by John Hansen
“All right, Thunder. High time we was gettin’ outa here,” said Josh as he rose from his spot beneath a big ponderosa pine. Thunder snickered softly as if in agreement. To say the road was muddy would be an understatement. The soil was clayey and the surface of the ground had turned into a slippery, treacherous mess. In many places Thunder’s hooves sunk in several inches. Josh had not gone far on the road back to Bear Creek when he decided that it would be easier going if he rode in the short brush and grass next to the road.
Josh was about an hour into the ride back when he thought he heard a voice from up around the bend in the road. “C’mon, mules. Git your lazy asses movin’.” This was followed by a whistle and more words of encouragement. Soon the source of this racket came into view. It was a small freight wagon drawn by two mules. A dog was running along behind. Josh had no sooner reined Thunder in to watch the procession headed his way when the driver saw him up ahead and to the side of the road. Instantly, he dropped the mules’ reins in his lap and reached for his rifle. “State your business,” he commanded over the barking of the dog, which had now come up alongside of the wagon.
Josh eyed the driver for a moment. He was a slender, scruffy-looking guy who hadn’t shaved in about a week to ten days. His whiskers were salt-and-pepper and he had on a slouchy felt hat that had lost most of its original shape. His demeanor was somewhere between nervous and sorely agitated. “Pleased to meet you too,” said Josh with a smile.
The wagon driver kept his right-hand thumb on the hammer of his Sharps repeater—a fact which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Josh. He must already have a round chambered, he thought.
“A fellar can’t be too careful these days, especially around these parts,” replied the wagon driver with just a hint of civility in his voice. “Lots of folks takin’ stuff that don’t belong to’em and killin’ good folks in the process.”
“Yes sir, I know what ya’ll mean,” said Josh, still mindful of the driver’s thumb on the hammer of his rifle. “Ya’ll reckon it’d be okay if I rode on up so’s we could stop hollerin’ back and forth.”
The driver paused for a moment. He seemed to be taking stock of Josh’s youthfulness and relatively clean-cut appearance as well as the fact that Josh was on the edge of effective pistol range where he was currently at. Finally, satisfied that Josh posed little risk, the mule skinner summoned him. “Come ahead on, mister. Just keep your hands near your saddle horn.”
“Much obliged.” And with that Josh closed the distance to the freight wagon under the watchful eyes of the driver. When he was within about twenty feet of the wagon, he reined Thunder to a halt. “Name’s Josh Morrow. I’m headed to Bear Creek.”
“Lester Scoville’s mine,” replied the driver. “And this here is Rufus,” he said, nodding to the dog who was now sitting on the seat next to him. Rufus appeared to be a mutt mix of some sort, but he most closely resembled an Australian shepherd.
“Pleased to meet you both.” It was obvious to Josh that there was a warm bond between Lester and his dog.
“So you’re headed for Bear Creek, are ya?” said Lester rhetorically. “I try to spend as little time as possible in that hellhole. It’s a good place to lose your money, your life, or both.”
“Ya’ll travel this road very often?” asked Josh.
“Oh, ever’ now and again when I need supplies in town,” replied Lester. “Hate to leave my claim for very long. Course if somebody was to want to take it my being there probably wouldn’t matter. Some young fellar had a claim up on Moonshine Creek. I seen him workin’ it a time or two and then next thing I know is somebody murdered him, just up the road here,” said Lester, nodding his head in that direction for emphasis.
Josh had his arms crossed near the wrists and was resting both his hands on his saddle horn well away from his Army Colt .44. “I think the guy you’re talking about was my friend. A big guy, blond hair, always had a smile.”
“Yeah, that sounds like this guy.”
“I was supposed to meet him here and help work his claim,” replied Josh.
There was a look of genuine concern on Lester’s face. He had moved his thumb away from the Sharps’ hammer—an obvious gesture of trust that Josh noted. “Sorry to hear that,” said Lester. “Far as I know, they ain’t caught the guy who done it. But to be right truthful, with the sheriff we got here, they never will.”
Josh had only been in Bear Creek a couple of days, and what he had heard from folks there pretty much coincided with what Lester was saying. If there was to be any justice for Seth it would be up to him, but that was beginning to look like a tall order. “This claim you said you saw my friend working, how far is it from here?”
Lester’s eyes widened a bit like he had something important to say. “You thinkin’ agoin’ there?” he asked.
“I am,” said Josh. “In his letter to me, my friend Seth said he had a good claim and that it was no pipedream. He said that he’d filed on it in both our names, but when I went to the claim office in town they said some other guy named Leroy Bates had took over the claim due to it being abandoned. I told’em Seth was dead and I was on my way here but that didn’t matter to them.”
Lester turned his head to the side and spit a stream of tobacco juice. “Don’t mean to rile you but I already seen a couple of other guys workin’ your friend’s claim. They been there upwards of a week. The way the law reads in this here mining district is a fellar can be gone from his claim for three days without losing it; after that, unless you’re sick, it’s fair game for anybody else.”
“Yes sir, that’s what they told me in Bear Creek at the claim office, but it still seems like a lot of horse crap to me,” said Josh somewhat angrily. “What’s to prevent this very thing from happening over and over? If a guy wants a claim all he has to do is knock off a guy who owns one, wait three days, and then move in. Don’t seem right to me.”
“It ain’t,” said Lester, “but the miners here was the ones that made up the laws of the mining district. So I’m a-guessin’ that unless your friend left a will you ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of gettin’ any part of that claim.”
Josh sighed heavily and adjusted his hat slightly to block the sun which had now come out and was shining brightly. “Lester,” he began in a somewhat serious tone, “this ain’t about me getting rich. I was happy workin’ cattle and fixin’ fence over on the Salmon River. It might have taken a little while, but in time I reckon me and Seth could’ve got us a place of our own. But now I feel obliged to at least try to get back what was taken from my friend. It was his dream. At best his family back east should get something from his work and losing his life.”
“Can’t say that I blame you,” said Lester, “but I think you’re swimmin’ upstream agin’ a pretty fast current.”
“Maybe so,” replied Josh, “but I gotta try.” Josh paused for a moment to consider what he was about to ask. “I don’t want to drag you into this fray but I’d be obliged if maybe tomorrow you could show me where Seth’s claim was. I’m not lookin’ for you to side with me or anything, just point out where his claim was.”
Lester didn’t seem to be surprised by the request. In fact, his facial expression seemed to suggest that he was kind of honored that his new acquaintance would ask. “I got me a little shanty and corral about a mile up Porcupine Creek from where this here road crosses it. Be about another six-seven miles on up the road. I’ll be there tomorrow. Got me a claim on the creek, so I’ll most likely be down there when you come.”
“Much obliged, Lester,” said Josh. And with that the seeds of a friendship appeared to have been planted.
Lester set his Sharps in the wagon box behind his seat, and then taking up the reins to the mules he said: “I best be gittin’ home, Josh. Watch yourself tonight.”
“I’ll try,” said Josh.
Lester snapped the reins. “Git up, mules,” he shouted. Rufus barked twice for added encouragement and the freight wagon lurched forward.
Chapter Three
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sp; It took Josh about an hour to reach the small town of Bear Creek, which was situated on, as the name implies, Bear Creek. It was a bustling concern with a number of businesses located along its main street, the majority of which were intended to satisfy the miner’s social needs. The town had just recently been established a couple of years earlier when gold had been discovered on Bear Creek and in a number of the surrounding streams. It had a look and feel of newness, but at the same time somewhat unorganized due to the numerous tents and shanties associated with the mining claims along the creek.
It was nearly dark as Josh rode up Bear Creek’s main street. Pale yellow light from lanterns spilled out onto the street from the various businesses that were still open—mainly saloons. The light from the lanterns shimmered on the surface of the mud puddles that dotted the street. The summer evening was warm. Mosquitoes from the creek nearby had taken up their quest for dinner. Josh slapped the back of his left hand, ending prematurely the dinner plans of at least one mosquito. There weren’t many people on the street, certainly no women. Boisterous voices punctuated by occasional laughter and honky-tonk music from several of the saloons drifted out onto the street. There was a smell of smoke in the air from the cooking fires up and down the creek. Here and there, in the distance, Josh could see people squatting around fires that periodically illuminated the outline of a wall tent. There was an obvious contrast between the tent people and the town people—not necessarily one of the haves and have-nots but rather, Josh reasoned, one of potential. There was potential for both groups to advance to either a more elevated “have position” of wealth or complete failure; the only question was the path that they would choose to get there; some would not survive.
Josh rode directly to the livery stable. He unsaddled Thunder and fed and watered him and brushed him down. He’d not been a horse person before joining the cavalry, but there he had come to appreciate, if not love, his horse, as he realized that his life could depend upon it.
Knowing that Bear Creek’s only restaurant was just about to close for the day caused Josh to quicken his pace. It had been early that morning since he last had anything to eat. To say that he was hungry would be an understatement. Josh took a seat at a table near the window. There were only two other customers in the place and they appeared to be about done.
“Dinner bell rang a long time ago,” said the portly, middle-aged woman who had now approached Josh’s table. “We got a little beef stew left and some apple pie, or I could maybe cook you up a venison steak with a few taters. What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have the stew, some coffee, and biscuits if you gottem, ma’am,” replied Josh.
“Young man, it’s your lucky day,” said the waitress. “Usually by this time of day we don’t have any biscuits left. I make’em fresh every morning and they tend to go pretty fast, especially with some fresh-churned butter and honey.” The waitress’s eager-to-please attitude reminded Josh of his mother.
As Josh waited for his coffee he took in his surroundings. The restaurant wasn’t real big; there were six tables with three to four chairs at each table. Red and white oilcloth with a nondescript pattern covered each tabletop. Several, but not all, of the tables had chimney lanterns that burned coal oil. Lighting in the room was uneven and shadowy, but not so much so that Josh hadn’t observed the badges on the two men across the room. They had been talking in low tones to one another, but in Josh’s opinion, they seemed to have taken a special interest in his presence as they frequently glanced over at him.
“Here you go, young man,” said the waitress as she returned with his coffee. “Your food’ll be ready real shortly.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” replied Josh.
“So what brings a well-mannered young fella like you to a place like this?” inquired the waitress in a friendly tone.
Josh paused a moment to consider his response. After talking with Lester he wasn’t certain who he should trust. He reasoned that since he had already talked to Sheriff Hollis about his purpose for being in Bear Creek that the deputies across the room were probably privy to this information as well. Josh looked the waitress in the eye. “I came here to meet a friend of mine. I was going to help him work a claim that he had filed on for the both of us, but I’ve found that he was murdered a couple of weeks ago. So now, I have no friend and no claim.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the waitress sincerely. “But you’re not alone. This kind of thing happens all the time. Decent folks around here really have to watch out for road agents.”
“Pretty sad state of affairs,” said Josh.
The waitress’s eyes darted left towards the deputies and then refocused on Josh. They had stopped talking and were definitely concentrating on what was being said between her and Josh. There was some concern in the waitress’s eyes but she continued, “So, what are you going to do now?”
“Several years back, my friend saved my life. I think I owe it to him to try and find out who killed him, and not to mention, who stole his claim.”
“You better watch yourself, young man,” said the motherly waitress. “You could be barkin’ up a pretty tall tree and no tellin’ what’s in it.”
Josh laughed. “Ma’am, you’re the second person, in so many words, that has told me the same thing.”
From across the room, the sound of chairs being slid back from the table could be heard. Josh and the waitress turned their attention in that direction. The deputies were on their feet and headed towards Josh. Their demeanor was stern but not threatening.
“Evenin’,” said the first deputy as he neared Josh’s table. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help but overhear what you was sayin’ about your friend.”
Josh eyed the two men briefly. His immediate impression of them was that they were far from being any kind of dedicated public servants. They were somewhat unkempt and their eyes and facial expressions lacked sincerity or respect for Josh. “Yeah,” said Josh, “I talked to the sheriff yesterday. He was the one who told me that my friend had been murdered on the road south of town.”
“These parts is pretty rough, mister,” said the second deputy. “Especially with all the gold that’s being mined, and then you got folks that figure they can just up and go wherever they want with a big shit pot of the stuff and nobody’s gonna bother’em. It just ain’t gonna happen. People like that is just askin’ for it.”
Josh couldn’t help but wonder if what he had just heard from the deputy was his personal philosophy, which seemed to border on justification. It was like, how dare one of the “haves” tempt the “have-nots” with a bunch of gold, especially when this transfer of wealth could be affected with a single bullet. Looking the second deputy squarely in the eyes, Josh said: “You may be right, Deputy. The longer I’m here the more I realize just how much bushwhackin’ scum there is in this country. They seem to get away with just about anything they want to do.”
Josh’s words had the desired effect. There was anger in the second deputy’s eyes. Josh had struck a nerve; whether it was because the deputy was one of the bushwhackin’ scum or he had taken offense to Josh’s implication that the law wasn’t doing their job was not quite certain to Josh.
The first deputy sensed the anger in his partner. “Mister, we just wanted to let you know that it’d probably be best if you let the law sort out your friend’s murder. You never know what you’re dealing with. A guy could get his self killed pokin’ around something like this.”
“Thanks for the advice, Deputy,” said Josh. “But I reckon two heads might be better than one.”
“Suit yourself,” said the first deputy. “But you can’t say that you wasn’t warned.” And with that the two lawmen walked out.
“You don’t want to rile those two hooligans,” said the waitress. “They’re bad news.”
Josh took a sip of his coffee. “I suppose they are,” he replied. “But I intend to find out which side of the street those guys walk on.”
After he had finished h
is meal Josh stepped out into the street. It was totally dark now. It had been a long day and his muscles were tired and kind of achy. Just going to bed over at the hotel and getting a good night’s rest sounded good, but so did having a drink to relax before he turned in. Having a drink won out.
Josh entered the first saloon that he came to. It was summer and warm so the door to the place had been left open. The room was longer than wide. It was illuminated, although poorly, by multiple coal oil lanterns atop two crude wooden chandeliers suspended from the log beams overhead. As he entered, his senses were bombarded by a variety of sights, sounds, and smells. Cigar and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. At times it was almost overwhelming to Josh, who was a nonsmoker. Yet counter to this he detected a hint of fresh pinewood, owing to the fact the building hadn’t been in existence all that long. But as he moved toward the bar and in closer proximity to its patrons, the brief respite of pinewood was replaced by body odor mixed with the tobacco smoke. Taking an actual bath was a luxury not readily available to a lot of the miners.
The saloon was lively. A piano was being played by a man with slender features at the back of the room. His audience appeared unappreciative as they never clapped, but not long ago the piano player had been sick for a few days and there was no music. Some of the miners complained, but when the piano player returned nobody seemed to acknowledge it. Numerous men lined the bar on the left side of the room, while even more sat at tables to the right; some who were playing poker were pensive and quiet except when a particular hand necessitated an outburst from either the winner or the loser. The poker table was like a simmering cauldron that periodically boiled over. A dark stain on the rough plank flooring near it was evidence that this had happened in the not-too-distant past.
Amidst all of this gruffness and potential depravity were three barroom girls. They all wore heavy makeup and dresses that displayed cleavage sufficient for the prospective client to complete the image. On the surface the saloon girls were like white lilies in a field of ragweed, but it was clear to Josh that for at least two of the girls a guy might not want to look too far beneath the surface. One of the girls, however, didn’t appear to fit this category. She looked younger, awkward, and kind of out of place.