Jack spit. “Could’ve started a lot sooner if you hadn’t babied that shoulder wound like you done. My woman might be anywhere now.” He had whined for months about finding the redhead again. They rode south now, and he was still carping.
Bill was sick of it, but he would wait until he found the woman. “Folks knew who we was. They needed time to forget.” It was the scar on Jack’s cheek they needed to forget. It made him a marked man.
“None of these sodbusters have recognized us so far. You got rid of them Injun buckskins. I got a whole new outfit too. We look like any of these farmers now.” They had passed several groups of miners already, exchanged small talk with each, and had yet to be recognized as the hunted outlaws they were.
“Ain’t in Coloma yet.” Bill growled. “Get noticed there, liable to swing.”
Jack pawed at the scar on his face. “My beard’s covering this mark now. Besides, these idiots only care about gold. They ain’t troubling over us.”
Jack’s confidence grew. He asked everyone they met if they had heard of a woman with fire red hair. He told the story that she was his sister, come to the goldfields with her husband, and he needed to find her for family reasons. The men were cordial, but none had news of Maggie. Several suggested that they wouldn’t mind going along just to get a look at a woman, since they hadn’t seen one in so long.
It was late in the afternoon when Bill’s senses were pulled to a movement in the tall grass. He signaled Jack to wait and circled his horse around the suspect spot, rifle at the ready. Then he began to walk his horse toward Jack in a zigzag manner, like a hunter flushing game to a waiting shooter.
A figure rose from the weeds and ran towards Jack, then, recognizing the danger, veered off in an effort to escape. Jack spurred his pony and quickly ran down the fleeing Indian. He jumped to the ground and pounced on his prey, now stunned by the force of the attack. He pinned the Indian beneath him and drew his knife.
Bill rode up behind him. “Only a Miwok woman. She’s worthless.”
Jack rolled the woman over. She wore only in a simple skin to hide her most private of places. She was young and her breasts were firm, her body taut. Jack ran his fingers through her hair. The hand came away covered in bear grease. The same bear grease he had made Maggie wear. The bloodlust flashed in his eyes. “Yeah, a woman. You want some?”
“No! Leave her. We need to ride.” Bill turned his horse and rode south. He knew what would happen to the girl. He had seen the look in Jack’s eyes. It had been the same gleam he had when they had killed the two boys along the American River.
He thought often of killing Jack while his shoulder was healing in Jack’s shanty along the Bear River, for Jack’s tongue, loosened by whiskey, would talk long into the night about Maggie and the evil desires he had for her. He would wait until Jack beat her, hurt her, then he would kill him. Then the redhead would want to stay with him. It was the only way.
Behind him he could hear the terrified screams of the woman. He rode on. She was only a Miwok woman and not important.
“Get up, mules. Let’s go.” Tom whipped the reins over the team again. He knew that his efforts to speed up their plodding progress was useless, but he was in a hurry to get back to the Old Dry Diggin’s. He could almost smell Maggie’s cooking from here. It had been a great day for him. It was the first time he had taken the wagon out without Eban. Everything had gone swell.
It had been a short run. He had delivered supplies to a wagon train camped at Diamond Springs, just across Weber Creek and on the new trail to Sacramento City. They were desperately short of flour, sugar, and other necessities, and were very glad to see him. Other wagons followed the same trail and would be here soon. These weary travelers would also need the things that had been used up on the long trek from the east.
As the wagon crossed the crest of the hill and began the descent into the valley, the speed of the mules increased without his urging. Now the animals could also sense that their day was almost over, and they would soon eat and rest. Below the trail, the growing collection of buildings along the creek at the foot of Oregon Ravine came into view.
The whole valley floor was abuzz with activity, even this late on a Saturday. He could see miners washing gold in the creek all the way up to Log Cabin Ravine and Maggie’s house, and he knew that there were still more of them well past Cedar Ravine, and even far past Spanish Ravine.
The overnight rain had increased the flow of the creek and the miners took advantage of it. The long, rainless summer had dried up most of the water, making panning the ore-laden sand difficult. Many of the miners waited for the fall rains to return rather than carry the heavy loads to the few pools that were still big enough to use. Now they were hard at work sorting out the gold from those same piles of dirt.
He turned right and headed up Main Street. The blacksmith was forging a pickaxe under his tarp. The hotel was open and busy. Miners went in and out of the El Dorado Saloon. After he stabled and fed the animals, he went looking for Maggie.
Just before the log bridge that crossed the creek at Log Cabin Ravine, he saw her, still behind the table alongside the creek, selling her pies to the miners. Supper would be awhile, but a slice of pie would be just great. He hurried over. There were only a few men left around the table. He hoped he wasn’t too late.
“Hi, Maggie. How are you?”
She looked up from her work and gave him one of her glowing smiles that made him feel like he was already in heaven. “Tom, hi. How was your first trip?”
In the short time he had known her, he had come to like her very much. Being around Maggie was like having a ma and a sister, all rolled into one. Yeah, he liked her a lot. Somehow he could tell that she liked him too. It was a great feeling.
“It went real good, Maggie. There was some nice people on the train, and some are thinking about settling here. They gave me a great noon meal too.”
“There were some nice people, Tom, not there was.” She gave him a quick wink and turned her attention to a miner who wanted a slice of apple pie.
Tom didn’t mind that she corrected his grammar. He knew she was only trying to help him. It wasn’t at all like Pa, who had always corrected his cussing, but both did it from love, and he liked that.
“Yes, ma’am. There were some real nice people there. Say, could I get a piece of that apple pie too?”
“I’m afraid it’s too close to dinner for you, young man. I’ve got a real nice roast going, and I expect you to eat your share of it. If you fill up on pie now, you won’t be able to do that.”
“But, Maggie, I can—”
“I saved a peach cobbler for dessert. How does that sound?”
Peach cobbler was his favorite. It sounded good. “Okay, but I’m pretty hungry.”
She laughed. “You’re always hungry. I’m just glad you like my cooking.” She turned her attention back to the miners. “All right, fellows, only two slices left. Who wants them?” Several men readily volunteered to help her dispose of the remaining pastries. It was an easy sell.
“Do you think you could help me get this stuff cleaned up and back to the house, Tom? Then we can get ready for dinner.”
“You bet I can.” He gathered the empty pie pans and other things for the trip to the cabin while Maggie turned her attention back to the miners.
“Now don’t forget. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I’m making a big pot of beef stew for you. It’s full of fresh vegetables, potatoes, and the best beef that Sheldon and Daylor have, so tell your friends to be down here right after noon to be sure to get some. Lord knows, it’ll likely be the only vegetables you get all week, and it sure does taste good. Remember, tell your friends, and I’ll see all of you tomorrow. Bye, now.”
There were cries of thanks all around. Some men yelled that this was the best pie they ever had. They would all be here tomorrow for the stew. Not because it would be full of healthy vegetables, but because it would be the best meal they would have all week. Most lived on bacon, beans, and c
offee, and a meal cooked by a beautiful woman was a treat to be cherished.
Tom scraped the bits of pie into one tin and looked over at Clara. She was easy to spot. Maggie had gotten one of those wide straw hats the Mexican fellers wore, cut holes out for Clara’s ears, and tied it on her head. Maggie said the sun hurt the mule’s eyes.
Clara watched him warily. He held out the pie pan. “I got you some pie here, girl. You want it? Come on now. Come on.” Clara loped over, and he stroked her nose while she cleaned the pie pan. Then he loaded her with all the gear.
He looked around for Maggie. She was still at the table, talking with a miner whose left arm was in a sling. She noticed him, said her goodbyes, and walked over.
“Is everything ready to go, Tom?”
“Yeah, we’re all set. Say, Eban told me a guy came by the cabin a couple of days ago with his arm broke and you fixed him up. Was that the guy?”
“Yes, that’s the man. He said he slipped on a rock in the stream, but if he did, that stream sure gave him a pretty bad black eye.” She laughed.
Tom joined her. “Ma used to patch me up when I was a kid. She even fixed Jess’s arm when he broke it. It’s a real neat thing to be able to do.”
“Yeah, well so is getting a stubborn, ornery, old mule to eat out of your hand. Come on. Let’s see about supper.”
“You in or out, Memphis? It’s ten dollars to you.”
Natchez Pete was impatient. Natchez was a monte dealer, to Memphis the lowest form of a gambler. All monte men were impatient, just out for a quick score. They lacked the sophistication, the skill, a true gambler must have, but with his help Natchez would learn.
“I . . .” Memphis glanced at his cards. He tossed money to the center of the table. “I’m in. I’ll raise another ten.”
He turned his attention back to the stranger who had just entered the Golden Nugget’s door. One of the skills of a good gambler was in picking a mark. Monte men took anyone stupid enough to fall for their simple scam, but with poker your opponent was important. A mark must have money, plenty of money, and the arrogance to believe he could win against a professional.
This man had the arrogance. That was clear by his bearing. He scanned the room carefully. Was he looking for a mark of his own, for a friend, or was he checking to see if anyone here recognized him while he still was close enough to flee out the open door?
There was something else about him too, something Memphis couldn’t grasp. He was dressed like a miner, but his boots were those of a man who spent his time on horseback. It didn’t mean he didn’t have money, just that he wasn’t who he seemed to be. Memphis could usually read a man at a glance, but this one was a puzzle.
“What’re you going to do, Memphis? It’s your call,” the impatient Natchez pressed him again.
It was early yet. Soon the miners would be drunk enough, and Natchez would leave the poker game to take advantage of them.
“What’s the bet?”
“It’s twenty dollars to you. Try to keep your head in the game, will you?” Natchez dropped his cigar to the floor and stomped it out with his boot.
Memphis threw the money into the pot. “I’ll call you.”
“Yeah, I got you this time.” Natchez laid his cards on the table. “Full house. Aces over eights. You lose, Memphis.”
“Well now, that’s a very nice hand, but I’m afraid it’s not nice enough. Four deuces.”
“You’re too good, Memphis!”
As he raked in the money from the pot, the man at the door walked to the bar. Yes, this man was troubling. He would keep an eye on him. “Your deal, Natchez.”
Alberts had noticed the stranger as he stood near the door and surveyed the room. Now the man pushed his way between several miners and waved for a whiskey. He tossed a lump of gold onto the bar. Alberts quickly plucked it up and poured a shot.
“Looking for a woman. She’s my sister. Got fire red hair and eyes as green as a fresh spring leaf. Seen her?”
Alberts opened his hand and looked at the rock. It was enough gold to pay his keep for a month. He slid it into the watch pocket of his checkered vest.
“What do you want with this here woman, friend?”
“Mother’s sick. Wants to see her. If it’s any of your business.” The stranger downed the whiskey. Alberts refilled his glass.
“I might have heard about a redhead over in the Old Dry Diggin’s. Name’s Maggie Stone. Real looker I hear. That be her, mister?”
“Old Dry Diggin’s, you say?” The man drained the glass again. Alberts poured him another shot.
“Just take the road south over the hill. Bring you right there. Ask anybody in town.”
“Much obliged, friend.” He tossed the shot down in one swallow.
Alberts pushed the bottle towards him. “On the house.”
The stranger must want the woman real bad. Alberts didn’t believe the sister story for a minute, but then what does any man want with a beautiful woman? He fondled the gold in his pocket and smiled. After all, women were more rare than gold around these parts. Men had been known to pay a lot more than this for one.
Memphis picked up the cards and shuffled them. Natchez had won the last hand. It didn’t matter to him. They were only passing time until the real action started. He dealt five cards to both of them. Without looking at them he said, “Dealer bets ten.”
Alberts had left the bottle with the stranger. The man had given the barkeep something, probably gold in exchange for something from Alberts. Information, no doubt.
“Raise you ten more.”
Memphis tossed his ten into the pot. “I’ll see you.” The stranger drank fast, too fast to be a gambler, but he did have money.
Natchez grinned. “I’ll take one card.” He could never hide a good hand.
He gave the monte man a card then picked up his own hand for the first time. “Dealer takes two.” He tossed two cards onto the table and took two from the top of the deck. “Dealer bets twenty.” He looked at his new hand. It was a royal flush.
Natchez’s grin was broader now. “I’ll see your twenty and raise you twenty.” Natchez had fallen for his trap.
Suddenly the stranger turned and walked towards the door. The man had two pistols in his waistband and the handle of a large knife sticking out of his boot. He was no miner. He was no mark. Maybe lawman, maybe outlaw, but whoever this stranger was, he was trouble.
He threw his cards to the center of the table and stood. “Dealer folds.”
“Folds! What’s wrong with you? This is just a friendly game.”
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He strode to the bar. “Who was that stranger, Alberts?”
“I don’t know. Just a miner.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted a drink. What do you think?” Alberts turned to serve another man.
“Don’t lie to me, Alberts. I saw the whole thing.”
Alberts turned back. “Damn it, Memphis! He was looking for his sister, all right?”
“His sister! Alberts you’d sell your soul for a wooden nickel. What name did you give him?”
“It ain’t no big thing. Why are you so out of sorts about nothing?”
“Whose name did you give him?”
“Ah hell! I gave him that redhead everybody’s talking about, the one over in the Old Dry Diggin’s, Maggie Stone.”
“Maggie Stone.” Memphis looked down and rubbed his chin. “Isn’t that the woman young Tom Marsh is living with now?”
“Well, now that you mention it.”
“You’re a fool, Alberts. If something happens to that boy, I’ll kill you.” He turned back to his table.
“Everybody knows who she is. If I didn’t tell him he’d just find out from somebody else,” Alberts yelled over the roar of the bar
At the table, Memphis raked up his money and stuffed it into his pocket. He put the cards in his coat.
Natchez looked up. “What’s going on?”
�
�I’m leaving, Natchez.”
“Leaving! It’s Saturday night! The marks are coming in. You can’t leave now.”
“I’ll be seeing you.” He turned to the door.
“Wait a minute. Where you off to?”
“The Old Dry Diggin’s.”
“What on earth for?”
“It’s personal.”
“Wait up, I’ll go with you. Everybody here’s seen my monte game anyhow.”
“Whatever suits you, Natchez.”
Memphis closed the door and left the hotel. He had arrived with Natchez late last night and had been lucky to get a room to share, but then he always considered himself lucky. He looked about. It was Sunday. The street should have been crowded, yet it was empty. Not a soul was in sight.
He walked up the wooden sidewalk until he came to a saloon, the El Dorado. It would be a good place to ply his trade, but a sign on the locked door said it was closed for the beef stew feed. A beef stew feed, he mused. Interesting. It would explain the empty street.
Farther along he came to a large tent. Over its door flap an apt sign hailed it as the Round Tent Saloon. Still another large tent lay ahead, only identified by the crudely scrawled “Cheep Likker” painted on its canvas wall. He preferred the higher class El Dorado. It would attract those who had the kind of money he wanted.
Past the tent saloons smaller tents were interspersed with rough shanties. The rudimentary conditions the miners lived in appalled him, just like they had in Coloma. The relative luxury of a warm hotel was more suited to his style of life.
He could hear music, a fiddle, banjo, and guitar, playing the gentle strains of The Rose of Alabama. The tune took him back to the glorious days on the river. The splendor, the beauty, the power of those magnificent steamships, the Wm. French, the Diana, the Edward Shippen, and yes, the grand Sultana, all had brought a whole new vision of life to a widowed schoolmarm’s son from Tennessee.
Hangtown Creek: A Tale of the California Gold Rush (A Tom Marsh Adventure Book 1) Page 22