Surely the gold in the Midas hasn’t played out yet, Jem thought as he urged the horses around an especially steep turn.
Jem knew it took a lot of money to start up a mine. It took even more money to build a stamp mill later on to process the ore into pure gold. Mr. Sterling was rich, but he wasn’t that rich. It was rumored he’d found a wealthy rancher down south to invest in the Midas mine with him.
Jem didn’t know if the rumor was true or not. The way Will made it sound, it was his family’s mine. His father was the owner, and that was that.
Ellie’s sigh brought Jem around. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t need to ask. Through the scattered trees, Jem saw Will’s house in the distance. It poked out of the hill, pure white and surrounded by plenty of greenery. The trees might shield the house from the barren site of the mine and stamp mill, but nothing could shield it from the noise.
“Sure is pretty,” Ellie said.
Jem frowned. “I like our place better. It’s not so stiff and formal-looking.” He hurried the team past the buildings clumped around the mine. The towering stamp mill rose three stories to their left, taking up most of the view. It looked deserted, but the murmur of angry voices coming from inside told Jem otherwise. He didn’t slow down to listen.
The superintendent’s home lay a couple hundred yards past the mine complex, nestled in a clump of oaks and young pines. Jem pulled the wagon up to the kitchen entrance and jumped down. “I’ll start unloading, and you take care of business,” he ordered.
When Nathan gave him a puzzled look, Jem sighed. “Knock on the door and tell Mrs. Morrison—or whoever answers the door—that we’re delivering their wood. Then help me get it stacked.”
Nathan nodded. A minute later, a plump, friendly woman opened the door. She took one look at the delivery boy and said, “What happened to Jem? I thought he—”
“Right here, ma’am,” Jem called from the woodpile under the eaves. “He’s my cousin, Nathan. I’m breaking him in.”
Mrs. Morrison smiled. “Yes, I can see that.” With his greased hair sticking up and his good shirt sleeves rolled up, Nathan did indeed look “broke in.”
Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty from stacking a week’s worth of cooking fuel, Jem and Nathan gladly accepted lemonade from Mrs. Morrison. Ellie hopped down to grab her share of the generous gift.
However, lemonade was all Mrs. Morrison could offer them.
“I’m sorry, boys,” she said when Nathan whipped out his paper and pencil to settle accounts. “Mr. Morrison forgot to set aside your money before he left this morning. He hasn’t come home for the noon meal, either.” She shrugged, a little nervously it seemed to Jem. “And I’ve no cash in my jar today.”
Jem’s heart sank. He’d delivered wood to the Morrisons every week for the past year, and he’d never been put off like this before. He didn’t know how to respond. “I reckon I could come by tomorrow,” he offered.
The woman nodded. “That might be best. Mr. Morrison’s had a lot on his mind this past week.” She smiled and began to close the door. “Good day.”
“Mrs. Morrison,” Jem said quickly. “Why is the mill shut down? Did something break?”
A worried look passed over her face. “I’m not sure, Jem. There’s been some unrest at the mine, but I don’t know anything about it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good-bye,” Jem said, touching the brim of his hat. He didn’t believe Mrs. Morrison for a second. Her husband ran the mine. She must know plenty, but it looked like her lips were sealed tight.
Jem stepped off the porch, snagged Nathan and Ellie, and headed back to the wagon.
“That’s it?” Nathan hissed in Jem’s ear as they climbed aboard. “All that work and we have to come back tomorrow for our pay? That’s not right.”
“Oh, stop bellyaching,” Jem said. He picked up the reins and set the horses in motion. “What am I supposed to do, have her arrested for not paying us this minute? Can you see Pa agreeing to that?”
Ellie giggled. “Pa would make you give her the whole load for free. It’s best to just ride out tomorrow and collect the money.”
Jem nodded his agreement. “Don’t worry, Nathan. The Morrisons are good for it. Besides”—he smiled—“I have an idea how to get paid today and find out what’s going on.” Jem couldn’t help it. He was burning up with curiosity to know why the stamp mill had gone silent.
“How?” Ellie and Nathan asked together.
“I’m going to stop by the mining office and ask Mr. Morrison for my pay. He’ll be so sorry he forgot to leave it that he’ll apologize all over the place. Then I’ll ask him about the stamp mill.” Jem laughed. “They call that ‘killing two birds with one stone.’” He urged the team back the way they’d come.
“I think we should go up the road and make the Sterlings’ delivery first,” Ellie said. “You can stop by the office on the way back.”
Jem gave Ellie his what-did-I-tell-you-about-interfering look and kept driving.
By the time they pulled up to the mining office, the angry sounds Jem had heard from the stamp mill earlier had increased in volume. Somebody’s spittin’ mad about something, Jem thought, slowing the team to a halt. He set the brake, wrapped the reins around the handle, and hopped down. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
The mining office looked empty. Jem hoped Mr. Morrison was inside, working on the day’s accounts or setting up mining schedules, or whatever it was a mining superintendent did all day. Jem knew what Mr. Sterling, the mine owner did—all the clean, behind-the-scenes work, which earned him a lot of money.
The superintendent did all the hard work, like keeping the miners working and contented. It couldn’t be an easy job. Who wanted to crawl around in dank, dimly lit passages? Who wanted to run like mad and hope you didn’t get blown up when setting off the blasting powder to enlarge the mine? Jem shivered. Not me! He was glad Pa had traded his gold pan for a ranch and a sheriff’s badge, although two months ago Jem would not have admitted it.
Jem sprinted to the office and turned the knob. “It’s locked!” he said in surprise. Why would the office be locked and empty? It was the middle of a workday. He peeked through a window next to the door and saw nothing that might explain the closure.
“Mr. Morrison!” he called, rapping on the window. “Are you in there? I’ve come for my firewood money.”
No one answered.
Before Jem could decide what to do next, a sudden roar erupted from the nearby stamp mill. A stream of nearly a hundred dirty, shouting miners burst from the building. “We want our pay! We want our pay!” they chanted. The men surged across the compound carrying clubs, hammers, and pickaxes. They looked ready to break into the mining office and find their wages for themselves.
Oh, please, God, no! Jem prayed in horror. Not a riot! Not here!
Jem had seen his share of saloon fights, where rowdy drunks went after each other. He’d seen for himself what lawless claim jumpers like Frenchy DuBois would do to keep their stolen gold diggings. But it was nothing compared to what he saw now. The size of this crowd turned Jem’s blood to ice and set his feet flying.
It was time to leave—and fast.
CHAPTER 3
Riot!
Jem leaped from the porch and landed at the foot of the steps. Hurry! Back to the wagon! he ordered his wobbly legs. He saw Ellie and Nathan on the wagon seat. They sat frozen, staring at the mob swarming toward the office. In moments, the men would overwhelm the small building and tear into it.
Ellie’s face was ashen. Jem knew why. He had to pass in front of the crowd to reach the safety of the wagon.
Crash! The tinkle of broken glass warned Jem that the men meant business. They would not pause to let him pass; they probably didn’t even see him in their eagerness to storm the office. Jem picked up his pace … and lost his footing. He stumbled to the ground, caught himself, and stood up, breathing hard. His heart pounded.
He was cut off.
Jem whir
led and dodged to his right. A rock whizzed past his ear. He ducked and ran. Snatches of conversation burned his ears: “Let’s string ’em up!” “Get the strong box!” “They can’t get away with this!” “We’ll show ’em.” “Hang ’em all!”
Suddenly, the ear-piercing shriek of the mine’s alarm drowned out the men’s shouts. Jem knew the whistle blew only for the most dire of emergencies, like a mine cave-in or an accident. Somebody was pulling it now, screaming for help from the town below.
The whistle did not slow the men down. They rushed up the porch steps and began breaking down the door with their pickaxes and hammers. More glass shattered.
Jem skirted the edge of the crowd and tried to reach the wagon. The men had spread out in a loose semicircle, surrounding the mine office. Rocks—and fists—continued to fly. Where’s Mr. Morrison? Or Mr. Sterling? Jem wondered. Or any of the supervisors? He saw an opening and slipped past a few stragglers.
Then everything happened at once. A man staggered backward, slamming into him. Jem tried to skip out of the way, but he was not quick enough. A rock—or a fist—slammed into his head. Jem crumpled to the ground. He heard Ellie scream.
His world went dark.
Where am I? Jem took a few deep breaths, just to make sure he was still in one piece. What’s going on? Somebody was dragging him across a bumpy, rock-filled road. A road? No, more like a—
Jem groaned when whoever was yanking on him let him drop. His head exploded with pain. He felt more pushing, more shoving. He made a feeble attempt to kick his assailants, to make them leave him alone. “Let me go!” he gasped. “I want Pa.”
“He’ll be here in no time,” Ellie told him. “They blew the whistle. That’ll bring Pa—and half the town.”
Jem opened his eyes and squinted at his sister. She was rubbing her eyes, like she’d been crying. He looked around and found himself lying on his back under the wagon. Ellie and Nathan sat hunched on either side of him. “What happened?” Jem whispered.
Nathan answered. “A rock hit you, and down you went. There was nothing we could do until the crowd thinned out. Half the miners broke into the office. The other half took off up the road.”
“I think they’re heading to the Sterlings,” Ellie said.
Jem couldn’t believe this was happening. He knew most of these men. Many had been prospectors during Goldtown’s boom days, before they went to work in the mine. As a little boy, Jem had crouched next to them in the creek, watching them pan for gold. He had listened, wide-eyed, to their gold tales. Dry Dirt McGee, Pepper Pete, Plug Nickel Jim, the others—they were his friends. Jem went to school with their children. What would turn these men into a mindless mob?
Jem’s head hurt too much to figure it out. He lay still and wished he were home in bed instead of covered with fine dust, hiding under a wagon. The horses snorted and stamped their hooves. “I set the brake, right?” he murmured.
Being run over would be a fitting end to this miserable day. He had only made one firewood delivery, and he hadn’t even been paid. Two customers were waiting for their orders. If he didn’t deliver, he’d lose their business. His gold pan sat on the porch, ready for an hour or two of wading in the creek and panning for gold with Strike. For once, he didn’t feel like it.
Oh, yeah. And I almost ran over my friend, Shen. Jem smiled weakly. But I bet I get out of hauling water for Aunt Rose this afternoon.
Small comfort.
Crashing and scuffling came from the mine office. Jem rolled onto his stomach and peeked out from under the wagon. Something warm dribbled down the side of his cheek. He smeared his hand across his face and brought it away red and sticky. He winced. No wonder my head hurts!
“I hope Mr. Morrison’s all right,” Ellie whispered. She was shaking. “Why are they yelling and fighting and tearing things up, Jem?”
“I … don’t know,” Jem said. It hurt too much to talk. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his arms. “Leave me alone.”
“I know why,” Nathan said. “I saw something like this in Boston. A group of factory workers rioted and tore things up. They wanted their jobs back after machines started taking over in the factories. It didn’t do ’em any good. The machines were there to stay. But it was scary. I was just a little kid, and I still remember it.” He shuddered. “It sounds like these miners want to get paid.”
Ellie frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
Jem stirred. “Maybe the mine’s played out. No gold … no money.” He fell quiet. The crashing and yelling kept up. He wished they would all go away. The men were fools if they thought Mr. Morrison kept thousands of dollars in the office just for the taking. I’m so tired …
“It’s Pa!” Ellie squealed.
Dust flew in Jem’s face as his sister scrambled out from under the wagon. He forced his eyes open. A dozen horsemen were pounding up the hill, with Pa in the lead on King. The sheriff held up his hand, and the men pulled their mounts to a stop in front of the mine office. When he dismounted and yanked his rifle from its scabbard, Jem knew Pa had lost no time figuring out the situation.
Three shots in the air brought the scuffling from inside the office to a standstill. The whistle alarm had stopped its piercing call a few minutes before.
“Pa!” Ellie shouted into the silence.
Pa whirled. His eyes widened at the sight of the Coulter wagon and Ellie running toward him. “Get back!” he ordered. Then he returned his attention to what was left of the small building.
Ellie skidded to a stop, turned tail, and dived back under the wagon.
Jem couldn’t hear what his father was saying. Pa didn’t yell at the men when they streamed from the office. The miners stood around in dejected-looking clumps, their anger and frustration clearly spent.
Pa clapped a miner on the shoulder and shook his head. He motioned another over and said something. The man nodded, head bowed. When questioned, he pointed beyond the trees, toward the Sterling place.
Pa gathered the miners into a group and left three armed deputies to guard them. Then he raised his voice. “Josh, you and Frank find Morrison and make sure he’s all right. The rest of you, go after the others. Let them know there will be no more looting or destruction of mine property. Tell them I said you can shoot ’em to show I mean business. Get going, before they scare Morrison’s wife half to death. I’ll go see Sterling and find out what’s going on.”
The men took off.
Pa turned and stalked to the wagon. He leaned his rifle against the wheel and crouched down. “What in blazes are you kids doing here?” he demanded. “Get out from under there. I oughta tan your hides.”
Ellie and Nathan scrambled to obey. Jem wanted to obey Pa too, but his arms and legs wouldn’t do what he told them. He felt as weak as a newborn calf—all from one poorly aimed rock. Don’t lie here like a limp string. Crawl!
But he couldn’t.
Pa was still scolding. “You could’ve been—”
“Jem’s hurt, Pa,” Ellie interrupted. “A rock bashed him in the head.”
Instantly, Pa was on his hands and knees, gently easing Jem out from under the wagon. Jem blinked in the bright sunlight. “I’m s-sorry, Pa. I was trying to collect my fire—”
“Don’t talk, Son,” Pa said, his voice calm and soothing. “It’s all right.” He set Jem up and leaned him against the wagon wheel. Then he whistled. “That’s some souvenir you’ve got, boy.” He untied the bandana from around his neck and dabbed at the blood.
Jem yelped and jerked his head away. Unwanted tears stung his eyes. “Pa! That hurts!”
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah,” Pa said softly. “I’m no doctor.” He stuffed the neckerchief into his back pocket. “I reckon you’ll just have to bleed ’til I can get you some proper care. Can you stand?”
Jem didn’t know if he could stand or not, but he had to try. He couldn’t be that injured. It wasn’t like he’d been shot or anything. Why, just a few weeks ago, part of a flume had fallen on him! He’d shaken it off a
nd gone on to rescue his sister. Surely, one rock—no matter how hard it had hit him—could not keep him down for long.
Jem let Pa help him to his feet, but a wave of dizziness nearly drowned him. He swayed, and Pa caught him up in his arms. “I’ve got you. Just relax.”
“Why do I feel so woozy?”
“When you see yourself in the mirror, you’ll know why,” Nathan put in. “The whole side of your face is turning into one, big, bloody—”
“That will do,” Pa warned. He hugged Jem tight, then lifted him up to the wagon seat. Before Jem had a chance to topple over, his father was right beside him, steadying him. “Hand up my rifle and climb in,” he called to Ellie and Nathan. “We’ll go to the Sterlings to tend Jem’s injury. Then I’ll find out what’s going on at the mine.”
Leaving his horse in the deputies’ hands, Pa stashed his rifle in the wagon bed and picked up the reins. With one hand he got the wagon moving. He kept his other arm tightly around Jem. “Hang on. It’s not far.”
Jem leaned against his father, gritted his teeth, and prayed the jolting ride would end soon. Each jerk of the wagon over the rough road shot pain through his head. Surprised squeals from the wagon bed told him that Ellie and Nathan were not enjoying the trip either. Pa was definitely in a hurry.
The road passed the Morrison place. Pa barely lifted the reins in greeting as he drove by. Goldtown’s temporary deputies were there, rounding up a group of miners. Jem squinted. Was that Mrs. Morrison standing on the porch, pointing a shotgun at the men? Then a deep chuckle from Pa made Jem want to smile too. Mrs. Morrison could probably take care of herself.
A few minutes later, Pa pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a stately, glistening white mansion. The driveway continued around back, where Jem usually made his firewood deliveries. Today, however, Pa wasn’t messing with minor details like where the hired help were expected to knock. He set the brake and jumped down from the wagon. Then he grabbed Jem and carried him up the front steps.
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