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

by John Rose Putnam

  “Did anybody here see something else, anything different?” No one stepped up. He scanned the room. Men shook their heads. He had made an impact.

  “Does anyone know this man?” He pushed a finger at the killer.

  No one responded.

  Then Henry, the barkeep, spoke up. “Can’t say I know him, but he’s been in here pretty much every day this week. Just sits and drinks, don’t talk to anybody. Well, no, he was talking to Flapjack the last time he was here, buying him drinks and all.”

  Memphis looked for the crusty old miner. Flapjack edged toward the door. Memphis thrust a finger at him. “You, Flapjack, what do you know about this?”

  Flapjack stopped, his face pale. “I got to get back to my shack.”

  “Flapjack, if I find you know something you’re not telling, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Fear clouded the old man’s face. It was clear to all he knew something. A miner grabbed his arm and pushed him back toward Memphis. “The same goes for me, Flapjack.”

  Memphis glared at the old miner, as did every man in the room. “You drank with the man, Flapjack. What did he want?”

  Flapjack’s eyes flickered from man to man across the room, his forehead boiled in sweat. He turned quickly to the door but two miners moved in front of it, blocking any thought of flight he may have fostered. There was no way out.

  “Talk, Flapjack!” The cry came from the back of the room.

  “Let’s hear it.” More men began to shout. Patience was thin in the El Dorado.

  “All right! He bought me a drink. That’s all. Lots of people buy me drinks.”

  “You’re lying. He gave you a lump of gold. I seen it.” It was the barkeep.

  A miner leaped to his feet, a pistol in his hand. “Talk or I’ll shoot you right now.” More angry men shouted agreement.

  Memphis held up his hands for silence. “Let him talk.”

  Panic covered the old miner’s face. “Yeah, leave me alone. I’ll talk.” He nodded to the man in the corner. “He wanted to know about the woman selling pies.” It sounded innocent enough. Everyone wanted to know about Maggie.

  Memphis wanted more. The miner hadn’t told all. “What else did he want?”

  “Well, he wanted to know if the men she lived with played poker.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him Snyder was here every Saturday night. Everybody knows that.” Flapjack again looked for a friendly face. Again he found none.

  The barkeep spoke. “That ain’t enough for a rock that size. What did you do for him?”

  “I did him a favor. That’s all.” Flapjack looked down.

  Memphis saw the resignation in the old man’s face. Flapjack was a dead man. Memphis knew it now. There was nothing else he could do. The old miner may as well tell them what he had done.

  Flapjack plopped into a chair then looked back to Memphis. “I went up to the cabin, like the feller wanted. I told young Tom that Snyder wanted him and Stone to come down to the stable right away. Said there was a sick mule. Right after that the fire broke out. That’s all I did. I didn’t know.”

  Pandemonium erupted in the El Dorado. Men shouted for Flapjack’s head. Another shot brought silence. A man, a splint on his leg, a smoking gun in his hand, pushed himself erect from a chair near the door.

  “What’s wrong with you, all of you? Maggie Stone’s done something for every one of you. She fixed up my leg, and your arm, Davie. Eldon, she sewed up your gut when you got in that stupid knife fight with your partner. She feeds you pie almost every day and beef stew like you ain’t had since you left home. And every day she brings a little piece of hope, a slice of what life used to be like for you. She reminds you of your wives, your girlfriends, your families. She reminds you all of why you’re up here digging all this dirt in the first place.”

  He glared around the room at each man in turn. No one spoke. “And here you are, ready to hang Flapjack, but not a one of you, not a one, has given a thought to going up to that cabin and seeing if her and hers are all right. Well, to hell with you all. I’ll go.”

  The man beside him put a hand out. “No, Woody. My horse is right outside. I can get there and back quicker than you can.”

  “All right, Caleb. Thanks.”

  Men moved aside to let Caleb dash from the saloon unimpeded. When the clatter of his hoof beats died down, a low murmur buzzed through the El Dorado. Men were talking now, instead of arguing, about the fate of the killer of Natchez Pete as well as the fate that should await his unwitting accomplice, Flapjack.

  Memphis poured more whiskey into his glass. His mind was on Tom. He chided himself for staying at the fire instead of walking up to the cabin to see about his friend. Many times he had looked up the hill, concerned, only to see lamplight through the windows and a home that seemed normal, even peaceful. He should have followed his feeling, just as he followed the hunch about the stranger that evening in Coloma. He lost one friend today. He had no more friends to spare.

  He sipped the whiskey. The two shots he had earlier had taken effect. The business here was still undone. When it was over he could finish the bottle. Time passed slowly. The news that Caleb would bring could end this quickly. The stranger was already doomed, but if the woman, or anyone around her, was hurt, or worse, Flapjack could swing as well.

  And what of Tom, the news he most wanted to hear? If something had happened to the boy, how would he take it? The boy had heart, spirit. He was likable and determined. These qualities had helped him cope with terrible hardship and come out a winner. Tom was all of the things he could have been if he hadn’t chosen the road he was on, the road of a gambler.

  The thunder of hoof beats grew on Main Street then stopped abruptly. The door to the El Dorado burst open and Caleb ran inside, his face grim. He strode to the center of the saloon and glared at the stranger. “His name’s Cherokee Bill. Him and another feller named Smiling Jack been after Maggie Stone all summer. Like Flapjack told you, they tried to lure Stone and Tom Marsh to the stable, but only Stone went. They left him to die in the fire. Jim Price pulled Stone out. Then Price went up to the house. They blew his chest apart with a shotgun. He’s dead.”

  A roar erupted. Caleb threw out his arms. “That ain’t all. They shot Eban Snyder. Don’t know if he’ll make it or not. They beat up young Tom too. Then they beat up Maggie Stone real bad.”

  “Hang them! Hang them both!” The cry came from many mouths at once, an angry fury only a throng of men could support.

  Memphis rapped on the bar with his pistol butt. “Quiet! Quiet, let him finish.” The clamor subsided, but the eyes of every man burned hard and cold.

  Caleb held up his hand. “In Coloma that guy and his partner killed four miners, two of them brothers of Tom Marsh. The strange thing is that one”—he thrust his finger toward Cherokee Bill—“shot the other guy in the head. He double-crossed his partner. Seems he wanted Maggie Stone all to himself. He planned the whole thing. He’s half Injun. He was going to take her over the Sierra and make her his squaw.”

  Yells, shouts, chaos broke out. A fury filled the El Dorado, a death fury. Flapjack broke for the door but was easily corralled. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” he screamed to uncaring ears until a gag was stuffed in his mouth and he was hauled out into the autumn night.

  Four miners rushed by Memphis and splashed a pail of water into the face of the half-breed. He was yanked to his feet and let out a spine-chilling screech as the broken ends of his leg bones rubbed together. Memphis smirked as they threw the killer of Natchez Pete onto their shoulders and carted him past the bar and out the door, screaming like a stuck pig as bone ground against bone with every step they took.

  Quiet filled the El Dorado as the mob—miners and gamblers together—moved down Main Street, the shrieks of the killer ringing over their dull roar. Memphis poured the rest of the whiskey into the glass and sipped. At least young Tom had survived. Somehow that meant a lot to him right now. It was the only good to com
e from this night of evil deeds. But it wasn’t over. There would be repercussions from the lynching to come.

  “They dug this stuff out of the killer’s pocket, Memphis.” Henry, the barkeep emptied a burlap bag onto the bar in front of him. “Seeing as he killed Natchez and you was his friend, maybe you got some idea what to do with it.”

  “It’s Natchez’s gun, and this is his ring.”

  “I guess the fellers took it off your friend. Maybe you want to keep both of them.”

  Memphis put them into his coat. “Yeah, I’d like something to remind me of him.” He picked up the leather purse and dumped the contents on the bar. “That’s a lot of gold. Where do you think the killer got it?”

  “It’s a good bet he didn’t mine it.”

  “No, I doubt he did. It must be worth a thousand dollars, maybe more.”

  The barkeep ran his hand through the nuggets. “Yeah, whoever he got it from is probably dead now.”

  “Henry, you seem like a man who walks the straight and narrow. You always been square with me, and not too many barkeeps are. How about taking this gold and use it to build a new stable for that woman and her men? If Eban Snyder lives, they’ll want to keep the freight line going.”

  “When I built this saloon, prices went up so fast I didn’t have money left over to buy whiskey. Eban Snyder lent me what I needed. I owe the man for that. He’s helped out a lot of shopkeepers in town. I’ll see the stable gets built. You can count on it.”

  Memphis looked Henry in the eye, taking a measure of the man. “Yeah, I believe you will.” He downed the last of the whiskey and put the glass on the bar. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday, Henry.”

  “Yeah, I hope so. Where are you heading?”

  “I hear there’s a lot of good poker in San Francisco these days.” He walked out into the night and turned towards his hotel. He could see the crowd down the street. As he got closer the bodies of the two men, hanging from a tree next to the creek between the hay barn and the blacksmith shop, swayed gently in a breeze that blew in from the west.

  What needed to be done had been done. He felt no remorse for his part, and it had been a major part. But it was the words of Woody and the report from his friend Caleb that ignited the fury of the crowd in the El Dorado. Men, especially lonely men far from home, were very protective of their women. And the redhead, Maggie, was regarded highly by everyone in this raw gold camp. There were hundreds here who would kill, or even die, to protect her.

  “That’s it. That’s all I can do for him, Joshua. I hope I helped, but it’s up to God now, and Eban.” Maggie put her hand on Eban’s forehead. “He’s hot. He has a fever.”

  “Whatever happens, Maggie, what you’ve done is remarkable. I’ve seen army surgeons who would have given up on a man with a bullet wound like this.”

  “Eban was lucky. The ball hit a rib. That caused it to miss his heart. Still, it’s bad and I may have made it worse. I don’t know.”

  “You tried. That’s what’s important. Without you, he would have died for sure. You’re tired. Why don’t you go upstairs and rest?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. I need to sit with him awhile.”

  It was very late. They had worked for hours to pull the ball from Eban’s chest, kneeling on the hard floor in front of the fireplace. He could see her face in the light of the lamp he’d held for her as she worked. It was swollen now. Her eyes were black. She looked tired, strained, fearful.

  He stood, leaned over Eban, and put the lamp with the rest, all gathered along the fireplace mantel. It had been a long, hard night. He dropped back to one knee in front of her. Now that the worst was over, he had to ask her. He had to know. It had eaten at him all evening. “Maggie, did you mean what you said to Bill? You were yelling, and I wasn’t sure. Are you going to have a baby?”

  She managed a smile, a warm, almost contented smile. “Oh, I wanted to tell you, but not like that. I was so angry. It just blew out of me. Yes, you’re going to be a father.”

  He broke into a broad grin. “Maggie . . . Maggie . . . I’m thrilled. I’m going to be a daddy. Wow!” He took her hand in his. “Thank you, Maggie. Thank you so much.” He pulled her to him and held her close, both on their knees on either side of Eban.

  “I was afraid you might not want a baby now. Are you sure you really do?”

  “You bet I am. And after this one, we’ll have another one, and another. Just as many as you want.”

  “Joshua! Look out!” she screamed.

  He pushed her back toward the fireplace then spun on his right knee. Jack loomed in on him, shotgun in hand, swinging it like a club. There was no time to think. He caught the barrel with both hands.

  The blow jerked him up and backwards. He pushed with his left foot and stumbled to the right. He toppled into a chair and over the armrest. Still clutching the gun while Jack crashed into the back. The chair flipped over. He was flung on top of Jack then rolled off onto the floor with Jack on top of him.

  He stared into the face of the killer, only a shotgun barrel between them. Jack’s eyes were red, crazed. He roared like a raging bull. Blood dripped from his head into Joshua’s face. They struggled over the gun. Jack, on top, had the advantage.

  Joshua saw Maggie. She had her small pistol out. “Shoot him, Maggie!”

  “I might hit you!”

  Maybe she was right. He forced Jack over. Now he was on top.

  Screams, thumps and grunts came from the main room. Tom jerked awake and sat up. He grabbed his head. It hurt. His whole body ached. His nose was stuffed with dried blood. It was the scar-faced guy. Had he really been here? Was it a dream, a really bad dream?

  Joshua yelled! He wanted Maggie to shoot! Something was wrong. He climbed to his feet and limped to the door. Holding his hand to his aching head, he peeked into the main room. Maggie was in front of the fireplace, waving her little gun around. Eban lay in front of her on the cushions from the stuffed chairs. He couldn’t see Joshua.

  He slipped onto the stairs and stuck his head over the rail. Joshua was on the floor, wrestling with someone near the kitchen door. Maggie saw him. Her face was a mess, swollen, bruised and black. She waved her hand at him like she was pushing him away and mouthed the words get out.

  He yanked his head back from the rail and looked to his room. He could climb out the window and run for help. Maybe he would make it in time to bring someone from town. Then maybe he wouldn’t.

  More thuds, thumps and grunts from the main room. He stuck his head back over the rail. Joshua and the other guy were on their feet, struggling over the shotgun, going around and around like the dancers at the beef stew feed. It was the scar-faced guy. Joshua said he was dead. Damn!

  Maggie edged closer to him, still waving and mouthing for him to get out. He was scared now. He wanted to run, hide, save himself. He was afraid of Scarface. He’d killed Jess and Hank, shot Eban, and now he might kill Joshua and Maggie. But then he would be alone again, just like at Coloma. Should he run like Maggie wanted or should he stay? Maybe he could help somehow.

  More grunts, a roar from Scarface, then a thud. Scarface slammed Joshua back against the shelves under the stairs. The old pickax toppled off the shelf right onto Joshua’s head. He was stunned. His hands dropped from the shotgun. Scarface slapped him with the stock. Joshua spun around toward Maggie.

  Tom ducked back against the wall. He took a quick look back to his room. All he had to do was slip out his window and run. That’s what Maggie wanted him to do. But he had promised Eban that he wouldn’t let anybody hurt her. Instead he eased his way up into the dark at the top of the stairs.

  Scarface laughed, an evil, bigheaded laugh. Tom stuck his head out past the rail. Scarface held Joshua in front of him with his arm around his neck. He had a pistol to Joshua’s head. Joshua’s gun. They were almost below him now, just a little to the right.

  Maggie still waved her little gun. She really looked scared. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He knew it now. No matter wha
t happened to him, he had to do something. But he didn’t know what to do.

  “Drop the gun, woman.”

  “Let him go, Jack. I’ll do whatever you want, just let him go.” Maggie dropped the gun on the floor.

  “Kick it over here.”

  “Just don’t hurt him, please!” Maggie kicked the gun. It slid past Scarface near the kitchen door.

  “On your knees, now!”

  Maggie dropped down. She was crying.

  Scarface spun Joshua around, conked him across the head with the pistol. As Joshua fell, he shot him. Then, with that evil laugh, staring straight at Maggie, he shot him again. Damn!

  “Beg for it, bitch. Beg like you want it.”

  He had to do something. He had to. His knife! He reached into his pocket and pulled out the buck knife Pa had given him. It wasn’t much against Joshua’s pistol, but it was all he had.

  “Go to hell, Jack!” Maggie yelled. She stood up. She was super mad.

  Bam! Scar-face shot at her. Maggie didn’t move. He must have missed.

  “Get on your knees. I’ll kill you. I swear!” Scarface bellowed, mad and mean.

  “Shoot me, Jack! Get it over with.”

  No, Maggie, no! I’ll help you. He crawled under the rail and hung on.

  Scarface marched up to her, stuck the pistol in her face and snarled. “Do what I tell you or I’ll blow your brains out.”

  “I’d rather be dead. Shoot!” Maggie spit in his face!

  “Then die!” Scarface yelled, and clobbered her with the pistol. Maggie tumbled into the only chair still upright then crumpled to the floor. He aimed the gun at her and cocked the hammer.

  Tom pushed off the rail right at Scarface’s back, the buck knife open. He crashed onto the killer, stabbing the small blade deep into the middle of his shoulder. The pistol went off wildly. They both tumbled forward onto the floor.

  Tom scrambled to his feet. He had to find Maggie’s little gun. Scarface wasn’t dead, nowhere close. He ran toward the kitchen where Maggie had kicked it, but he couldn’t find it. Scarface grunted. He would be on his feet soon and would shoot him. Tom raked an armload of Maggie’s pretty rocks off the shelf, turned, and hurled one at the killer just as he pulled up the pistol.