maggie here alone invited disaster.

  Eban grabbed his arm. “Relax, Josh. She’ll be fine with Mrs. Wimmer.” He turned back to the cabin. “Ma’am, we’ll be back here at sundown. Do you mind if we set up camp tonight over at the edge of the woods there?”

  Mrs. Wimmer had watched this exchange with a wary eye. She could understand a man keeping tabs on his woman in a rough, wild boomtown like Coloma. “Just settle in where you like. You won’t be the first to sleep in those woods.”