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

by John Rose Putnam

  Then another man with a deep voice joined in. He sounded mad, real mad. Tom could hear a lot of grunts, thumps, and groans, like one guy was beating up on another one. Outside the stable he jumped down from Sadie and tied her to the rail.

  He glanced back to the store. Pa had the mule loaded so he yelled, “Pa, somebody’s hurt.” But just as he did, a gun went off inside the barn. He never heard a gun that loud before.

  Pa tugged on the reins to the mule. “Don’t go into that barn, Tom. You come back here right now! Tom, do you hear me?” The mule balked. Pa yanked the reins again.

  Tom had to see inside. He just had to. He leaned around the open door and peeked. Two men hurriedly saddled horses near the back doors. Two more lay on the ground near the middle of the stable.

  “Tom, do you want to get shot? Get away from there right now.”

  Tom jerked his head back.

  Pa came toward him as fast as the mule could go. When he reached the stable, he tied the gelding and the mule to the rail. Then he tugged at the old shotgun lashed beneath the stirrup skirt.

  Tom peered through the doors again. The men toward the back mounted and tore outside. The two in the middle didn’t move. He ducked inside.

  ‘Tom, you get back here right now. You’ll get yourself shot.”

  Pa’s warning didn’t seem important in the quiet of the barn. A big guy in red suspenders lay flat on his back. He looked bad. Tom’s insides felt sick. He moved to the other guy, the one with the black face and gray beard. The guy’s chest still went up and down. He looked in a lot better shape. Tom felt some better too. He ran to the back and eased his head out into the sunlight. He could clearly see the two guys who just left, making dust for the fort.

  “Tom, what happened in here?”

  Tom couldn’t answer pa yet. He had to watch the riders. He put his hand up to his hat brim to help block out the sun.

  “Get over here right now, Tom. Do like you’re told.” Pa sounded mad.

  Tom turned slowly. “He’s dead, Pa, the big man there. Shot right through the head. I ain’t ever seen a dead man before. The old man’s still alive. I guess he’s plenty hurt.” Tom turned back to the sun, squinting to find the riders. He heard a click. Pa had cocked the shotgun. Footsteps crunched on the straw. Pa was coming.

  “Put that shotgun on the ground real slow, mister. Then step away from it. I’m Sheriff Rodgers, and I got my own scattergun aimed right at your back.”

  Tom jerked his hand down from his hat brim and wheeled. Somebody else had come. Whoever it was had a gun aimed at Pa. He couldn’t see much inside the dark barn so he yelled out, “Don’t shoot my Pa! He ain’t hurt nobody.”

  He stepped from the bright sun into the shadows. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Pa stood near the two men on the ground. “I’m putting the gun down, Sheriff. I don’t want the boy hurt, so I’d be grateful if you’d be careful around him with that scattergun.” Pa laid his shotgun on the straw-strewn floor then backed away from it.

  Tom bolted past Pa and stopped between him and the scattergun-toting sheriff. “It wasn’t my pa that done the shooting, Sheriff. It was them fellers that lit out down the back road there. You ain’t going to shoot my Pa for what they done, are you?” He waved his arm to the east. He had to make this sheriff understand about Pa.

  “Get out of the way, Tom! I don’t want nothing to happen to you. Go on with you now. I’ll be all right,” Pa yelled again, but Tom knew he had to tell the sheriff what he saw or pa might get the blame for a killing somebody else did.

  The sheriff lowered his aim, but he kept his gun cocked and ready. “Son, did you see what happened here?”

  “I seen them leaving, Sheriff.” He waved his hand to the east. “You can still get a look at them if you hurry.”

  With a wary eye on Pa, the sheriff walked to the rear doors. He looked down the back trail, shading his eyes with his hand. “Them two riders off in the distance, racing toward the fort, they the ones you seen leaving here?”

  “Yes, sir. I watched them the whole way.”

  “Did you see what they looked like?”

  “Yeah, one was dressed in buckskin and looked like an Injun, sort of. He had a big feather in his hat and all. The other one had a scar on his face.” Tom drew a half circle on his cheek to show what the scar looked like. “He looked real scared. They was still here when I showed up, in such a hurry they didn’t notice me standing in the door. Lit out like the barn was burning.”

  A man called from just outside the front doors. “Sheriff, it’s Jim Price. Is everything all right in there?”

  “It’s under control, Jim. Obadiah’s hurt bad. Get a few men and tote him over to Kate’s place. One of the girls will look after him. Then we got some riding to do.”

  “Right away, Sheriff.” The man’s footsteps faded.

  The sheriff walked back inside, cradling his scattergun in his arm. “How about you, mister? You see anything?”

  “I guess not, Sheriff. The boy run down here before I could stop him. I got here as fast as I could, bothered sick. Don’t you ever do that again, Tom. You hear me?”

  “I hear you, Pa.”

  “You two get on out of here. I got no reason to hold you. Go on about your business.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff. We’ll be on our way.” Pa cautiously picked up the old shotgun and released the hammer. “Come on, Tom. We got to find your brothers then get up to the gold country today.”

  Tom walked with Pa toward the horses, but at the doors he turned. “Are you going after them killers, Sheriff?”

  Rodgers cracked a bitter grin. “I’ll catch them, Son. Don’t you fret.”

  11 Mormon’s Island

  Maggie had ridden hard for several hours after their flight from Sacramento City, grateful for her narrow escape. When it became clear no one would catch them soon, Joshua had them slow to a walk to save the horses. She was glad for the slower pace now. It had been a while since she had been on a horse this much. She was sore.

  In spite of her aching backside, the looming threat of Jack, and now Bill, she was free. That faint hope, so often dashed, had begun to grow in her heart again. Maybe, somehow, her dreams, her plans, her life could be salvaged from the last two years of hardship. Her own home, and a family to love, was possible again, but Jack, Bill and Norton were coming. They could snuff her hopes as quickly as a match in a storm.

  “That’s the north fork of the American.” Eban pointed northeast to a river that ran into the one they followed. “Mormon’s Island should be just ahead. Sam Brannon is still the head of the flock here. If we’re lucky we can get some supplies in the mining camp. We need gear if we’re going to mine. We’ll need a healthy supply of food too.”

  “Can’t we pick that up in Coloma? We need to keep going.” Joshua wanted to press on, to elude Jack and Bill. She knew it was because he wanted to protect her.

  “Maybe so, but we’re out of food. Ain’t no telling what will happen with Jack after us. I’d feel better if we were ready.”

  “Good thinking, but if we bring Maggie into a mining camp full of lonely men it’s sure to cause a stir. I think we should go on and take a chance with the food.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to camp somewhere tonight anyway. Not far upriver there are two big rocks on the bank with a space in between just wide enough for a horse. I camped there once with Sutter before the war. It’s got good cover if we get uninvited guests. You take Maggie up there, and I’ll get what we need. I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

  They rode to the top of a low rise beside the river. She could see a large sandbar ahead, a collection of river silt and debris jutting out from the south shore. It swarmed with a small army of miners. “Eban, is that Mormon’s Island? It isn’t even an island.”

  “That’s Mormon’s Island, and it’s really a big sand bar, but they’re pulling an awful lot of gold out of it. The mining camp ought to be up the hill to the south.”

  Another trail crossed the one
they were on and led between a collection of tents and shacks on the hill and Mormon’s Island. Eban stopped his horse. “I reckon this is the road. I’ll be along as soon as I can. Keep your heads down and an eye out for Jack.”

  “Don’t take too long, Eban.” Joshua said and then rode off quickly.

  She gave a last glance to Eban as he climbed the hill. She made a wish for his speedy return then caught up with Joshua. Soon the two rocks Eban had told them about rose from beside the river ahead.

  “That’s where we’re going to camp, Maggie. It’s a great spot to stay. It’ll be the first night we’ve spent sleeping under the stars.” He smiled at her.

  She didn’t answer. Instead she stared back down the trail, looking for any sign of Jack. The trail was empty, but would it stay empty?

  “We’ll be a lot safer off the trail. Jack can’t sneak up on us behind the rocks. We don’t even know if they’re still after us. Maybe we dodged them in Sacramento City.” He turned off the trail but stopped to wait for her.

  But the fear had come again. It was tightly knotted in her stomach and surely etched across her face. She knew they were coming. If they stopped she would be found. “No, he’s coming. Bill is with him. He can find us anywhere. He’ll find us here.”

  She wanted to go on, to run from Bill and Jack, but the pain in her backside demanded relief. She followed him between the rocks. Eban was right. There was lush grass inside, plenty of room, and the area was well protected. It would be as good a place to spend the night as any they could find. She felt a little better.

  Joshua pulled out his spyglass and his rifle. “We’ll let the horses graze. No fires until dark. I’ll go up the rock and keep an eye out. You stay down here. Get some rest.”

  He climbed to the top of the rock, lay prone in a small crease, and peered through the glass to the trail they had just come up. She sat on the grass below him. It was so peaceful here. The river rolled by to the north, birds sang all around her, and a deep blue sky loomed above. But without Joshua beside her she felt isolated and vulnerable.

  Loneliness washed over, fear surged through her, forcing her budding hopes aside. Jack was coming. Bill was coming. They would find her and take her back.

  Her hand found the small pistol in her pocket. She pulled it out and stared at it, trembling. She would rather die. Anything was better than going back to the horrors she had just left. Anything.

  “Whoa.” Bill dropped to the ground at the fork. One trail led to the rancho on Deer Creek Slough, the other past Mormon’s Island and on to the saw mill at Coloma.

  Jack looked over his shoulder along the trail back to Sacramento City. “We ain’t got time for stopping. There’s bound to be somebody after us.”

  “Went this way, to Coloma.” Bill’s eyes followed the route along American River to the east.

  “You mean my woman?”

  “The woman and two men, same horses.”

  “Let’s ride. We can catch them.”

  “Ride slow. Our tracks will mix with the others.”

  “If we ride slow how we going to catch up?”

  “Catch the woman soon and they catch us.” Bill looked back to their trail where a cloud of dust rose in the distance. Someone rode hard behind them.

  Jack’s jaw dropped. He sucked in shallow, quick breaths. “Get on your horse! Let’s move.” He spun around, ready to ride.

  Bill grabbed the reins to Jack’s horse. “Ride slow. The track of a running horse is clear. A fool can follow it.”

  “They’ll catch us.”

  “Cherokee Bill won’t hang. Do what I tell you or die.” Bill’s eyes held the same fire as when he had talked of Norton.

  “Yeah, Bill, yeah, but how we going to get away?” Sweat poured from beneath Jack’s hatband. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

  “Come.” Bill left at a walk. Jack followed, his head constantly turning to watch the dust cloud that grew ever closer.

  On into the afternoon they rode, Bill cool in the lead, Jack sweating more as their pursuers closed. A river merged into the American from the northeast.

  Jack checked the dust cloud again. “That’s the north fork. The Mormons are just ahead.”

  “Pass the fork, pass the Mormons, then we cross the American. Won’t follow us.”

  “How we going to get across that? There ain’t no ford.”

  “Swim.”

  “Swim! That current will kill us.” Though not as high as it had been with the winter rains, the brown water still flowed strong with the last of the melted snow from the high Sierra.

  “Die in the river or hang from a limb. You choose.”

  Jack rode on in a sweat, looking over his shoulder often. Soon the sand spit known as Mormon’s Island was to their left. They crossed the trail that ran between the island and the settlement on the hill above. The dust cloud was less than a half-mile behind.

  “They’ll be here soon.” Jack’s voice had turned to a terrified whine.

  “Quiet! Two rocks ahead. Swim there.”

  “We got to hurry or we’ll swing before we swim.” The riders were close. Jack could feel them. The fear of death hung heavy about him.

  Joshua had the spyglass trained on the dust cloud. Someone was coming fast. He couldn’t tell who. Maybe they were after Maggie and maybe they weren’t, but he knew of no other reason anyone would ride east so hard. If they were under that cloud, they had found the trail quickly, too quickly for Jack or Norton. Who was this Cherokee Bill?

  He heard her coming up the rock and put down the glass. “Maggie, you shouldn’t be up here. If something happens—”

  “I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you. Please.”

  Well, why not? If they were going to die, why not die together? He offered her his hand and helped her the last few feet.

  Her face was tense, her eyes pleading. “Have you seen anything? Are they coming yet?”

  He couldn’t lie to her, but how do you tell a woman her worst fears may come true? “Do you see that dust cloud along the trail?”

  “Yes, I see it. Is it—is it Jack?”

  He heard the catch in her voice, but she didn’t scream or cry. He knew she was scared. He was scared. But she faced her fear with more courage than some had at San Pasqual. “I don’t know, but I don’t know who else it could be either.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to wait. If it’s them, we’re going to fight. Maybe, if we’re lucky, Eban will come up behind them and we’ll have them in a crossfire.” He couldn’t tell her of the other possibility. They may have already found Eban. He could be dead.

  “Can I see?” He handed her the glass. She stared at the growing dust for a long time then handed it back. “I can’t tell who it is. The sun is behind them, and the dust covers everything.”

  “Yeah, we just have to wait.” He took the glass back and focused on the cloud again. They were closer now. It looked like two riders. He wasn’t sure. No, it was two riders. Maybe Norton’s wounds had caught up with him, or maybe someone else raised the dust.

  He scanned the trail in front of the cloud, closer and closer to their position. He adjusted the focus and came closer still. There they were, Jack and the mountain man he had first seen in Sacramento City, Cherokee Bill. They were almost here. Someone else raised the dust. He put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Get down! Stay quiet,” he whispered, dead serious. Maggie did as he asked.

  He reached for the rifle, cocked the hammer, and aimed across the rock. No need for the spyglass now. They were well within range, but it would be a difficult shot. A miss would alert them to his location. He waited.

  The mountain man turned straight towards the rock they were on. Jack followed. Had they spotted him? But if they had, would they come straight at him? Not if this Cherokee Bill had the skill Maggie gave him credit for. Perhaps he and Maggie were still unseen.

  Jack and Bill rode right in front of him now. He could kill one of them easily. Images
of San Pasqual flashed across his mind. The Army of the West charge into the line of lancers, gunfire erupts from the Mexicans, soldiers fall, screaming, dying. He held his fire. Not yet.

  Jack watched the trail from Sacramento City. Bill eyed the river. Neither looked up at the rock. Bill rode straight into the water, slid from the saddle, and, holding his rifle high, swam the horse into the current. Jack hesitated at the bank, looked back toward the dust, then followed the mountain man’s example, swimming his horse across the stream. Both horses climbed the far bank. The men mounted and rode into the trees. Joshua pulled up his spyglass and followed them east through the foliage.

  He turned the glass back to the riders kicking up the dust. Two men he had never seen, well-armed and traveling light, rode by without looking. Why would someone swim a horse across this current except to escape pursuit? Did something happen to Norton in Sacramento City? He had no answers.

  He looked down at Maggie. Her head was buried in her arm, her knuckles white on the small pistol’s grip. He ran his fingers through her red hair. “They’re gone, Maggie. I don’t think they even knew we were here.”

  They stayed on the rock for a long time, waiting, watching. She huddled beside him, scanning the far bank of the river for any sign of Jack and Bill. After he told her how close they had come, she hadn’t said a word.

  He could have killed them, shot them both from ambush. In war that would be fine, even honorable. Then it would have been over, and Maggie free. But this wasn’t war. The rules were different. He had done the right thing, the moral thing. Neither Jack nor Bill had done him harm. He had no reason to shoot until they did, but it left Maggie, all of them, in great uncertainty.

  No one else had come up the trail since. He scanned with the spyglass, looking for Eban. It was near sunset. “Someone’s coming.”

  She didn’t look up, didn’t move, just sat and stared across the river. “Is it Eban? He should have been here by now, shouldn’t he?”

  “No, it’s not Eban. Maybe he got hung up with the supplies.” Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them. He wiped his face then stared back through the glass. Four men and a mule rode up the trail, heading to the gold country. They looked like a family, a father, older and slumping in the saddle, with his three sons.