“Pa,” Ellie said in a small voice. “This is the front door. We’re s’posed to go ’round to—”
The door opened to Pa’s knock.
The housekeeper, a tall, thin woman with gray hair and dark eyes, blinked her surprise. “Sheriff Coulter. Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“My son is hurt. I need a place to tend him,” Pa said. “I’ve come to see Ernest as well. Mine business.”
“By all means,” she replied instantly. “Come in.”
Jem felt like a fool. What if Will saw him, helpless and being carried like he was five years old?
The next instant, Maybelle Sterling’s huffy voice broke in on the adults. “Ellianna, what are you doing here? And why is your brother dripping blood all over our front entry?”
CHAPTER 4
The Sterlings
Ellie planted her fists on her hips and stepped into the house. “Jem’s here to deliver your firewood,” she told Maybelle. “But he got hurt. So Nathan and I have to unload it. You want to help?”
Jem admired his little sister’s spunk. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he and Ellie had been invited into the Sterling home. Yet, instead of being enchanted by the high ceilings, inlaid wood floors, and fancy fixtures, Ellie ignored it all and got right down to business.
Maybelle sucked in her breath. “Me? Carry firewood? Goodness, no!”
“Miss Maybelle, fetch some rags for Sheriff Coulter,” the housekeeper broke in. She turned to Pa. “You can settle the boy in the parlor, right through there.” She pointed to a doorway. “I’ll let Mr. Sterling know you’re here.”
She fluttered down the hall like a hen after her chicks.
“The rags are to keep all that blood off Mother’s good couch,” Maybelle said. Her gaze flicked to the splattered drops on the hardwood floor. “But you really shouldn’t use the par—”
“The quicker you get those rags,” Pa reminded her, “the quicker Jem will stop bleeding all over your fine floor.” He smiled.
“Yes, sir.” Maybelle turned and hurried after the housekeeper.
Jem knew Pa’s smile was forced. Sheriff Coulter did not like dealing with the snobbish rich folks up on the Hill. He would much rather break up fights in the saloons and gambling halls, arrest claim jumpers, or even track down thieves and murderers.
Jem agreed. Ever since he’d discovered his father was a crack shot, he no longer lay awake nights worrying if lawbreakers would try to rid Goldtown of its new, interfering sheriff. Pa could take care of himself. Outlaws, beware!
Pa carried Jem into the parlor. “Give me patience,” he muttered under his breath, looking heavenward. Then he sighed, long and deep.
“Sorry, Pa,” Jem said. His father sighed like that when he was faced with a particularly unpleasant task ahead. Jem had a feeling that what he’d seen today had no quick, easy fix.
“Not your fault,” Pa said. “You were in the wrong spot at the wrong time. I’m just glad you’re all right. It could have been a lot worse.”
“I meant that I know how you feel about coming up here and—”
Running footsteps and Pa’s warning look kept the rest of Jem’s words inside his mouth. As much as he and Will disliked each other, Jem was a guest in his home. Pa did not care for the Sterlings either, but he treated all citizens of Goldtown with courtesy and respect. Today would be a good day for Jem to follow his father’s example.
Maybelle scurried into the parlor, her arms full of rags. She spread them over the settee cushions just as her father appeared in the doorway.
“Matt!” Mr. Sterling exclaimed. “What happened?”
Will and Mrs. Sterling entered the parlor behind him and watched the sheriff settle Jem on the couch. Celia, the youngest Sterling, clutched her mother’s skirt and peeped at the visitors.
Pa straightened. “Jem was caught in a riot up at the mine. Surely you heard the alarm?”
Mr. Sterling’s face paled. He nodded. “I was just on my way out the door to find Morrison. A riot, you say? How in blazes did the superintendent let something like that happen?” His voice sounded full of righteous anger. “I pay him to keep order.” He paused and motioned the housekeeper into the room.
She was carrying a pan of water and more rags. “Do you want me to send for Dr. Martin?” she asked.
Pa shot Jem an anxious, undecided look.
Mr. Sterling brushed Pa’s worries aside. “Mrs. Anders has nursed many a miner,” he assured him. “She’ll fix your son up.”
Jem lay back and closed his eyes. It felt good to lie on soft coverings, surrounded by the low babble of familiar voices. Now, if everybody will go away and leave me alone for a few minutes!
No such luck. Gentle hands—not like Pa’s clumsy attempts—began to wipe his face. Warm water washed away the blood and dirt. Jem relaxed and let Mrs. Anders clean him up.
“I don’t think we need the doctor,” she decided. “He’ll hurt for a few days, but with a bit of care, he should heal up fine. Now, just one more thing to do.”
The warning in Mrs. Anders’s voice set Jem’s nerves tingling. He smelled the sharp bite of iodine just before a glob of soaked cotton touched his head. Augh! It stings worse than a rope burn!
Jem gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Not a whimper escaped his lips. After all, Will was standing just across the room. Jem was not about to let the Sterling boy see him blubber like a girl. He lay still, although he wanted to thrash and scream and kick at the hand dabbing the iodine on his wound.
Then it was over. A soft bandage replaced the cold medicine, and Mrs. Anders tied a strip of cloth around Jem’s head to hold the bandage in place. He opened his eyes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The housekeeper nodded. “You need to lie still awhile. Then your father can take you home.” She heaped the soiled rags in the pan of dirty water and stood up. “You’d best let somebody else finish your firewood route today.” She flashed Jem a smile and hurried from the room.
As soon as she left, everybody crowded around Jem. Pa gave him a wink and a nod that meant, You did good. Maybelle and little Celia scuttled over and stared, but Will hung back.
Ellie leaned over and whispered in Jem’s ear. “Think of it, Jem! You’re restin’ in a real parlor.”
Jem reddened and hoped nobody else heard Ellie’s silly remark. He felt like a helpless, pampered fool and couldn’t wait to get back to his own bed up in his own attic. Nathan didn’t say anything, but it didn’t take much figuring to know what his cousin was thinking. The rest of the firewood route was on Nathan’s shoulders now. He didn’t look happy.
Pa reached down and squeezed Jem’s shoulder. Then he turned to Mr. Sterling. “We’d better talk, Ernest. It looks like you have a problem on your hands. If I’m to keep order in town, I need to know what’s going on.”
Mr. Sterling nodded. “I agree. First of all—”
Pa’s eyebrows shot up. “Shouldn’t we go someplace else to talk?”
“What I have to tell you won’t take long,” Mr. Sterling said with a frown. “And I’ll decide where I say it. The parlor is fine. Your son can rest, and”—he nodded at Will—“Will can keep him company while you and I discuss matters. Maybelle?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Take these youngsters up to the playroom and show them your toys. Sheriff Coulter and I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“Do I have to?” She scrunched up her face.
“Now!” her father shouted.
The children scattered. All except Will. He edged closer to the couch but kept his gaze on the retreating figures of his sisters, Ellie, and Nathan. He looked like he wished he could go with them.
Mrs. Sterling followed the group and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
An awkward silence fell over the room, but it was soon filled with the grown-ups’ droning voices. They moved off to a couple of easy chairs near a large bay window, leaving the boys alone.
Jem closed his eyes
. He wanted to lie still and drift off, listening to Pa’s voice. But his thoughts were a jumble. I can’t finish my route? Nonsense! No rich folks’ housekeeper was going to tell him he was too hurt to finish a job. He sure couldn’t leave the task to Nathan and Ellie.
The cushions jiggled and Jem opened his eyes. Will sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, pouting. His unruly black curls hung over his forehead. He squinted at Jem, daring him to say something.
Jem dared. “You don’t have to stick around and nurse-maid me. I’m fine.”
“I’d like nothing better than to get out of here,” Will said. “But for some dumb reason, Father wants me to keep an eye on you. Maybe he thinks you’re going to bleed right through the rags.” He scowled and stood up. “I’ll get the checkerboard.”
Jem no more felt like playing checkers right now than he felt like panning for gold. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
“I’m getting it for me,” Will shot back. “Playing checkers with you is better than sitting here staring at you.” He shuffled over to a large, ornate cabinet and rummaged around inside. When he returned, he was carrying the board and a box of checkers.
Jem sat up and made room for Will. His head throbbed a protest, but he pushed the pain aside.
Will set up the game. “Go on. Your move first.”
Jem hesitated. He had never in his wildest dreams seen himself sharing a checkerboard with Will Sterling. Most of his thoughts about Will—when he took the trouble to think about him at all—centered around how to avoid the mine owner’s weasel-faced son. Will had a talent for making Jem feel like he lived on the bottom rung of life’s ladder. And being the sheriff’s son? A terrible misfortune, Will insisted. It must be hard to be “good” all the time.
Too often, their encounters ended in sharp words and hard feelings, and occasionally in bruised knuckles.
“You gonna stare at the board all day?” Will asked. “Or are you gonna move?”
Jem slid a red checker to the next square, but his heart was not in the game. He couldn’t figure out why Will would want to play checkers with him today … or any day. Maybe it was better than staring at each other while their fathers talked, but not by much.
Every now and then, Will’s gaze flicked to the two men sitting at the far side of the room. His mind didn’t appear to be on the game either. He seemed anxious and edgy.
Jem’s interest rose a notch. Did Will know what was going on with his father’s mine, or why the stamp mill had shut down? Probably. Will loved to stick his nose into everybody’s business—like the time he fetched the new sheriff when Jem and Ellie played hooky from school.
But will he tell me anything?
A sudden idea made Jem jump one of Will’s black pieces. Then he let Will jump two of his red ones. In a matter of minutes, Jem’s opponent had cleared the board of red checkers and was grinning like a possum.
He rubbed his hands together. “Another game?”
“I reckon.” Jem arranged the checkers for the next round and moved his piece. “Say, Will, do you know why the stamp mill shut down? Is it for repairs?”
Will’s possum grin vanished. He glanced at his father then leaned over the checkerboard. His voice dropped to a frightened whisper. “Yeah, I know why. The vein has played out. There’s no more gold in the mine.”
CHAPTER 5
Mine Trouble
The gold’s gone?” Like Will, Jem kept his voice barely above a whisper. No sense letting the grown-ups get after them for talking about things boys shouldn’t know. “How can that be? I thought there was enough gold in the Midas mine to last for years and years. It can’t just up and vanish in a day, can it?”
Will swallowed, shot another glance at his father, and slid a checker across the board. “I don’t know. But I heard Father and Mr. Morrison talking about it last week.”
This was no surprise to Jem. Will was a snoop and a sneak. “I bet you didn’t hear it ’round the supper table.”
Will’s cheeks turned red. “I was at the mining office one afternoon.”
Jem snorted. “The office that’s a shambles now?” When Will gave him a puzzled look, Jem pointed to the side of his face. “How do you think I got this? I stopped by to collect my firewood money from Mr. Morrison. He wasn’t there. The miners smashed the windows and broke down the door. Looks like they were trying to collect their pay too.”
Will nodded miserably. “Father and Mr. Morrison were arguing real loud about money. I couldn’t help but hear. I was standing right on the front steps. I guess the last shipment of gold was so small that Father could only pay half wages. Mr. Morrison promised the men their full pay this week. He said Father would just have to come up with the money.” Will winced. “You should have heard Father yell.”
Jem caught his breath. The Sterlings were rich, but did they have the ready cash to pay all those miners? Even if Mr. Sterling did have the money, did he want to lose it in a worthless mining venture? Jem didn’t need to ask Will such private questions. He already knew what Mr. Sterling had decided to do. Jem’s throbbing head was evidence that Will’s father had not paid the miners.
“Does it mean the Midas will close down for good?” Jem ignored the checkers game and searched Will’s face for an answer. Surely the little eavesdropper had heard the rest of the story.
“I don’t know,” Will said. “But if the gold has really fizzled out, then …” His voice died.
Jem’s stomach clenched. This news hurt worse than the iodine Mrs. Anders had dabbed on his cut. The mine couldn’t shut down. Goldtown was his home. It couldn’t become like the other ghost towns that littered the Mother Lode country. He knew their names—Mud Spring, once a gold camp of thousands, Cold Water, Savage Camp, dozens more—all abandoned by prospectors seeking fresh diggings.
“Where would we go?” Jem asked.
“It’s all well and good for you,” Will said. “Your family has that run-down ranch. You can stay here. At least you won’t starve. But what about my folks? If we lose our mine—” He clamped his mouth shut. “I’ve said too much already.”
You haven’t said half enough! Jem wanted to shout. Questions buzzed around inside his head like a swarm of angry hornets. “What else did your father and Mr. Morrison say?” Jem didn’t care if he’d just joined ranks with a sneaky spy. He had to know his town’s fate.
Will swept the checkers into the box. “I don’t want to play anymore,” he growled and rose.
Jem grabbed his sleeve. “Will!”
Will shook off Jem’s grasp and sat down. “I don’t know anything more. There were snatches of talk about a possible new gold vein, but Mr. Morrison said it was only wishful thinking. Then I heard stomping, and I ran around the side of the office.” He bowed his head and stared at his shoes. “I didn’t want a thrashing.”
“Maybe there is another vein,” Jem said. “You only listened to one meeting. There must be other meetings between your father and Mr. Morrison, something they can do.” Jem took a deep breath. “I don’t want the mine to shut down either, Will. More folks than your family will suffer. Half the town depends on that mine. If everybody leaves, it’ll be mighty lonely out on an ol’ ranch by ourselves.”
Will looked up. “Father told us at supper last night that he telegraphed the other mine owner—some rancher who lives down south. He invited him here to talk about the mine. Father said we kids better be on our best behavior.” Will made a face. “I hate it when Father entertains guests.”
For the second time that afternoon, Jem’s eyebrows rose. Playing checkers with Will had surprised him, but hearing the boy’s private thoughts astonished Jem even more. Had Will meant for Jem to hear his last remark? Probably not.
A rustling from the other side of the room told Jem that Pa and Mr. Sterling had finished their discussion.
Will looked frantic. “Father doesn’t know I listened in. If you blab one word of this, I’ll knock you into the next county.”
“I’d like to see you
try!” Then a speck of good sense made Jem lower his voice. “Nobody can keep this a secret for long. But don’t worry. I’ll keep your eavesdropping to myself.” He disliked Will, but he would keep his word.
Pa stalked over to the boys, slapping his hat against his leg. His dark eyes flashed; a muscle twitched in his jaw.
What’s eating Pa? Jem wondered with a chill.
“You feel up to walking out of here, Son?” Pa asked calmly. But Jem could see that his father was holding a tight rein on his temper.
“Yes, sir.” Jem flung his legs over the side of the couch and stood up. A wave of dizziness made him stagger, but Pa caught his arm and steadied him. The dizziness passed. “Thanks for the game,” he told Will.
“Don’t mention it,” Will mumbled, head down. He didn’t look at Jem.
Pa wrapped a strong arm around Jem’s shoulders and guided him across the room. When he reached the door, he yanked it open then turned back for a final word. “I’m going to ask you one more time to pay those miners something, Ernest. Anything. You took a chance, and you lost.”
Mr. Sterling’s face darkened. “I’ll thank you to let me run things as I see fit, Sheriff. The mine and mill are shut down until that new vein is surveyed and we can start blasting. The men took the chance as well.”
Pa tightened his grip on Jem. “My son is evidence that the men don’t see it that way. They gave you an honest week’s work, and they deserve to be paid. You can afford to wait for a survey and the decision to either close down for good or go deeper. The miners can’t. Men with hungry families make my job even harder.”
He scanned the rich furnishings of the Sterlings’ parlor. “Dig a little deeper into your pockets, Ernest. One more week of half wages would be a sign of good faith. If not”—Pa sighed—“I suggest you find a deep hole to hide in. I can’t protect you from the entire town.”
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