A young boy’s face appeared in the window next to her. He glanced at the mud, the crowded boardwalk, and the dozens of buildings lining the street. Then he ducked out of sight.
“I’m here, Matthew,” the woman said in a stronger voice. “But never in my wildest dreams did I expect such a God-forsaken place like this mud hole. It’s worse than I imagined.” She threw her hands over her ears and flinched. “And what is that infernal, banging racket?”
Pa took off his hat and slapped the dirt and mud from his clothes the best he could. “That’s just the stamp mill crushing rocks from the mine, to free up the gold. Might as well get used to it.” He grinned and jammed his hat back on his head. “Welcome to Goldtown, big sister.”
CHAPTER 4
A Muddy Welcome
Jem’s mouth fell open. So did Ellie’s. But neither one of them said a word. Jem continued to stare at the woman—no, aunt, he corrected himself. He watched her face scrunch up in a look of confusion, distaste, then weary acceptance. She took Pa’s hand and let him help her from the stagecoach. She barely came up to his shoulder.
“Come on, Rose,” Pa said, nearly picking her up. “Let me help you … one more step. I’ve got you. There … safe at last.” He was wearing a silly smile that told Jem how glad Pa was to see his older sister after all these years. Matt Coulter and his new bride had left Boston for the gold fields in ’49, and they had never looked back.
Jem wasn’t quite so glad to see his aunt. Ellie didn’t look too happy either. When Pa had read them Aunt Rose’s letter last fall, spring seemed a long way off. There had been plenty of time to push aside the idea of a strange aunt and a new cousin coming out West to live with them.
“Expect us sometime next spring,” the letter had said. “Nathan and I intend to take a steamer around the Horn. They say it takes six or seven months, barring mishaps or major storms. From San Francisco, we will board a riverboat to Stockton, then take the stage to Goldtown.
“Our lives have turned upside down since dear Frederick was killed in the Battle of Gettysburg this past July. But it will be good to see you, Matthew, after fifteen long years apart. Having kinfolk nearby will surely help my son and me weather this new transition …”
The letter had gone on to say how difficult it would be to exchange the refined, bustling city of Boston for a small, rough gold town in the California foothills.
“… but one must meet hardship with courage,” Aunt Rose’s letter had finally ended. “And with Ellen in her grave nearly four years, I know you will welcome my coming to keep house and raise your poor, motherless children.”
Yep, Jem remembered with a sigh, spring had seemed months away last fall. But now? Spring was here, and so were the kinfolk.
“M-mother?”
A quavering voice brought Jem back to the present. His cousin stood in the stage’s doorway, looking as bewildered as his mother had only moments before. He was slicked up in city clothes, but his jacket, tie, and knickers were rumpled and dusty. A hank of pale hair peeked out from under the brim of his cap and fell into his eyes. He didn’t bother to brush it aside.
“Come along, Nathan,” Aunt Rose directed, “and try not to get your shoes muddy. They are your only good pair.”
Jem glanced down at his own feet. Mud was a mainstay of Goldtown’s winter and spring. Soon enough, the town would be dry as dust in the hot California sun. But Nathan’s shoes stood no chance of staying clean today.
Jem laughed. “The only way to keep your feet clean is if you jump over the mud.”
“That so?” The next instant, Nathan launched himself from the open doorway.
“Nathan, no!” Pa shouted, but it was too late.
Jem watched, speechless, as his cousin flew across the muddy gap. Nathan landed on both feet just shy of his goal and sank six inches into the muck. Thick, brown mud splattered everyone standing nearby—Pa, Jem, Ellie, Aunt Rose, and the stage driver.
“Loco young pup,” Walt muttered. He wiped a glob of mud from his shirt sleeve and headed for the back of the stage to untie the baggage.
Ellie gasped and swiped at the mud on her dress. “Jem! What did you tell him that for?”
Jem felt his cheeks explode in color. “I only meant there’s no good way to keep your feet clean around here unless you jump over the mud. I didn’t think our cousin would actually make such a tomfool leap—”
A firm hand clapped Jem on the shoulder. “Your tongue is digging your grave, Son,” Pa quietly warned.
Jem closed his mouth and surveyed the damage. Nathan had not moved from where he’d landed. He looked as stiff as a scarecrow in a corn field. His face was nearly the color of Strike’s red flannel shirt. Muddy specks stood out on his cheeks and forehead like dark freckles.
Aunt Rose appeared dumbstruck at the sight of her son. Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were round with shock and dismay.
“That was a bold leap, young fella,” Pa said. “But around here it’s best to pick your way through the mud a bit more carefully.” He waved toward Nathan. “Jem, why don’t you give your cousin a hand, since this was your numbskull idea.”
While Jem hurried to do as his father asked, Pa turned to Aunt Rose. “I apologize for the welcome, Rosie. This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet my children. But that’s Jeremiah, fishing Nathan out of the mud, and this is Ellianna.” He put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Say howdy to your Aunt Rose, Ellie.”
“Howdy.”
Aunt Rose did not return Ellie’s greeting. “Land sakes, child! What happened to your hair?”
Jem hauled his cousin up on the boardwalk and held his breath to hear what Ellie would say. If truth be told, he still cringed whenever someone noticed his sister’s short, raggedy braids. Ellie could be mighty persistent at times, and long hair was certainly a bother. But Jem never, ever should have let Ellie talk him into cutting it off.
A year later, Jem still regretted his decision, and not just because Pa had warmed his backside. The occasional shocked looks and “poor dear” remarks from Goldtown’s busybodies often reminded Jem of his mistake. He sure didn’t want this new, highfalutin city aunt to give him an earful for a deed long since past.
Ellie smiled. “We Coulters like our hair short, Auntie. Less trouble all the way around.” She held up an auburn braid. “One pigtail’s a mite longer than the other though. Could you even them up for me sometime?”
Jem let out the breath he’d been holding and flashed his sister a grateful smile.
“I would be happy to do that for you, Ellianna,” Aunt Rose said. She turned to her brother and sighed. “It appears I have arrived in good time, Matthew.”
A muscle twitched in Pa’s jaw. “We haven’t done too badly. Jem can cook up a pretty good pot of rabbit stew. However”—he ruffled Ellie’s hair to show he was teasing—“this little lady’s biscuits could use a bit of help.”
“My biscuits are a heap better than Strike’s,” Ellie shot back. “At least you can bite into them. Strike’s pan biscuits are good only for throwing.” She looked up at her aunt. “He killed a rattler with a biscuit once. Said it worked near as good as a bullet.”
“Strike has worn that story out by now, I’m thinkin’,” Pa said. “It was a baby snake, and he dumped the entire pan of biscuits on it.”
“Who or what is a ‘Strike’?” Aunt Rose asked, frowning.
“A miner friend,” Ellie replied at once. “He—”
“Is it true there are rattlesnakes in this part of the country?” Aunt Rose interrupted. She pulled Nathan close to her side and backed up against the wall of the Express office. Her gaze darted to her feet, as if she expected a rattlesnake to strike right through the cracks in the boardwalk.
Jem was eager to assure his aunt that yes, there were plenty of rattlesnakes in the hills and on the ranch—even though he’d killed less than half a dozen in all his twelve years. Maybe such knowledge would keep Nathan in the house, instead of following Ell
ie and him around.
Before Jem could share his news out loud, the stage driver broke in. “Here’s the first of your luggage, ma’am.” Walt dragged a large steamer trunk up on the wooden sidewalk and let it drop. “It’s a good thing the stage wasn’t full this trip, Matt,” he said with a laugh. “Your sister’s baggage took up near as much room as a couple of paying passengers.” He climbed to the top of the stage to untie more luggage.
A few minutes later, a pile of trunks, carpetbags, and battered satchels surrounded the Coulters and their kin. Walt slung the mail pouch over his shoulder, shook his head, and headed for the post office across the street.
Pa shoved his hat back and whistled. Jem and Ellie gawked. How could one grown lady and a half-grown boy own so many belongings?
Jem wanted to ask but—remembering his big mouth earlier—kept his question to himself. Instead he said, “We’re definitely going to need the wagon, Pa. Do you want me to run out to the ranch and fetch it?”
Jem’s heart pounded as he waited for an answer. His father seemed to be arguing with himself, and Jem could almost read his thoughts. Help with the relatives? Or drag the kids back to school? Jem glanced up at the one luxury the town boasted: a small tower clock hauled in from back East two years ago. The time read twenty minutes to four.
School’s out at four. It’s not worth going back for twenty minutes. Please, Pa!
Pa sighed. “I reckon it’s too late to go back to school now. But tomorrow morning, you and Ellie have an apology to make to Miss Cheney. And you’ll accept whatever punishment she hands out. Agreed?”
“Yes, sir!” Jem and Ellie shouted together.
“All right then,” Pa said. “Jem, run back to the ranch and hitch up the wagon. We’ll need to haul all this baggage and get Aunt Rose and Nathan settled before—”
“Matt! Matt Coulter!”
All three Coulters, along with Aunt Rose and Nathan, whirled at the shout. A man dressed in miners’ clothes—filthy and threadbare—came running along the boardwalk. He shoved passersby out of his way and paid no attention to the mean looks and insults he received for his rudeness. He seemed intent only on reaching Pa.
“I was hoping you might be here, meeting the stage,” the man said, panting. “If not, I was gonna try your spread.” He took big gulps of air. “But by then it probably woulda been too late.”
“What would’ve been too late? What’s going on?” Pa grabbed the miner’s shoulders. “Tell me, Casey.”
No-luck Casey rubbed a hand over his balding scalp and burst out, “It’s that blamed knucklehead, Dakota Joe. You know what a temper he’s got. He’s accusing Frenchy of jumpin’ his claim again. They’re down at the Big Strike.”
“Aw, Casey,” Pa said in disgust and backed away. “Dakota and Frenchy go round and round at least once a week over some claim or another. Nothing ever comes of it.”
Casey shook his head. “It’s different this time, Matt. Frenchy found some others to back him up, and a seedy-looking bunch they are too! New faces. I don’t recognize ’em.” He drew a deep breath. “And Dakota somehow got hold of an Arkansas toothpick. Sure as shootin’, somebody’s gonna get cut up real bad.”
CHAPTER 5
Trouble
Jem sucked in his breath at No-luck Casey’s words. Another fight in Goldtown was nothing new. The miners were always brawling with each other, cursing and hitting. Black eyes and missing teeth were everyday sights. There was plenty of claim jumping too, especially as the easy gold disappeared. Dakota Joe had twice lost a choice plot of pay dirt when he couldn’t stand up to better-armed men.
But now it appeared that Dakota was taking matters into his own hands—with a vengeance. An Arkansas toothpick—a long-bladed, evil knife—could easily slice up a man so badly he would bleed to death.
Why are you telling Pa this? Jem wanted to shout. Pa’s a rancher. Or a prospector. He’s not the law … His thoughts slid to a standstill as he spotted the new star his father wore. Wrong. Pa is the law now.
Jem felt Ellie edge up next to him and clutch his arm. He jumped at her touch and tore his attention away from the badge. No-luck Casey was talking a mile a minute.
“Toby down at the Big Strike sent me for you, Matt. He saw you in town earlier. Now that you’re wearin’ that star, you—”
Pa waved the miner quiet and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Then he glanced down at his badge. “The timing’s mighty inconvenient, what with my sister just arriving. There’s no telling how long it’ll take to settle this. But”—he looked at Casey—“I reckon I’d best get down there.”
Jem sagged inwardly. “Pa? Do you have to meddle in every little miner’s squabble, even if you are the sheriff? What if they go after you with that knife?”
Pa reached out and took Jem by the shoulders. “A soft answer turns away wrath, Son. That’s what Proverbs says. I intend to talk softly, keep both eyes open, and let God do the rest. I don’t want to see any of those scoundrels lying dead or cut up on the saloon floor. If Dakota kills Frenchy, he’ll hang. I’ve got to do my job and try to stop this.” He squeezed Jem’s shoulders in assurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”
“Yes, sir,” Jem said, but his stomach clenched. How could Pa know for sure he would be all right? This sheriff business is not safe. Please, God, take care of my pa!
“I want you to fetch the wagon and bring it to town,” Pa instructed. “If I’m not back, ask Josh in the Express office to help you load up the baggage, then you drive everybody out to the ranch. I’ll unload the wagon when I get home.” He gave Ellie a quick hug. “Mind your brother and your aunt, ya hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Ellie whispered. “Please be careful, Pa.”
Pa grinned, ruffled Ellie’s hair, and winked at her. Then he was gone, running down the wooden sidewalk toward the Big Strike saloon, with No-luck Casey right on his heels.
“Saints preserve us!” Aunt Rose said, fanning herself. “A knife fight in broad daylight. The very idea!”
“Do you suppose … I mean … do you think I could watch?” Nathan asked. His eyes were bright, eager. He didn’t look scared at all.
“You’re crazy,” Ellie said.
Jem agreed. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Cousin.” Nathan probably wasn’t frightened because—most likely—he’d never seen a for-real, bloody, terrible knife fight. If he had, he would not be so eager to watch another one.
“Nathan Frederick Tyson!” Aunt Rose scolded. “Indeed, you shall not watch such a display.” She turned to Jem. “Your father never told me he was sheriff of this gold camp.”
Ellie squinted up at Aunt Rose. “That’s because he just took the job today. Goldtown’s very first sheriff.” She did not sound excited.
“I declare!” Aunt Rose exclaimed. “Who broke up these fights before my brother became the law?”
“Nobody, really,” Jem said. “Goldtown’s always been a rowdy camp. They hold a miners’ court if things get too bad. It’s supposed to settle disputes between the miners. Sometimes it works”—he shrugged—“sometimes not. Pa used to be on it. He’s one of the original miners, so he knows everybody. Folks like him and trust him.” Jem let out a big breath. “That’s probably why they hired him to be sheriff.”
Unfortunately, he added silently. He glanced down the boardwalk in the direction Pa and No-luck Casey had run.
“How much longer must we stand around?” Aunt Rose asked with a sudden, impatient sigh. “Nathan and I are exhausted. That never-ending stagecoach ride jarred every bone in our bodies.” She gave Jem a weak smile. “I believe your father asked you to fetch the wagon, did he not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jem said. “Sorry. It’s been a long day for Ellie and me.”
“That’s for sure,” Ellie agreed.
Jem looked at her. No more school today! Maybe Pa would change his mind about tomorrow too. He might need my help settling the kinfolk.
That cheerful thought energized Jem long enough to tell Ellie t
o keep Aunt Rose and Nathan company while he went after the wagon. Then he clattered down the boardwalk, back the way they’d come earlier that afternoon.
Jem’s route out of town took him past the saloon—and the fight. He willed himself not to stop. Fetch the wagon! Let Pa do his job! But his good intentions were shattered as a crowd of flailing bodies erupted through the Big Strike’s doors and into the street right in front of him.
Jem gasped and froze in place. Dakota no longer had his long knife. It now resided in Frenchy’s hand, and the tall, dark miner looked like he knew how to use it. With one quick swipe, the knife slashed across Dakota’s arm. He yelped and flinched, clutching his arm. Blood streamed out from between his fingers. The rest of the crowd pushed forward, shouting their encouragement.
Where’s Pa? I thought he was going to—
The sudden crack of a gunshot and a bellow from Frenchy turned the miners to stone. At Frenchy’s feet lay the Arkansas toothpick, shot clean out of his hand. “The next man who even twitches will need Doc Martin’s services,” Pa said from the doorway of the Big Strike. “I warned you. Now, break it up. We’re all going to—”
Jem didn’t wait around to hear what his father intended to do next. He’d seen enough. The sight of the unruly miners reveling, and seeing Dakota clutching his blood-soaked sleeve, gave wings to Jem’s feet. Without looking back, he took off running for the ranch.
The Coulter spread lay a scant two miles from town. Jem knew he set a record getting there this afternoon. His heart was still racing as he jogged up the dirt lane. He collapsed against the pasture gate and sucked in huge gulps of air to catch his breath.
A few minutes later, Jem swung the gate open and whistled for the horses. A copper-colored gelding gave an answering whinny and trotted over to Jem, shaking his mane. A dapple-gray horse quickly followed.
“Howdy, fellas.” Jem rubbed their noses. “We got work to do.”
He quickly led Copper and Quicksilver to the wagon and hitched them up. Just as Jem was about to swing up on the wagon seat, a faint barking caught his attention. A large, golden dog came bounding through the fields, yipping his joy at seeing Jem. The dog jumped up and put his paws against the back of the wagon, wagging his tail and whining.
Badge of Honor Page 3
