“Where’s Nathan?” Jem asked. He tossed the brush aside, handed Ellie his gold pan to keep for him, and hoisted her up on Copper.
“Right here,” Nathan called, running out the back door. Like Ellie, he was carrying a beat-up gold pan. He let Jem boost him up on Copper, then scooted backward to give Jem room.
Just then, Nugget bounded up, whining and circling the horse, tail wagging. He gave a short bark and looked up at Jem, who was climbing up on the horse. “Yeah, you can come.” Jem sat up and gripped the reins. “But you better not sniff out any skunks.” He nudged Copper into a trot.
Copper laid his ears back but gave no other sign that carrying three young riders was any more work than carrying two—or one. He walked along the road to town and down Main Street at a steady clip-clop. Swirls of dust rose behind Copper’s hooves. It was hard to believe the street had been thick with mud a short six weeks ago.
From around the corner, a small figure dressed in black suddenly emerged, pushing a wheelbarrow overflowing with supplies. He glanced up from under his broad Chinese hat and grinned. “Hello, Jem.”
Jem waved a greeting but didn’t stop to pass the time with his friend Wu Shen. He was in a hurry to get out of town before his school chums saw him. He’d had enough teasing about being the sheriff’s kid to last him a year.
Pa promised the teasing and mean-mouth comments would die down as soon as the town got used to the new way of doing things. Jem wasn’t so sure. He nudged Copper into a trot to avoid meeting any more kids and turned the corner that led out of town and onto the path to Cripple Creek.
Ellie kept up a constant stream of chatter about the finer points of panning for gold. “And the most important thing,” she finished, “is to make sure you’re not in a hurry. If you swish the pan around too fast, the gold spills out with the gravel and dirt. Then you gotta start all over again.”
“I know,” Nathan said impatiently. “You don’t have to tell me. I read all about it in a book. Sounds easy as pie. I betcha I find gold the very first time.”
Jem snorted. “There’s a big difference between reading about how to pan for gold and actually panning it. It takes a lot of practice and a lot of—”
“You’ll see,” Nathan interrupted. “I’m going to find the most.” He took a deep breath and began singing off-key, “I come from Massachusetts with a wash pan on my knee. I’m goin’ to California, the gold dust for to see …”
On and on Nathan bellowed, through endless verses about San Francisco, gold lumps, draining rivers dry, and pockets full of gold. “… so brothers, don’t you cry!”
“You’re gonna be crying pretty quick if you don’t put a plug in it,” Jem warned his cousin. “What if somebody hears that nonsense?” He glanced around, didn’t see any of his friends chasing after them, and kicked Copper into a lope.
Nathan gasped. He clutched his gold pan and hung on so tightly that Jem could hardly breathe. It was a small price to pay to shut his cousin up.
“Just blamed foolishness,” Jem muttered. Five minutes later, he urged Copper over the last hill overlooking the Coulters’ claim alongside Cripple Creek. He shaded his eyes against the late morning sun and yanked the horse to a stop.
Something was dreadfully wrong.
CHAPTER 11
Dry Diggings
Ellie reached over Nathan’s shoulder and poked her brother in the back. “Where … where’d the creek go, Jem?” Her question was barely above a whisper.
Jem didn’t answer. Stretched out from east to west—as far as he could see—what little was left of Cripple Creek trickled past. A few worn-out-looking miners were lifting shovelfuls of dirt and gravel into buckets, gunny sacks, and rough-hewn wheelbarrows. It was no wonder the men looked exhausted. Jem knew that every shovelful of dirt scooped from the creek bed would have to be hauled a mile away to Two Bit Gulch. There, the load could be washed to find whatever gold might be hidden in the dirt.
So much work for so little gold!
Ellie poked him again. “Jem? I asked—”
“I heard you,” Jem said. “I don’t know where it went.”
He sat on Copper and tried to remember a time when the creek had looked like this. Never, he decided. Not even in the heat of the hottest August had Jem ever seen Cripple Creek flow like the narrow ribbon of brown it was today. Sure, the creek was never deep, and it ran a little low during late summer, but it had never run dry.
“Last time we were here, the creek was icy cold and running strong. What happened?” Ellie asked.
“Maybe it was a drier spring than we thought,” Jem said.
Nathan scratched behind his ear and gave a half-smile. “I guess it’s just like that song, ‘I’ll drain the rivers dry.’”
“This isn’t a river, so don’t go on about some dumb ol’ song,” Ellie snapped as she dismounted.
“Same difference,” Nathan said with a shrug. He tossed his gold pan to the ground and slid off the horse. Immediately, Nugget reached out and licked Nathan’s hand. He pushed the dog away. “Does this mean we won’t be panning for gold today?”
Jem ignored his cousin’s question. Slowly, as if in a dream, he dropped to the ground beside Copper and tied him to the nearest tree limb. Then he headed down the low hill and onto the narrow strip of land that marked the Coulter claim. Shaking his head, he surveyed what was left of the creek.
Ellie and Nathan followed and stood next to him.
“No, Nathan,” Jem finally said. He planted his hands on his hips and let out a long, frustrated breath. “We won’t be panning for gold today or any other day. Not unless you’ve got a mind to haul the creek bed all the way to the stream in Two Bit Gulch.” He shuddered at the thought. Hauling dirt was backbreaking work.
“Is that what those fellows are doing?” Nathan pointed to the handful of miners crouched over the stream bed with sacks and shovels.
Jem nodded, then glanced upstream. “I wonder where Strike is.”
The old man’s claim was littered with tent stakes, broken shovels, sardine cans, empty bottles, and a threadbare blanket. His coffee pail lay on its side next to the circle of blackened stones that marked the campfire. By the look of things, Strike had not tended his camp for some time.
“That’s really disgusting,” Nathan remarked.
Jem was forced to agree. Strike never worried about thieves. Not even the most desperate prospector looking for a grubstake would want what Strike left lying around. “Anything Strike values is tied to the back of Canary,” he said.
Nathan looked confused.
“Canary is his burro,” Jem explained.
Nathan laughed. “What a dumb name for a donkey.”
“It’s a perfect name.” Ellie jumped to Strike’s defense. “It’s short for Mountain Canary, which is what folks call a prospector’s burro. You should hear him ‘sing.’ His hee-haw is almost as loud as that ol’ stamp mill. Canary is the most sure-footed animal around these parts. Smart too.”
“Don’t forget ornery, Ellie,” Jem added with a sudden grin. “And stubborn. Canary’s always running off. Strike spends more time looking for his donkey than he does looking for gold.” He shaded his eyes toward the east. “I wonder where those two are.”
“Probably looking for a new claim,” Ellie said. She made a face at the prospector’s current piece of ground. “Unless the creek starts flowing again, Strike won’t be panning here.”
“Neither will we.” Jem crossed to Strike’s claim and crouched beside the now-dead fire. “Cold as a grave,” he said, brushing the ashes from his hands. He rose. “It doesn’t make sense that Strike would be gone long enough to let his fire go out. He’s mighty attached to his coffee. Besides,” Jem added thoughtfully, “Strike and me … well, we’re partners. He would’ve told me if he wanted to go off prospecting. Pa let me go with him last summer.”
“We haven’t been out here for over a month,” Ellie reminded him. “Strike most likely got tired of waiting for his partner to show up.”
>
Ellie was right. Jem had not been near Cripple Creek since the day they’d played hooky from school. He’d even rounded up his few frogs from Willow Spring rather than tramp all the way out to the swamp above the creek.
“Even if I couldn’t pan for gold, I should have come by,” Jem said. He made a fist and pounded it into his palm. Regret filled him. “I should have checked on Strike. He probably knows why the creek is running low. He knows everything about the gold diggings.”
Jem paused, trying to decide what to do. The whole day would go to waste if he didn’t get a chance to find some color, and he sure didn’t want to go back to the ranch. Not yet, anyway. Aunt Rose probably had a new list of chores waiting. She could find extra chores quicker than Ellie could find frogs.
“Maybe the miners know where Strike went,” Ellie said. “Let’s ask ’em.” She didn’t wait for Jem to agree, but took off running along the creek bank. “Yoo-hoo!” she called, giving the men a friendly wave. Nugget bounded after her.
A couple of men glanced up when Ellie ran toward them, then went back to their digging and sack-filling without greeting her. The brush-off didn’t seem to bother Ellie. She just tried farther upstream.
By the time Ellie found a miner willing to talk to her, Jem and Nathan had caught up. Nathan stood red-faced and hunched over, with his hands on his knees and sucking in air. “I … I told you to slow … down,” he panted.
Jem hid a smile and turned to listen to the miner.
“Ain’t seen that old-timer for a couple o’ days,” No-luck Casey was telling Ellie. He was up past his ankles in mud and gravel, scooping the creek bottom into a rickety wheelbarrow. He didn’t stop digging to chat, but he seemed happy to pass the time while he worked. Beads of sweat dotted his balding head.
Jem wondered how No-luck planned to roll his wheel-barrow up the embankment with such a heavy load, but he didn’t ask. “Do you know why the creek’s dried up so early?” he asked instead.
No-luck swiped his forehead with a muddy hand and dug his shovel into the creek bed. “Nope. It’s been runnin’ lower and lower the past few weeks. Then it just up and quit altogether a week or two ago. I don’t mind so much. Found a bit o’ color yesterday. Maybe my luck’s changing.” He paused and grinned. “Ain’t nothin’ totally bad without some good to it, Jem. The sun’ll dry up this mud soon. Dry diggings is easier to pack around than wet diggings.”
Jem smiled back. Next to Strike, No-luck Casey was the friendliest, most easygoing prospector Jem knew. He was just about the poorest one too. Casey hadn’t earned the name “No-luck” by accident. He usually prospected alone, on account of nobody would team up with him. Nobody wanted a broken arm, or a headful of lice, or smashed tools … or any other bad luck. One former partner had slipped and fallen into a ravine, losing his life.
Jem liked No-luck and hoped his luck had indeed changed, but right now he was worried about Strike. “Maybe he told you where he was off to?” he asked hopefully. It was unlikely that No-luck Casey knew. Most prospectors were closed-mouthed about their activities. Claims could get jumped because of a miner’s loose tongue.
No-luck scooped another shovelful of dirt into the wheel-barrow and straightened up. “Nope. Didn’t say a word.”
Jem sighed and turned to go.
“But”—No-luck jerked his chin toward the mountains—“I did see Strike and that burro of his heading upstream the other day.” His dirty face cracked a smile. “Everybody up and down Cripple Creek could hear his gear banging and that critter braying.”
He lifted the handles of his wheelbarrow and gave it a push. It moved an inch. Jem knew it would be a long trip to Two Bit Gulch. “He could’ve gone to see why the creek stopped flowing,” No-luck said. “It’d be just like the old fool. He’s got more curiosity than what’s good for him.”
Jem thanked the miner and picked his way over the rocks and boulders until he reached the top of the creek bank. Then he sat down and watched No-luck navigate his wheel-barrow through the muddy channel and toward a spot along the bank where it was not so steep.
However, Jem was not interested in seeing if the miner could get the wheelbarrow out before it overturned on him. He was thinking—hard. Strike’s been gone for a couple of days. I wonder if he’s all right. Sure he is, he told himself. He’s prospecting. That’s all.
“We should go look for him,” Ellie said, breaking into Jem’s thoughts. She sat down and rested her chin on her knees.
Like always, Ellie seemed to know what Jem was thinking. “He’s off prospecting,” he said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ellie glanced up as Nathan plopped down beside them, then she turned back to Jem. “I bet you’re just as curious about why the creek’s dried up as I am. Even if we don’t find Strike, it would be a nice ride and—”
“And something to do this afternoon,” Nathan broke in.
Jem and Ellie turned and stared at their cousin.
“Hey,” Nathan said, “I don’t want to go back to the ranch any more than you do.” He pushed aside a hank of pale hair that had fallen over his eyes. “Mother and Uncle Matthew don’t expect us home until supper.”
Jem looked at his cousin with a sudden sliver of respect. Did Nathan actually want to follow the creek into the untamed, tree-covered hills? So far, their cousin had not ventured farther on the ranch than the privy out back. He seemed more comfortable walking along the boardwalk in town than picking his way along a trail in the foothills.
“You do know that following the creek will take us up toward the high country, right?” Jem said. “Ravines and pine forests, no real path to follow, no—”
“We might run into wild animals,” Ellie added, eyes gleaming. “Maybe a rattlesnake or a bobcat or even a—”
“Are you trying to scare him, Ellie?” Jem burst out, jumping up. “You know we can’t leave Nathan behind and go off by ourselves. Now, keep quiet.” He turned to Nathan. “I just want you to know that it’s no stroll down a boardwalk. But don’t let Ellie’s silly talk keep you from coming.”
Nathan stood up to join Jem. “I’m not scared. Cautious, maybe,” he said, glancing down at Ellie. “But not scared. Besides, I want to know where the creek went. Otherwise, I’ll never get a chance to pan any gold. I’m game. The ride can’t be that difficult. We’re on a horse, after all.”
Jem turned his gaze toward the Sierras, far away to the east. They would not begin to reach those mountains—not in an afternoon. But it would be quite a ride anyway, even on a horse. The hills around Goldtown rose quickly. Let my cocky cousin find out for himself.
“I want to find Strike,” Jem said at last. He reached down and gave Ellie a helping hand up. “C’mon, let’s mount up and get going.”
CHAPTER 12
A Rocky Path
“How much longer do we have to stumble around in the middle of this dried-up ol’ creek?” Nathan whined.
It wasn’t the first question Nathan had asked since starting out on their afternoon adventure. Jem had lost count of the number of times his cousin had wanted to know where they were going, how much farther it was, and what they were going to do when they got there.
“I’m hot and I’m squished,” Nathan complained. “And I’m slipping all over this sweaty horse.”
Jem gritted his teeth. Hang it all! I should have left him back at the claim. What was I thinking, bringing a tenderfoot along?
Nathan’s adventurous spirit had quickly drained away when he discovered for himself that a trip into the hills was not the same as a horseback ride through a Boston park. The first few miles had been pleasant enough. They’d trotted alongside the grassy banks of Cripple Creek. Copper lifted his head, shook out his mane, and easily carried his riders. Nugget ran back and forth between the trees, sniffing out a path. Although the creek was barely a trickle, it flowed straight as an arrow between the rolling hills.
But it wasn’t long before the terrain began to change. The hills rose steeply, and the trees grew closer together. Crip
ple Creek cut through a high shale bank on one side. On the other side, underbrush forced the riders farther and farther away from the creek. Jem worried they might lose sight of their only sure path through the foothills.
So now they were picking their way carefully up the middle of the creek bed. Jem knew it wasn’t called Cripple Creek for nothing. The sharp, unstable rocks could easily cause their horse to stumble or go lame. Copper didn’t appear to like this choice of a trail any better than his riders did. Jem had to work hard to keep him moving. Time began to drag.
“When will we ever get out of this creek bed?” Nathan persisted.
Jem slapped at a pesky mosquito and yanked Copper to a standstill. Like Nathan, he was hot, sweaty, and thirsty. They had eaten their lunch long ago, and their one canteen would soon be empty. Jem pulled it off his shoulder and unscrewed the cap.
“I’ll tell you what I told you an hour ago, Nathan,” he said. “We’re going to follow this creek until we find a reason it’s running low, or see some sign of Strike, or both. You said you were game, so hush up or we’ll dump you right here.”
An idle threat. Jem would not leave Nathan alone, even if it was a simple matter to follow the creek back to the Coulter diggings. Not even a greenhorn city cousin could get lost. Or could he?
Jem glanced up at the cloudless, sapphire-blue sky. The sun had crept past high noon, but it still shone brightly at mid-afternoon. There was plenty of time before they had to turn around. He swallowed a gulp of warm, stale water and passed the canteen around. “If the sun drops too low, we’ll hightail it back before it gets dark.”
“Or we’ll be in so much trouble we won’t see past the ranch gate the rest of the summer,” Ellie said.
Ellie was right about that. They had freedom to explore—Pa had made that clear to Aunt Rose—but woe to the Coulter kids if the sun set and they were missing from home. There were boundaries in town—too many to count—but Jem didn’t like hanging around town anyway. He preferred to spend his free time panning for gold on the Coulter claim or joining Strike on a prospecting trip. Or like right now, when he could discover what lay beyond the next bend in the creek or over the next hill.
Badge of Honor Page 7
