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

by John Rose Putnam

  “I told you to stay in the tent,” he snapped, tense, jittery with the possibility of a coming fight.

  “No! I can’t have you and Eban die for me without doing whatever I can. I’m here and I’m fighting. I’ll shoot him, I’ll claw him and I’ll bite him, but I won’t have that man’s hands on me again. Now what do you want me to do?”

  “Get your head down!” he lashed out and pushed her to the ground.

  “Easy, Josh. She’s got a reason.” Eban spoke softly from a rock six feet away. “Maggie, I ain’t much for women fighting, but since it’s you he’s after, you got a right.”

  “Well I don’t like it. She could get hurt.” Joshua pulled her to a sitting position behind the rock then leaned right in her face. “But since you’ve got your mind set, you do exactly what I tell you. That gun has one shot, that’s all. Don’t shoot until he’s right on you. If you can, wait until you can stick the gun in his gut before you pull the trigger. Meanwhile just keep your head down behind this rock.”

  “All right, Joshua.” If things weren’t so serious she would hug him. He wanted to protect her, and he was willing to die to do it.

  “Remember, don’t shoot until you have to. We’re not even sure it is Jack and Bill. It could be anyone. You never know.”

  The hoof beats grew louder, closer. She looked up at him. “They’re coming right here, like they know where we are.”

  He kept his eyes toward the stream. “It sounds like three horses. Stay calm.”

  The hoof beats stopped. Men talked in low tones. Then the horses started again. He cocked his pistol. “Easy now. We don’t want to shoot the wrong people.”

  Again the horses stopped. “Hello, the camp,” a rider called out.

  Eban looked over and shook his head. They didn’t answer. More talking came from the riders then another call. “Snyder. Snyder, it’s Daylor. I’m here with Sheriff Rodgers and Deputy Jim Price. Can we come and talk?”

  “Oh, thank God,” she sighed gratefully, then slumped against Joshua.

  Eban stood, his rifle ready. “Daylor, I’m sure glad to hear your voice. Come on in, but do it slow so we can make sure you got no uninvited guest with you.”

  “Nobody else with us. We’ll come in slow.”

  The three men left their horses and entered camp on foot. Daylor introduced her. Sheriff Rodgers, a big man with a round face and bushy sideburns that bridged his mouth, nodded and sat beside the fire pit. Tall and lean, Deputy Price politely doffed the worn beaver top hat that accented his stature and sat beside the sheriff.

  Then Daylor walked to the fire pit and picked up the coffee pot. “Ma’am, can you see your way to a fresh pot of hot coffee? We’ve got a lot to talk about. You needn’t fret about someone seeing the fire and coming in. I got my Injuns all around. Nobody can get by them.”

  She let out another relieved sigh. “Mr. Daylor, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll put some coffee on right now. You gentlemen make yourselves comfortable.” She smiled, relit the fire, and started the coffee.

  Sheriff Rodgers spoke right up. “Them fellers you say is after you, the ones that killed the lumberman in Sacramento City, it looks like they might’ve killed a miner near Coloma the day before yesterday, and his partner ain’t been seen since. I wondered what you know about it.”

  Joshua and Eban talked of the events that brought them to this valley and of all they knew of Jack and Bill until the coffee had brewed. As she poured a cup for Sheriff Rodgers, he looked hard into her eyes. “Ma’am, it seems you’re in the middle of this. I’m going to need your side of what happened. If you’re of a mind to keep it just between us, I’ll ask your friends to leave and we can talk private-like.”

  She looked from Joshua to Eban. They put their lives on the line for her. She owed them so much. She had promised Joshua an explanation of how she had come to be in this terrible situation, a situation he shared with her. Maybe now was the right time.

  “I’ll try, Sheriff.” She sat. “Joshua, please forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? Forgive you for what?”

  “For what happened, what I’m going to tell you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. Don’t judge me too harshly, please.”

  “I know enough about you to guess some of the things that Jack has done. If I wanted to judge you for them, I would have done it already. Eban and I care a great deal for you, but we need to know and so does the sheriff.”

  She took a deep breath. “It started just east of the Sierra late in the fall two years ago. My husband, Timothy, and our son, Timmy, came down with the cholera. We fell behind the rest of the wagons. I was driving the team. They were in the back, bad sick. I came down with the cholera too. I must have passed out. I don’t remember anything about what happened after that.

  “When I woke up I was in a cabin somewhere close by the trail along the Truckee River. The cabin belonged to Cherokee Bill’s mother, Wakeetna, and she had taken care of me. She saved my life. Bill took me from the wagon then burned it, I guess because of the cholera.

  “I spent the winter there. Wakeetna was a Cherokee who came west with Bill’s father a long time ago. He was a trapper and he built the cabin for her. He died later and she stayed.

  “She was a healer. All winter, Indians came to her for help. Some were having babies, some had broken bones, and some were sick. The Indians would pay her with food, and we lived through the winter without much problem. Wakeetna was good to me. She taught me a lot. I thank her for that.

  “But in the spring Bill came back. He had three Indian women with him. They were girls really, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. It was strange. I didn’t know what he was doing with so many young women at the time.

  “Remember, I was unconscious when he took me to his mother’s, and he was gone when I came around. I didn’t know him at all. He came back with the idea that I was his woman. I fought him, resisted him with all of my might. He turned angry and hateful.

  “Then he took me and the Indian girls by horseback across the Sierras. We passed near where the Donner party had stayed that winter. Some of them may still have been there, I don’t know. They were a part of our wagon train when we started out from Missouri, but they decided to take that so-called shortcut and . . .” She stopped and chewed on her lower lip.

  Sheriff Rodgers filled in what Maggie couldn’t say. “If you fellers was in the war maybe you haven’t heard. The Donners didn’t make the pass before the snows came. Nearly half died that winter. Rumor has it the survivors ate the dead to live.”

  Maggie forced herself to continue. “We went down the mountain by an Indian trail. It was barely wide enough for one horse, and switched back and forth so it wasn’t too steep. Then we came to a huge valley. Bill would stop along the way, take one of the Indian girls with him, and leave the rest of us tied up. He always came back alone the next morning. I didn’t know what had happened to any of them. Finally it was just the two of us.

  “We passed a ranch belonging to a man named Johnson. Then we came to a filthy, shabby hovel near a river, Jack’s place. Bill and Jack drank all night,” she said, her voice rising. “The next day Bill left without me. It turns out that he had sold me—sold me!” she screamed. “He sold me to Jack for one hundred dollars.”

  She stopped, and took another deep breath. “The next night Jack came for me. He was drunk. He stank of whiskey and sweat. I fought him. Honest, Joshua, I fought him as hard as I could.” She looked down and shivered.

  “Go on, ma’am.” The sheriff was civil but pushy. It was his job.

  “Do you know the scar on Jack’s face?” Joshua and Eban both nodded. “That night, when we fought, I found a bottle and I broke it. When he came after me, I stabbed him in the face. It didn’t help much. He won. Afterward I had to sew up his face. Then he beat me for the first time. He beat me often, and for no reason at all.” She stopped again, breathing heavy.

  Joshua put his arm around her. “No one will ever do that to you
again. I promise.” He pulled her close.

  Jim Price stood, his tall frame towering above the camp, and poured himself another cup. “For years folks have been saying that Cherokee Bill sold Injun women. But he knows this country. He’ll be hard to find unless he stays with that Jack guy. Could you tell me more about him? And tell me more about Sutter’s Creek?”

  The deputy cared. She could see it in his face. Maybe he would find Jack, jail him, hang him. “Jack had a whiskey still. Mostly he just sat and drank, either by himself or with whoever came along to buy his foul brew. Sometimes he took me with him to the fort to sell whiskey. He always made me put bear grease in my hair and wear the leather dress that Wakeetna had made for me. He told me that if I tried to run away he would beat me to death. I believed him.

  “Then, early this spring, he packed a wagon and we went to Sutter’s Creek. I was supposed to stay out of sight of the other men and clean and cook for him, as well as . . . well, I mean . . .”

  Joshua put his hand on her arm. “It’s all right, Maggie. We understand. Go on.”

  She knew he didn’t want to hear the details of Jack’s abuse.

  “I stayed at the logging camp until Joshua and Eban came.” She looked Joshua squarely in the eye. “I listened behind the tent because I wanted you to help me get away from there. Every Saturday night there was a poker game. Norton always won, got caught cheating, and beat up the one who caught him.

  “I knew I had to find someone who would stand up to Norton or I wouldn’t get anywhere. Norton did Jack’s dirty work. Then you won and ran him off and I heard you and Eban talking about leaving. I wanted to beg you to take me with you, but I was too scared of what Jack would do if he found out.

  “After we scuffled and I kicked Jack, I knew I was in trouble. I couldn’t take it anymore. I hid in the woods all night, but when I went back to my hut, Jack was waiting for me. Then you showed up. I was so happy to see you, Joshua, but I guess I was really mixed up at the time. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m so sorry.” She stopped talking and stared at him through the hot tears that filled her eyes.

  Joshua pulled her close again. “No, don’t be sorry. Otherwise I might never have found you. Come on. Be glad that everything has gone as well as it has. After all, we’re alive, and we’re together. What more could we ask for?”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. Somehow he had turned the pain, the suffering, into something good. A smile cracked through the corners of her lips. “Oh, Joshua, you’re wonderful.”

  He shook his head shyly. “Well, maybe. But you still need to tell the sheriff everything you can. Earlier you told me you were sure Bill killed that miner in Coloma. Can you tell us why you think it was Bill?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She felt better, a lot better. Joshua still cared. He wasn’t going to leave her. “Bill and I were riding along a river towards Jack’s place. We came across a Frenchman. He looked like a trapper, dressed in fur and awfully dirty. He took a liking to me and I heard him trying to trade some animal skins for me. Bill kept telling him no. The guy wouldn’t quit. Bill pulled a gun and ran him off.

  “Then that night the Frenchman came sneaking back into our camp. I guess Bill knew he was coming. He was ready. He knocked the man down with his rifle then he slashed his throat, cut off part of his hair, and pushed his body into the river. Oh, it was just like that miner.”

  Sheriff Rodgers stood. “It sounds like this Smiling Jack and Cherokee Bill will come right here sooner or later. I’m going to let Jim Price stay up here and hunt for them. He’ll check on you regular-like, at least for a while. Daylor seems to think his Injuns can watch over you pretty good, and I hope he’s right. I wish you the best, ma’am.”

  Jim Price walked up beside his boss. “Ma’am, I was a peace officer in the east for ten years, and I’ve been a deputy out here for six. I’ve seen a lot of bad men, but I never seen the likes of this. I’ll see these two get what they deserve.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff, and you too, Deputy Price.”

  “It’s Jim, ma’am. Just Jim.”

  15 Oh, Poor Pa

  The sun was barely over the Sierra when he reached the mining camp of Coloma with Tom. The black dread he felt had grown through the long night. They had searched the trail back and forth, again and again, calling for Hank and Jess without an answer.

  His only hope was the town. Perhaps they were still here. That Jess had gotten drunk and stayed overnight had become his fondest hope. He wouldn’t chide Jess for his sins. He would be too happy just to see him alive. Since Mary died, his sons were his world. If he lost them, he could never forgive himself.

  The jitters boiled up inside him as they passed the saloons and shops that were the heart of the rapidly growing boomtown. A feeling of excitement bubbled all around, a tension so thick you could see it, yet the street was deserted. People should be about, minding their shops, doing the business that must be done, but there was no one.

  “Pa, there’s something funny going on here.”

  Tom had picked up on it too. He couldn’t let Tom know he was afraid. “Must be having some sort of town meeting or something. Reckon we’ll soon find out.”

  He rode past the blacksmith shop. The saw mill loomed off to their right. At the top of the millrace a crowd gathered, there at the millrace dam, the very spot the body had been found the day before.

  He stopped on the rutted road, tears welling in his tired eyes. His heart, held together by only a flimsy strand of hope, fell deep into the black depths of dread. Oh God, please! The silent prayer screamed through his soul.

  “Tom, why don’t you ride over and see if your brothers are still asleep in one of them camps. You know how lazy they can be if they been drinking. I’ll just trot over yonder and see what the fuss is all about. Now you run along.”

  “No, Pa. I’m going with you.”

  “You do as you’re told!”

  “No, I want to see what’s happening.”

  “You mind your elders like you was taught. Go on and do like I told you.”

  “Come on, Pa. Let’s go.” The boy spurred the mare lightly and rode off in the direction of the millrace dam. Tom knew; he could feel it too.

  Maybe it was the look on the face of the boy. Maybe it was simply good manners, but the crowd parted as they approached. Tom stopped and looked down on the body stretched along the shoreline. He didn’t say a word, just sat on Sadie like a statue.

  Pa rode up beside Tom. He stared at the body for a long time before he got off his horse and knelt beside the lifeless form. Lovingly he pulled his son to his chest, and then he sobbed.

  Bill’s shoulder throbbed with every step of the horse. Faint from the loss of blood, he rode on doggedly, only staying in the saddle by the power of his will. Recollections of dead men wrestled with regular jolts of pain for the attention of his mind.

  He had no regrets, no guilt. For him it was kill or be killed, the law of the wild. He had lived by it all of his life, but now he was killing for another reason. Norton was no problem; he’d been a rabid animal that needed to be put down, and the two miners simply unlucky.

  But last two sat hard on his mind. They had followed Jack’s trail up the river to the rock where he met the whiskey peddler. That much he was sure of. He knew them by their clothes and weapons. But they had stopped chasing him to look for the gold that had caused these foothills to be flooded with city folk who didn’t belong here.

  They were little more than boys, and if it had been up to him he would have let them pass, but Jack had other ideas. It was all because of the woman. He should kill Jack, return to the far side of the mountains, let his mother care for his wounded shoulder, and forget about this creature with fire red hair and eyes as green as spring. He had never seen a woman like her, never even heard of one. He had saved her in the mountains. She belonged to him.

  Leading a pinto, buckskin and a supply-loaded mule, Jack followed Bill through the broken landscape north of the American River. He’d waited i
n the shadows with Bill for the darkness that would cover their escape across the American River, and the two boys had come along at just the right time. Both were drunk and had no idea of the trap they rode into. It had been a stroke of pure luck.

  He’d clubbed the youngest one to the ground with his rifle then watched the terror well up in the boy’s eyes as he severed his neck with the knife. The older one turned quickly at the noise, but Bill had knocked him dead from his horse with a perfect throw of his knife.

  Jack had never felt as alive as he did then. He watched the life drain from the terrified boy’s eyes and trembled as his own power grew. It was his first kill. It wouldn’t be his last.

  They’d dumped the bodies into the river, rounded up the horses, and covered over all traces of the murders. The boys had simply disappeared. The food and supplies on the mule were a prize, but the two bottles of whiskey in the younger boy’s saddlebags were the real plum. Two bottles wouldn’t last long, but they would take the edge off for a while.

  They would ride north to Jack’s hovel, hide out and let the heat die down and Bill’s shoulder heal. Maggie would have to wait, but with her red hair she wouldn’t be hard to find in a country with almost no women. As long as she was in the gold country, he would find her again, and then he would make her pay.

  Tom’s mind was in a fog. Too much had happened. He couldn’t sort it out. Somehow it didn’t seem real, like a bad dream, the worst dream he had ever had.

  The picture of Jess, his head half severed, lying beside the millrace dam, clouded his thoughts. Why had it happened? Was it the Kanakas, looking for a head to shrink, like Jess said? Or was it the men from the stable in Sacramento City who killed Jess because he shot one of them? The answer didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was Jess was dead and Hank was gone, and Pa . . . Oh, poor Pa.

  It all seemed so long ago. Had it only been this morning? He had sat on Sadie’s back, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to believe, the tears rolling down his face. Pa had been inconsolable, wailing and weeping over Jess until, at last, the men pulled him away.