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

by John Rose Putnam

  He walked slowly back to the campsite he had carved out of the woods behind the settlement. He had made a small shelter of branches and pine boughs with the fire pit right in front. If he could only get Pa out of that barroom, and back to the man he used to be. The man he had always relied on, counted on, trusted in all ways. That man was gone.

  Mr. Alberts let him swamp out the bar in the mornings, and sometimes Mrs. Wimmer would have him over for supper, but he didn’t like to take her charity much. The man at the dock let him help unload barges sometimes, but usually there were too many men there and they got the jobs that day. Now that the saw mill was running full time, he could find a wagon to load once in a while.

  Pa had sold the gelding three weeks ago. Then this Tuesday he sold Sadie to a Mexican miner who wanted to go home. Now he was drinking up that money. When it was gone, Tom was afraid of what might happen.

  He arrived at his camp and crawled inside his bedroll. He missed Sadie. She was the only friend he had here, the only one he could talk to, the only one who understood.

  Morning broke clear and warm. He crawled from his camp early and made his way to the saloon hoping Pa would be kind of sober. The money he would get from Mr. Alberts would let him buy a little food, but he would give most of it to Pa.

  The saloon was a lot less scary in the morning. There were fewer drunks to threaten him then. Mr. Alberts was already behind the bar. The man never slept.

  “Good morning, Mr. Alberts.”

  “Tom, good morning. Ah—”

  “Where’s Pa?” Since Pa had started sleeping in the bar, Tom came in early each day, fed him, and tried to get him back to the camp. But today the table Pa had slept on last night was empty. “What happened to my pa, Mr. Alberts?” His voice quivered.

  Alberts scurried to the stove. “Why don’t you sit down, Tom? Here, let me get you a cup a coffee.”

  “Coffee? What’s going on? What happened to Pa?”

  Alberts poured a cup from the pot and came out from behind his bar. “Here you are.” Alberts pulled out a chair. “I think you’d best sit down.”

  Tom plopped limply in the offered chair.

  Alberts sat beside him. “Why don’t you drink that coffee? It’s fresh. Just now made it.”

  Tom took a sip of the hot brew. Mr. Alberts had never given him coffee, never given him anything really, except a little money for his work. Something was wrong, something bad. “What’s going on, Mr. Alberts?”

  “There ain’t no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Your pa’s dead, Tom. I don’t know why. Reckon he just gave up. I’m powerful sorry.”

  “My pa? He’s dead? Damn.” He didn’t cry. He had already cried enough tears for Pa. He wasn’t even surprised. After all, it seemed Pa died when they found the body of Jess down at the millrace dam.

  He really was on his own now. He didn’t have to fret about feeding Pa, or strain to get him out of the saloon. He had tried so hard to free him from the iron grip the alcohol wrapped around his soul, and all to no gain. That struggle was gone now. He would never have to be troubled over Pa’s drinking again.

  He walked over to Pa’s table and sat in the same chair he was always in. He could still feel Pa’s presence somehow. He could hear his voice, not the drunken blathering of the last few months, but the strong, loving man who had raised him, taught him and cared for him his whole life.

  “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t live with what I done to your brothers. You was always my favorite. You got a lot of your ma in you, and she was a good woman. I tried to teach you right. Remember what I told you and you’ll do well. We’ll always be with you, your ma and me. You ain’t never going to be alone. Forgive me, Tom. Please forgive me.”

  He sat in the chair for a long time, wrapped tight by his sorrow, yet he still wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t. He was a man now. He was on his own. He would live or die by his own wits and will. He had no brothers to lean on, no father to turn to. Yes, he was a man now, and men didn’t cry. He rose and walked out of the saloon. The cup of coffee was left half full at his father’s table.

  He strode past the saw mill and towards the pier. He needed work, and he would no longer be able to swamp out the saloon for Mr. Alberts. No, the saloon would always remind him of what Pa had come to, and he didn’t want to remember him that way. He wanted to remember the good days back on the farm, the happy times they all had there. He wanted to remember the man who had loved his sons with his whole being and spent his life to raise them as well as he knew how.

  Someone called his name, but he didn’t answer. He walked on towards the river. A tug on his arm turned him around. It was Mrs. Wimmer.

  “Oh, Tom, I just heard about your pa. I’m so sorry, Son.” She pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around him. He wished people would stop calling him son. He was a man now, and no longer anyone’s son.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He hadn’t forgotten the manners Pa taught him.

  “Why don’t you come with me and let me get you some breakfast. I know you’re hungry.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I got to go over to the wharf and see about some work.”

  “Work! Your father just died and you’re thinking about work? You come with me right now, you hear me? I’ll have no more talk of work on a day like this.”

  He allowed Mrs. Wimmer to lead him to her cabin and feed him breakfast. He was no longer hungry, but he ate the meal to be polite.

  He spent the rest of the morning under the cover of a live oak tree in the rear of the cabin. The children played in the front, and for some reason the sound of their laughter irked him. He preferred to be alone.

  Later that afternoon he went with Mr. and Mrs. Wimmer to the burial. They placed his father in a plot next to Jess. Pa would like that. Mr. Marshall came by and said a few words, but no one else from the town showed up. Afterward, Mrs. Wimmer took him back to her place and fed him supper. He refused her offer to stay the night and returned to his camp. There, alone on his bed of pine needles underneath a roof of boughs, he cried.

  Maggie hummed a bright tune as she stirred the pot of beef, beans, chili peppers, and tomatoes that simmered above the fire. Joshua rode up and unsaddled the mustang across the campsite. He gave his horse a final stroke on the nose and turned back toward her. She broke into a broad grin as he approached. He had made her the happiest woman in the world, and she loved him dearly for it.

  He winked at her. “Well, you’re still in a bright mood. A welcome change from yesterday, I might add.” He had been teasing her about her happiness all morning. “Eban and I just talked to Daylor. He has a wagon and four mules he’s willing to sell. He and Eban already left for Deer Creek. And Daylor knows where we can get a stove for you in Sacramento City. Eban will pick it up when he gets the wagon. He’ll bring in whatever fresh vegetables and fruit he can get too.”

  She beamed. Her hopes and dreams were soon to come true. After her fit of petulance last night, Joshua and Eban had returned to the camp and told her about their plans to start the freight company and build her a cabin, a home, her home. It was the dream she had since she was a girl.

  All the years of hardship, the trek across the continent, the death of her husband and son, the abuse from Smiling Jack, no longer mattered. This was her reward. God had not deserted her, and He was good.

  He walked to the fire and took the spoon from her hand, stirred it around the pot then took a taste. His nose wrinkled, his mouth puckered. She laughed. “It’ll taste a lot better after it’s had a chance to cook for a while.”

  He put the spoon down. “Yeah, it does taste kind of raw.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Why don’t you let this cook and you and me take a little walk together?”

  “A walk?” They hadn’t walked since that night at Deer Creek.

  “Sure. After all, it’s Sunday. Let’s go down by the stream.”

  “Okay, just give me a minute.” She put a lid on the pot and pulled it back a bit from the heat. She caref
ully placed a piece of kindling on the fire so it would burn slowly.

  He offered her his hand and they walked toward the creek. At the road that ran close to the stream he stopped. “Eban says we need a stable for the mules, and I’m sure our horses would like it this winter too. He plans on putting one up on that clearing on the south side of the trail.”

  She looked instinctively to where Joshua indicated, but there was little to see. “You two are really moving fast on all of this.”

  “There’s more. Come on.” He led her to the stream. The bottom of the ravine the three of them had spent the summer mining was just across the water. He stopped and looked up at hill to the east, the place she wanted her cabin. “We found a couple of guys to give us a hand. First we’ll build the stable. It’ll only take a few days. Then we’ll start on your house.”

  “My house? Don’t you mean our house?” She gave him a puzzled look. He said house but she had been thinking about a cabin, maybe a little more substantial than the shanties the miners threw up, but nothing that would stretch to the status of a house.

  “Well, it’ll still be a simple log cabin, but it’ll have a sitting room, a kitchen, a covered front porch, and upstairs in the attic I’ll put in two bedrooms each with a dormer window looking out the front. It should be ready in two or three weeks, depending on how quick Eban can find some of the things we need.”

  She gasped. “Two weeks! Joshua, you’re wonderful. How did I get so lucky to find you?” To her it wouldn’t be a cabin or even a house. It would be a castle and she tingled with anticipation.

  “I don’t know the answer to that one, but if I am such a wonderful man, and you are such a lucky woman—who is getting a new house with a stove—do you think you could do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “What? What did you just say to me?” She starred up at him. She had heard him clearly, but it had hit her out of the blue.

  He smiled his shy, boyish smile. “I asked you to marry me, Maggie. Isn’t that how it works? Two people fall in love, marry, move in together and raise a family? If we’re going to live in that cabin together, don’t you think we should do it right?”

  If he only knew how much she wanted this, but after all that had happened, after yesterday, she had to be sure it was right for him. “Joshua, I know this has been a terrible strain on you, on all of us. You’ve been just great about it, but who knows how long it will go on? Do you really want that? If you don’t feel like you can deal with Jack and Bill and what they might do, I want you to go away and just be done with it. I mean, I have to live with it, but you don’t.”

  “Maggie.” He paused and pulled on his ear. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not afraid of Jack and I’m not afraid of Bill, but I’m terribly afraid that I won’t be able to protect you from them. I don’t think I could live with that.”

  “Eban told me about the battle you fought with the Mexican lancers and the one who was trying to kill you. He says you shot at him but you didn’t kill him. You shot Norton too, but you didn’t kill him either. Is that why you don’t think you can protect me from Jack? Is there something deep down inside you, Joshua, that won’t let you take another man’s life? Is that really why you got out of the army? Is that why you want to go to San Francisco, so you won’t have to kill Jack or Bill?”

  “You’re right I could have killed those two men easily and I didn’t. So many men died at San Pasqual, I’d seen enough death. I still feel that way. Maybe I won’t be able to do what needs to be done if Jack or Bill show up, and you would be taken away or killed. I really don’t know. I do know that if that happened, I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “Maybe Jack’s dead by now; it’s been so long. But if he does show up, I’ve still got my little gun. I’ll shoot him if I can. I don’t want you for a protector. I want you because we love each other and we can have a wonderful life together.” She moved closer and put her hand on his arm. “I can’t agonize about Jack anymore. All I want to know is that you’ll be happy with me. I need to know that you can live with what I’ve done before we met. I know it’s important to you.”

  His eyes locked into hers. “I can’t just walk away from you because of what Jack has done or what he will do. I want you, Maggie, and if you want to stay here and face whatever comes our way, then I’m going to face it with you.”

  “Oh, you make me so happy. I would love to become your wife.” She fell into his arms.

  He pulled her closer. Just as their lips were about to meet, he stopped. “I’m glad you said yes.” He whispered, “Eban already decided you would, and he’s gone. He’s liable to have the whole wedding planned by the time he gets back.”

  “Eban is doing what?”

  He kissed her.

  18 Tom Marsh

  The large freight wagon pulled up beside the saw mill. The driver dropped to the ground and Tom ran up immediately. “Load your wagon for you, sir? Only a dollar, and I’ll pile that whole load of lumber right on.”

  “Son, that’s a powerful lot of work for a dollar. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “Yes, sir. I do it all the time.”

  “Well, I reckon everybody needs a chance to show himself. You go right ahead. I got to chat with Wimmer a bit. Think you can load her before I get back?”

  “You bet I can. I’ll have her loaded.”

  The man walked toward the mill in search of Wimmer. Tom began to manhandle the planks from the pile into the back of the wagon. The man was right, it was a lot of work for a dollar, but he needed the money. He hadn’t eaten today. He hadn’t eaten in two days. The chance the man would load it himself if the price was higher was too great. A dollar would buy him an egg, and if he could scrounge a heel of bread somewhere he would be set.

  The man soon found Wimmer on the open mill platform. He could see them talking, then Wimmer waved in his direction. Were they talking about him? As likely as not, they were. The story of Pa and his brothers was still a big topic of conversation here.

  Wimmer pulled a flask from his pocket and passed it to the man. They shared several drinks, passing the flask between them. Then the man gave Wimmer money for the lumber. They shook hands and the man climbed down from the platform.

  He was barely half done and the man was returning already. He promised to have the wagon loaded before he got back. He had lost work for sillier reasons. In his mind he could see his egg grow wings and fly away. He began to work harder. The man came straight to the wagon.

  “Well, you’re doing a fine job here, but I reckon I’m in kind of a rush . . .”

  Here it comes, Tom thought. He could see the wings on the egg grow larger.

  “. . . and I got a powerful hunger. So . . .”

  The flying egg soared out of sight over the hills.

  “. . . why don’t I pitch in and give you a hand? Then we’ll go over to the new café and have ourselves a fitting meal. Be my treat.”

  This had never happened before. Tom rubbed his chin. “Sir?”

  “I’m asking you to join me for lunch. You’re hungry, ain’t you?”

  So that was it. Wimmer had talked the man into buying him a meal. It was charity, plain and simple. Fine, if the man wanted to load the wagon himself and keep his dollar, so be it. “I don’t need your charity. I can make my own way. If you don’t want me loading your wagon, you just say so and I’ll be finding another one to load.”

  “What’s this about charity? I just want some company while I eat, and I’m willing to pay for it. Ain’t no big thing. Reckon I’d enjoy the company. Come on. Give me a hand with this board.”

  Tom’s stomach growled, then rumbled. He ignored it. The man seemed nice, a lot nicer than most of the people he had loaded wagons for. He had a warm smile, a gentle way of talking. The man reminded him of Pa. He could see the flying egg again. It landed square in the middle of a frying pan. He took the other end of the board, and together they finished loading the wagon.

  At the restaurant the man ordered six egg
s, ham, and potatoes for each of them, plus a loaf of fresh bread and a half-pound of butter. Tom couldn’t believe his luck. It was as much to eat as he normally had in a week. He tore through the food, and when he had cleaned his plate, the man ordered a slice of apple pie for each of them.

  “Your name’s Tom, ain’t it, Son?”

  Tom nodded rather than talk with his mouth full.

  “Well, Tom, I’m real pleased I run into you today. I appreciate what you done loading the wagon. You done a real good job on it. My name’s Eban Snyder, and I’m from over the hill yonder at the Old Dry Diggin’s. I got myself this freight line going, and I got a problem that I was hoping maybe you could help me with.”

  “Sir?” The food in his mouth muffled the word some. No one had ever asked him to help them with a problem before. He sensed another stroke of luck coming his way. Maybe it would be even better luck than the free meal. He hoped his bad manners wouldn’t ruin it.

  “Yeah, you see,” Eban continued, “It’s real hard to get good help around here, what with everybody out looking for gold and none of them willing to work. I need somebody I can count on to help me with the freighting business. I’d be much obliged if you’d come and work for me.”

  Tom practically spit the mouthful of apple pie across the table. He took a quick swallow from the milk to wash it down.

  “Sir, are you offering to give me a job?” He couldn’t believe what he had heard. He put his fork down and stared at the man across the table.

  “Why, you’re danged sure I am. I’d be pleased to have you. Be doing me a big favor. Couldn’t pay you much, leastwise not at the start, but it’d be steady work, and three meals a day. Cooked by about the prettiest woman in California and one dang good cook to boot.”

  “Three meals a day, sir?” How long had it been since he had three meals a day? Most days he barely managed one.

  “Some of the best eating you ever sat down to, I ain’t going to lie about that. So, what’ll it be? Shall we round up your gear and you can get started today?”