Badge of Honor
Jem sprinted toward the flume. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain and splashed across the creek without slowing down. As before, the flume was an excellent trail marker through the woods, leading him straight back to Frenchy’s claim.
He saw no sign of his father, Dakota, or Slim along the way. He stopped to catch his breath, rest his burning muscles, and consider his next move. If Ellie was able to get close to the claim without being seen, then so could he.
A cold, wet nose shoved its way into Jem’s hand. He jumped. “Nugget! Go back.”
Nugget looked up.
Jem didn’t really expect his dog to obey. To be honest, he was glad for the company. “Just stay out of sight,” he said as they slipped between the trees beyond the flume. It was easy to stay hidden. It became even easier when Jem reached the edge of the chewed-up claim. None of the miners were looking in his direction. Their attention was riveted on the three intruders standing in their midst.
Oh no! I’m too late! Jem sagged against a large pine tree a mere stone’s throw from the men. Only the thick cover of trees and brush kept him from being discovered.
Nugget gave a low growl. Jem hushed him. Cautiously, he spread the branches apart and studied the camp. The miners had nearly finished packing. Another hour and they would have been long gone. A number of horses stood saddled; three burros were loaded with bundles nearly as large as they were. One of the donkeys looked like Canary. They’re stealing Strike’s burro!
A loud voice drew Jem’s attention back to the reason he had come. Six miners surrounded Pa and the others, but only four of them appeared to be armed. Not that it mattered how many miners carried pistols. Pa and his companions were unarmed. Their revolvers lay on the ground a few feet in front of them.
Jem squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “What should I do? What can I do?” Whatever he did, it would have to be soon. He strained to hear what the men were saying.
“Surely you didn’t think you could hide all this forever,” Pa said, sweeping his arm in a wide arc to take in the claim. He sounded calm as always. For all Jem could tell, he might be passing the time with Reverend Palmer after Sunday services. How can he be so relaxed? I’m shaking!
“We would have continued a lot longer, were it not for that boy of yours,” Frenchy growled.
Pa’s face turned hard. “Where is he? If you’ve done—”
“He might be down in that mine.” Frenchy jerked his chin toward the dark opening in the ground. “You and your deputies”—he spat—“will be joining him soon.”
“Jem!” Pa called toward the mining hole. “Are you down there?”
Frenchy laughed but kept his revolver steady. “I did not say he was down there alive, Sheriff.” He motioned to his partners. “Get their weapons.”
He’s going to kill Pa! Jem’s thoughts spun nearly out of control. I have to do something right now. Something to surprise them. His gaze fell to the ground. Numerous stones lay scattered at his feet. He reached down and scooped up the first rock he touched. Unlike David and his five stones, Jem would only get one chance against this giant.
“Pretend you’re striking out Will Sterling,” Jem told himself, flexing his good arm. He steadied his shaking hand. If I miss … No! I always strike Will out. He stepped out from behind the brush, took aim, and—with all his might—hurled the rock fast and true.
Frenchy yelped when the rock slammed into his hand. His pistol went off with a loud crack and dropped to the ground. The shot went wild. Smoke billowed up into Frenchy’s face. It gave the sheriff the split-second distraction he needed.
Jem watched, mouth agape, as his father dived for the weapons on the ground in front of him. Snatching up his revolver, Pa kneeled and got off one … two … three shots. Each round hit its mark faster than Jem could blink. The men howled in pain and astonishment, and clutched their arms. Their weapons fell to the ground, useless.
Jem lost sight of what happened next. A cloud of smoke from firing off the rounds of black powder swirled around Pa and the others in a thick, choking screen. But Jem heard no answering shots. He held his breath and waited. A blur of gold streaked by and disappeared into the smoke. When someone screamed, Jem knew Nugget had gone after one of the miners.
The smoke began to clear. Frenchy cursed and screamed at his partners. He dived for his pistol but froze when Pa cocked his revolver. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you. I have a couple shots left, and I’m looking for a reason to use them.”
Frenchy sagged in surrender and backed off, swearing under his breath.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, DuBois,” Pa ordered. He whistled to the dog. Nugget trotted over to his side and sat down. He growled at Frenchy.
Jem didn’t move. In less than ten horrifying seconds, his father had completely turned the tables on the miners. No wonder they seemed bewildered. Jem was so stunned he could hardly breathe. He swallowed. How is that even possible? No one is that fast with a gun. But his eyes told him a different story.
He suddenly remembered the fight in front of the saloon. Pa had knocked the knife out of Frenchy’s hand with one shot. It hadn’t dawned on Jem at the time that there might be more to his father becoming sheriff than Pa let on. A twinge of regret stabbed him. He had been wrong to worry and fret so much. It looked like Pa could take care of himself … and everybody else for that matter. Sudden admiration surged through him. That’s my pa who just did that!
Before Jem could think of all the ways he’d been a fool lately, he heard Pa calling his name. “Is that you, Jem? You can come out now.”
Jem stepped out from behind his cover and raced across the claim. He threw his arms around his father, laughing and crying at the same time. “Pa!” he said in a rush. “How didja do that? I’ve never seen such a thing!”
Pa squeezed him in a tight, one-armed hug but didn’t reply.
Dakota chuckled from where he stood standing guard over the wounded miners. “Why, boy! Didn’t you know your pa is the fastest gun in these parts? And he can shoot a button off a shirt. How do you think he got hired as sheriff?”
Jem’s jaw dropped. He looked up into his father’s face. Pa shrugged. “They sure didn’t hire me for my good looks.” Then he smiled at Jem. “That was a mighty fine piece of rock-pitching, Son. You gave me the distraction I needed. I’m proud of you. But … you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s with No-luck.”
“Good.” Pa released Jem and turned to Slim. “Find some sturdy rope and tie ’em up. It’s a long way back to town.”
“I say we tie ’em up, all right,” Slim burst out angrily. “From their necks.”
Dakota agreed. “I see a fine hanging tree right over there.” He pointed to a large oak. “No sense botherin’ the miners’ court with this. We all know how they’d vote. Casey would agree too. Let’s take care of these no-good polecats right now.”
Jem swallowed. He had no desire to see a hanging today—or any day. He watched the faces of the captured miners turn chalk-white. They clearly did not want to see themselves hanged today either. What would his father do?
“We’re taking them back to town,” Pa said. “They’re going to spend time in our new jail, then they’ll have a real trial, with a real judge and jury. No miners’ court.”
“But, Matt!” Slim protested, “They jumped Dakota’s claim, ain’t that right, Dakota?”
The miner glowered at Frenchy. “Yes, it’s mine. I filed on it months ago but had a dickens of a time gettin’ any gold out of it.” He glanced at the hole, the flume, and the sluice box, as if seeing them for the first time. “Any gold you took outta that hole is mine, DuBois.”
“What gold?” Frenchy asked, staring blankly at Dakota. Then he added, “You are welcome to all the gold you find here.” His mocking smile told the story: the gold was hidden, good as gone.
Slim twisted the bindings around Frenchy’s wrists extra tight. “Why yo
u lowdown, good for nothing—” He broke off and cuffed him soundly. “Claim jumpers and thieves, all of them! They even kidnapped your son, Sheriff. Not to mention nearly killing Strike.” He pointed to a sorry-looking Canary tied up with the miners’ packs. “And they mule-napped Strike’s beast. That’s near the same as horse stealin’.” He stood up. “We all know what happens to horse thieves in California.”
“I say we save the state the expense and go right to the hangin’,” Dakota added.
Pa nodded. “True, that’s the way we did it … in the past. But it’s not 1849 any longer. The lawless days of the gold rush are over. I was hired as sheriff to enforce the law.” He pointed to the disheveled group of wounded, groaning men tied up on the ground. “And the law applies to them too. There’ll be no more of this gold-camp justice, boys, or guilt by majority vote. A real judge and jury will decide if they hang or go to prison.”
The two men deflated visibly.
“Whatever you say, Sheriff,” Dakota muttered. “But San Quentin’s too good for ’em.”
Pa glared at Frenchy and the other miners. “I agree, but it’s not up to us.” He found a spare revolver and held it out to Jem. “Jeremiah Coulter, with an aim like you’ve got, I could use an extra deputy. We’re slightly outnumbered. Can you help guard these men until we get back to town? The way they’re feeling, they shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Jem’s hand shook—just a little—as he took the weapon from his father. After all, holding a gun on a group of men was a lot different than going after squirrels. He swallowed. Then he gripped the pistol’s handle and looked up into Pa’s eyes.
“Yes, sir!”
Pa knew the way home without having to follow Cripple Creek. Even so, it took most of the day to make their way back to Goldtown. Ellie and Nathan rode Copper, but the rest of the men—and Jem—walked.
All except Strike. Pa insisted that Frenchy and his uninjured partners take turns packing the prospector out on a hastily constructed litter. The rest were tied together and forced to stumble along, surrounded by the sheriff and his deputies. Jem hoped they didn’t lose too much blood before they got back to town. The rags tying up their injuries didn’t seem to be working very well.
“Don’t worry, Jem,” Pa assured him with a wink. “They’re griping and swearing too much to be seriously injured. They just won’t be using their shootin’ arms for a while.”
A long string of horses trailed behind the group, their lead rope wrapped tightly around Copper’s saddle horn. Canary made known how much he disliked being dragged along at the end of the line. His loud and constant “singing” grated on everyone’s nerves until Frenchy finally shouted, “Will no one shoot that beast and give us some peace?”
By evening, the ruffians were crowded into the tiny brick jail and Strike rested comfortably at the Coulter’s ranch house. Jem sat by his bedside, heart pounding, while Doc Martin examined him. Please let him be all right, he prayed.
“Strike’s ’bout as tough as an ol’ buzzard,” the doctor announced after stitching up the miner’s head and splinting his broken arm. “Tell your pa he’ll pull through. Keep him down for a week or so—if you can. Once he wakes up and finds himself under a roof, he’ll be itchy to get out and back to his tent.”
Jem chuckled. “He’s not the only one itchy to have him out.” Aunt Rose had been fluttering around the kitchen all evening, trying to be gracious yet clearly distressed at seeing the old prospector resting under the covers of her and Ellie’s bed.
Doc Martin closed his black bag, snagged his hat, and turned to go. “I’ll come by in the morning.”
Then he was gone, leaving Jem and the unconscious Strike alone. Jem looked down at his friend, grateful that he’d been found in time. He sat there a long time, thinking and reliving the last day and horrifying night. There was so much he wanted to say to Pa when he came home. Like how sorry he was for complaining about Pa’s new job, and how proud he was that his pa was the sheriff of Goldtown. He wouldn’t be embarrassed when the kids teased him about being a sheriff’s kid either. No, sir! Not anymore. Jem grinned. I wonder if Pa will teach me to shoot fast like that.
He didn’t notice the shadow in the doorway.
“You all right, Jeremiah?”
Jem looked up. Pa filled the door frame, tall and strong. He looked tired but satisfied with a job well done. Just then, Pa did not look like a rancher-turned-sheriff. Instead, he looked like the hero from Jem’s favorite dime novel—riding to the rescue, dispensing law and order, tempering justice with mercy. Suddenly, the silver star on his father’s vest did not look like a bull’s-eye for outlaws.
It looked like a badge of honor.
Historical Note
Although Goldtown, California, is a fictional town, it blends elements from actual gold camps and towns that boomed (or busted) during the California Gold Rush of 1849–1864. It gives readers a glimpse into life in the gold country of the Sierra Nevada, where fortunes were made and lost, life was cheap, and prospecting was not for the faint of heart.
One essential aspect of life during this time was the miners’ court. During the early years of the gold rush, thousands of gold-fevered men flocked to the camps. The lack of established laws allowed sinful human natures to run wild.
Eventually, the miners realized something had to be done. Each gold camp or district created a set of rules to protect the miners against claim jumping (stealing another miner’s claim), murder, and other acts of lawlessness. When a miner broke the rules, a miners’ court was assembled.
Court rooms did not exist. Folks were more interested in staking gold claims than building a courthouse. They held miners’ courts wherever it was convenient—in a tent, a rough cabin, or even in a wickiup, a Native American shelter. In Goldtown, the miners’ court was held in the saloon.
Before jails, only three punishments resulted from the miners’ court: whipping, banishment, or hanging. The jury—a formal, twelve-man jury or a jury of the “whole” (the crowd)—decided on the punishment. Anyone could vote, whether he or she had heard all of the evidence or not—even a passerby who happened to show up when the vote was being taken!
They could even vote again. One story goes that in 1863, three men convicted of murder were sentenced to hang. They were on their way to their executions when some soft-hearted women and the defense attorney convinced the crowd to vote again—and again—until the men were banished instead of hanged. Later, one man returned to town and was hired as the deputy, even though an eyewitness had seen him shoot the victim! (He was hanged six months later for the crime, and justice was served.)
Traditional courtroom procedures eventually replaced miners’ courts as rough gold camps grew into civilized towns with families, churches, schools, and businesses.
Visit www.GoldtownAdventures.com to download a free literature guide with enrichment activities for Badge of Honor.
About the Author
Susan K. Marlow is a twenty-year homeschooling veteran and the author of the Circle C Adventures and Circle C Beginnings series. She believes the best part about writing historical adventure is tramping around the actual sites. Although Susan owns a real gold pan, it hasn’t seen much action. Panning for gold is a lot of hard work. She prefers to combine her love of teaching and her passion for writing by leading writing workshops and speaking at young author events.
You can contact Susan at [email protected]
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