The whoop Jem let out sounded identical to Strike’s whoop from an hour before. “I hit color! It’s no radish seed either. It’s an honest-to-goodness real gold nugget!”
The prospector waded over to Jem and clapped him on the back. “Show me, partner.”
The thrill of finding color sent a warm rush through Jem, as did the sound of Strike calling him “partner.” Now that Pa couldn’t be bothered teaming up with the old miner, Jem was happy to take his place.
He fished around in his pan, then held up a gold nugget the size of a large corn kernel.
Strike whistled, long and low. “Nice work, young fella. Didn’t I say this was gonna be a good year?”
Jem nodded. “This was worth playing hooky from school for. Betcha there’s more where that came from.”
Before Jem could try his luck a second time, he spotted a small figure running alongside the bank on the opposite side of the creek. It was Ellie. “I heard you hollering,” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Did you strike it rich?”
“Come and see.”
In a flash, Ellie pulled off her shoes and stockings, stuffed everything under her arm, and picked up the pail of frogs. She slammed the lid firmly in place, then stepped into the icy creek. It was slippery going over the sharp rocks, but Ellie managed to make it across without getting dunked.
“It’s cold!” she exclaimed.
“How did you get across the first time?” Jem wanted to know.
“I found a place to cross upstream, where I didn’t have to take off my shoes.” She dropped her stockings, shoes, and the pail on the ground. “Let me see your gold.”
Jem opened his hand and let Ellie admire his gold nugget. When her eyes opened to twice their normal size, he knew she was properly impressed.
“Do you reckon there’s more?” she asked.
Jem grinned. “I plan to find out. Betcha there’s”—his eyebrows shot up—“hey, where are you going?”
Ellie had snatched up the gold pan and was stepping back into the creek. “Where do you think?”
“It’s too cold to wade barefoot,” Jem told her, slipping his precious nugget into his pocket. It would be safe there until he put it in his gold pouch at home. “Get out of that water and put your shoes back on.”
Ellie paid no attention. Like the experienced little miner she was, she scooped up a load of dirt and gravel and began the long, slow process of panning for gold. “If you found a nugget, I can too.”
Jem slapped a hand against his forehead. “Why don’t you ever do what I tell you, Ellie? Get outta there or I’ll drag you out. The creek’s nothin’ but melted snow.”
“Not until I find myself a nugget,” Ellie insisted.
Jem took a step toward the creek. The last thing he wanted was a wrestling match with his spunky little sister. But he couldn’t let her catch a chill and get sick. He turned to Strike in desperation. “Strike, can you give me a hand pulling Ellie out—”
“Ellianna, get out of the creek.”
Jem froze.
Ellie froze too, but only for a second. She scrambled out of the water and over the bank like a startled jackrabbit. Her gold pan clattered to the ground. She skidded to a stop next to Jem, breathing hard and shaking with cold—or fear. Jem didn’t know which. Probably a little of both.
Jem slowly turned and faced the tall, dark-haired man standing on a pile of old diggings a stone’s throw away. His vest and pants were covered with dirt; his shirt was dark with sweat. It looked like he’d been working hard before …
Before coming out here, Jem thought in dismay. Suddenly, all plans of striking it rich flew from Jem’s head. He forgot how cold he was or how irritated he was at Ellie. Only one thought went round and round in his mind.
Pa’s gonna skin me alive for playing hooky!
CHAPTER 3
Goldtown
“Good afternoon, Jeremiah,” Matt Coulter said, pushing back his wide-brimmed hat. He was not smiling. “What are you two doing this fine spring day?”
Jem knew his father didn’t really expect an answer. Pa could look around and see that his children were not in school, where they were supposed to be. And when he started using their full names, Jem knew he and Ellie were in trouble.
Big trouble.
Suddenly, finding a gold nugget was not worth playing hooky from school.
“H-howdy, Pa,” Jem managed to get out. “What are you doing here?” Dumb question.
“Jem hit color!” Ellie piped up. “It’s real pretty.” She elbowed her brother. “Show him.”
Jem dug in his trouser pocket for the gold and scurried over to show off his treasure.
Pa took the nugget. He studied it for a full minute, while Jem stared at the ground. He wished his father would say, “Good strike” or “That’s a beauty” or “Nice start.” Maybe even let out a low whistle. But he didn’t.
Pa handed the gold nugget to Jem without a word. Then he turned to Ellie. “Put your shoes and socks on, young lady. You and your brother are going back to school.”
Ellie flopped to the ground and began pulling the long, black woolen stockings over her wet feet and legs.
“But Pa!” Jem stuffed the nugget back in his pocket. “School’s nearly out. Wouldn’t you rather—” He stopped talking. His gaze was riveted on a dusty, metal something fastened to his father’s vest. Jem peered closer. “What’s that thing on your vest?”
Ellie paused with one shoe in her hand. “What thing?”
Pa looked down. “You mean this?” He rubbed the dirt away to reveal a shiny, six-pointed silver star. Clean now, it glistened in the sun. “It’s a sheriff’s badge, Jem,” he explained, smiling. “Haven’t you ever seen one before?”
Jem nodded, stunned. Sure, I’ve seen one. I just never figured to see one on my pa. What did Goldtown need a sheriff for, anyway? The miners’ court had worked fine for years and years. Whose terrible idea was this? Surely not Pa’s!
“The mayor and town council have been talking for months about hiring a sheriff,” Pa said. “This morning they hired me to be the first sheriff of Goldtown.”
“But why?” Jem asked when he found his tongue. “And what about the ranch? Who’s going to run it if you’re off breaking up fights and arresting claim jumpers and …” His voice trailed off. And maybe getting shot. No, Pa’s accepting the job as sheriff of rough-and-tumble Goldtown, California, was not a good idea.
“Most folks in Goldtown wear more than one hat,” Pa said. “Pappy Baxter runs the livery, prospects, and does a fine job as barber on Saturday nights. I can sheriff and run the ranch.” Then he frowned. “But I didn’t hike all the way out here to talk about my new job. You two are returning to school for the rest of the day. I believe Miss Cheney has a couple of corners already picked out.”
Ellie finished putting on her shoes and snatched up the bucket of frogs. Her teeth were chattering. “I hope she puts me in the corner by the stove.” She didn’t say anything about Pa’s new badge.
Jem rolled his eyes. “I told you to stay out of that creek, but—”
“Enough,” Pa said. “Let’s go.” He waved a brief greeting to Strike. “Howdy, Strike.”
The prospector waved back. “I see they finally pinned a star on you, boy. Hope it don’t weigh you down too much. But if this gold camp’s gotta have a lawman, I reckon yer the best man for the job. Got time for coffee?”
Pa shook his head. “I have to get these two rascals back to town so the schoolmarm can lick ’em good.”
Strike nodded. “Yer first official act as sheriff, eh? Roundin’ up yer truant kids. Folks’ll see the humor in that.” He slapped his knee and cackled. “Yesiree, they surely will.”
Jem felt two hot spots grow on his cheeks. He and Ellie exchanged glum looks.
Yep, Pa taking the job as sheriff is a really bad idea, any way you look at.
As they hiked back to town, Jem wanted nothing more than to fire questions at Pa about his new job. He wanted to beg him to gi
ve the star back to Mayor Gordon and the town council. Why would Pa accept such a dangerous job? But Jem didn’t get a chance to ask even one question. Pa was doing all the talking.
“I don’t have time to be running after you kids,” Pa said with a heavy sigh. “Now that spring’s here, I need every bit of daylight to get things up and running on the ranch.” He paused. “That is, if we all want to go on eating. And now, with my extra duties …” He let the rest go unsaid.
Jem felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t plan on playing hooky. It just happened. The sun was shining and …” His voice trailed off at his father’s disappointed look.
“Nothing ‘just happens,’ Jeremiah, and you know it. And I’m not done talking, so put a hand over your mouth and let me finish.”
“Yes, sir.” He peeked at Ellie. Her eyes looked huge and scared. Jem knew she didn’t like being scolded any more than he did.
“I especially didn’t like being pulled away from my very first day as sheriff,” Pa was saying. “I was wrestling Nine Toes out of the newest mining hole he’d dug in the middle of the street, when the Sterling boy ran up. He took great pleasure in telling me—in front of half the town—that Miss Cheney wanted to see me right away, on account of my children were missing from the schoolroom!”
Jem winced at his father’s raised voice. Pa hardly ever yelled, at least not like some men Jem knew. He’d heard plenty of shouting and cussing when he passed the saloons in town. He was mighty glad his father was “slow to anger” like the Good Book said.
But Pa occasionally raised his voice when he had a good reason. Like if an ornery steer broke through a fence. Or a wolf went after the calves. Or—Jem swallowed—like now, when his father had to deal with the snooty rich folks from up on Belle Hill.
“Miss Cheney sent Will Sterling to fetch you?” Jem asked, astonished.
“The little weasel,” Ellie huffed. “Jem, you oughta pound him right into the—”
“Ellianna.”
At Pa’s warning, Ellie’s mouth snapped shut.
Jem agreed with Ellie but said nothing. He was thinking plenty, however. Didn’t Miss Cheney have better sense than to give the mine owner’s son a chance to gloat over somebody else’s troubles?
“Yes,” Pa said in a tired voice, “she sent him. When I finally got around to seeing Miss Cheney, she gave me an earful.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, Son, I wonder what goes on in your head. You’re older. You need to watch out for your sister, not drag her into trouble with you.”
“Pa!” Ellie came to a standstill. “Jem did not drag me into anything. I saw him take off and knew right where he was going. It’s not Jem’s fault. Don’t punish him on my account.”
“That’s probably true enough,” Pa agreed, “but I don’t need your help deciding my punishments. Now, let’s get a move on.”
Through the scattered oak and pine trees lining the well-worn path, the outlying buildings of Goldtown came into view. Jem dreaded returning to school. It was no fun to stand in a corner while the whole class snickered at you from behind their hands. Miss Cheney would make him copy lines too. One hundred, most likely.
He reached in his pocket and curled his fingers around his nugget. At least I have this.
They were picking their way along the main street of Goldtown now. Mud squished around Jem’s boots and splattered his damp britches. Ellie ran ahead, her shoes making slop, slop, slop sounds. With a leap, she landed on the wooden sidewalk. It was just as muddy, but at least it was solid ground.
Jem stepped up on the boardwalk after her. “Pa, why don’t you come out and work the claim with us? You saw my nugget. There’s gotta be more. We could—”
“That sorry claim has never produced enough gold to do more than help us scrape by,” Pa reminded Jem. “Why do you think I bought the ranch? After ten years of washing diggings, I’m worn out. There’s no future in small, placer gold claims anymore. The future is up there.”
Pa pointed to a hill that rose beyond the buildings across the street. It was the site of the Midas mine, and all eyes in Goldtown were on it. “But I’d rather starve as a rancher above ground than sweat and suffocate below it,” he said, dropping his arm to his side.
Jem opened his mouth to argue, but Pa held up his hand. “I know you love to prospect, Jem, and I understand.” He grinned at Jem’s astonished look. “Yes, I really do understand. But it’s over for me, and until school’s out this term, it’s over for you too.” He turned to Ellie. “And you.”
Jem caught his breath. He and Ellie exchanged horrified looks. School would not be out until the middle of May—more than a month from now!
Punishment number one.
“Now, back to school with you,” Pa said.
Jem glanced down Main Street. He couldn’t see the schoolhouse. It was two streets over, sandwiched between the firehouse and the Methodist church. It was an ugly brick building—more like a prison than a school—but after the fire of 1857, nearly every building in town had been rebuilt in brick.
A few buildings along Main Street had survived the fire. One was the Black Skillet café. As the Coulter family passed the establishment, a large, round man with a handle-bar moustache and a dingy white apron joined them on the wooden sidewalk.
He wiped his hands on his apron and said, “I’ll be needin’ those frogs you promised me, Jem. Double quick.”
Ellie held up the pail and smiled brightly at the café owner. “I got ’em right here, Mr. Sims.”
Mr. Sims took the lunch pail. “Let’s see what you got.” He lifted the lid and did a quick count. A slight frown creased his forehead. “I count six hoppers, kids. It’s a start, but I need a good many more than this.”
“Sorry, Sims,” Pa broke in. “Jem’s going to be too busy for a while to keep you supplied.”
Jem’s heart sank. He was the top frog-leg supplier in all of Goldtown. If the other boys caught wind of this, he could lose Mr. Sims as a customer.
Pa pointed to Jem’s lunch pail. “Keep the frogs, Sims. No charge. Jem will be by later to pick up his pail. He needs it for school tomorrow.” The men shook hands, Sims grinning like a fox in a henhouse. Pa’s smile was nearly as wide.
Jem groaned. Punishment number two.
The wooden sidewalk stretched two more blocks before the Coulters had to turn the corner to the school. Along this bustling portion of Goldtown, dozens of merchants, peddlers, Chinese laundrymen, and miners lingered. The family threaded their way through the crowd. Jem knew a few of these folks, but his father seemed to know them all. Most gave the new sheriff hearty congratulations when they saw his silver badge.
When they reached the Big Strike saloon, Mr. Tobias, the bartender, was sweeping mud off the boardwalk. He saw Jem, paused, and leaned on his broom. “Say, young fella. Where’s my sawdust? The floor inside’s mostly bare—and muddier than a pig’s wallow from all the rain we’ve had.”
“It’s all bagged up, sir,” Jem quickly assured the man. “I can bring the sacks by this evening, if Pa says so.” Jem gave his father a pleading look.
Pa nodded. But he wasn’t smiling.
“Good enough,” Mr. Tobias agreed, giving the walkway a final swipe with his broom. “See you then.”
“You may fill Toby’s order this time, since you promised him,” Pa said as they walked on. “But after today he’ll have to get his sawdust from one of the other boys. I didn’t realize you were selling to the saloons.”
“Just to the Big Strike,” Jem explained in a hurry. “I can’t give it up. Mr. Tobias pays good, Pa. Real good.”
“No. You will not do business with a saloon.”
Jem bristled. “Is it because you’re the sheriff now, and I gotta set a good—”
“No,” Pa interrupted with a frown. “It’s because it’s a dirty, ungodly place. You’ll just have to content yourself with your firewood customers and selling frog legs to the cafés.”
Jem had no choice but to say, “Yes, Pa,” but he sighed de
eply at the loss of this money-making venture. Bagging up and selling sawdust from the lumberyard was a lot easier than chopping and splitting firewood.
Jem and Ellie were just about to make the turn onto Fremont Street and school, when a familiar pounding and jingling broke through the general hubbub of Goldtown. The weekly stagecoach pulled up to the Wells Fargo Express office to the shout of “Whoa there. Easy now!” from the driver. The four horses snorted, tossed their heads, and slopped around in the mud before coming to a standstill.
“Howdy, Matt!” the driver called from the high seat on top of the coach. “Stick around. The stage brought you somethin’ today. A couple of somethin’s, actually.” Swinging down, he landed in the thick, soupy mud and flung the stagecoach door open.
“Goldtown, folks,” he announced. “Boarding house and hotels to the right; saloons and gambling parlors to the left. Post office across the street. Mining supplies one block north. Stage leaves at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, if you change your mind about staying.”
Jem grinned. Walt gave the same speech every time he pulled into town. It didn’t matter if the passenger was a Goldtown resident or a fresh face from back East.
A large man dressed in a dark suit and bowler hat stepped out of the stage first. He grimaced when his first step landed in the mud. He quickly crossed to the boardwalk in front of the Express office. When he saw Pa, he offered his hand. “Hello, Matt.”
Pa shook it. “Welcome back, Ernest. I hope your business down south went well.”
“It did.” He reached out and tapped the shiny star. “I see the council finally talked you into accepting the job. Congratulations, Sheriff.”
Jem watched the exchange and wondered how his father could speak so nicely to Mr. Sterling, especially after his son had carried tales to Pa from the teacher. He didn’t have time to wonder for long, however. A wavering voice suddenly called out from the stage.
“H-hello, Matthew.”
Jem and Ellie glanced up as one. The voice belonged to a woman. She stood as still as a statue in the open doorway, staring at Pa with huge, dark eyes. A limp hat hung off the side of her head. Her face was drained of color.
Badge of Honor Page 2
