Slate Creek Page 16

  As he climbed, the sun hung over the eastern ridge and the heat eased some of the spring stiffness out of his back. From the top of the steep incline, the pool below looked like a crystalline pear. Simon pitched one last rock, which fell short. His inner boy satisfied, he continued up the creek.

  Both sides of the canyon rose steeply away from the waterway, and the game trail he walked hung precariously to the side hill. About a quarter-mile from the pool, the valley opened up and leveled off, much like his own below, only much smaller. He hurried his steps to get a better look. The trail angled up and as he rounded a point, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of a small lake. About five acres of ripple-free water reflected, nearly perfectly, the mountain opposite. “Will you look at that, boy?” Simon sat down on the hillside with his dog and stared.

  Naked rock surrounded the alpine lake with not a tree or bush close to the edge except at the far end where the creek dumped in. There, willows and brush grew in abundance and the greenery extended up the valley. He drank in the view for several minutes before he stood and picked his way along the narrow trail, heading farther up the canyon.

  Three hours later, he stood above the trees, able to see for miles to the north. His trail angled to the right, just below the ridgeline, and he followed. Thirty minutes later, he rounded an outcrop and spotted what looked like a short pine tree growing out of the bare rock. It was off the trail, and about two hundred feet above him. Looking down, the steep slope with its jumble of ragged rock made his skin crawl, but the strange tree beckoned him. He untied his lunch sack, stuffed it behind a rock, and lay his rifle down beside it. “You stay here, dog. I don’t want to worry about you. Sit.”

  The dog dropped to his hind end and looked back at him.

  “Now I mean it, stay there.” Simon stroked his dog’s shoulder as he mentally laid out a route to the top of the ridge and the little tree. Picking his footholds carefully, Simon climbed the first fifty feet and looked back at the dog. Spud lay on his belly and stared back intently. Simon continued to climb until he pulled himself to the top of the rocky ledge.

  There, on an improbable flat spot, stood the strangest tree he’d ever seen. From below, what had looked like a short pine turned out to be a single branch on an otherwise bare tree. A three-foot-wide base supported the nine-foot-tall trunk that twisted like a corkscrew. Incredibly rough bark bore deep linear expansion cracks that spiraled up from the ground. Simon’s finger fit second-knuckle deep in the grooves. He stepped back to count the number of times the tree had turned in the wind during its hundreds of years of life. He counted eight. The back side bore charred bark, signs of an old fire, sparked perhaps by a thunderstorm’s battle with the earth. And at the very top, jutting defiantly at right angles to the trunk, the single branch with a sprig of dark green needles testified to the tree’s tenacity.

  Simon backed off a ways and sat down to admire this stumpy, gnarled example of life. It sat firmly on the solid rock and he imagined its roots going deep, turning and bending, seeking any tiny advantage to secure a firm grip. And here it survived, alone, fending for itself, taking only what it needed, and using what it took to best advantage.

  June 2, 1874. Visited on high today. The depth of a man’s roots will speak to his mettle. Spring is here, glorious.

  CHAPTER 21

  His visit to the rocky peaks the day before had given Simon a look at the vastness of the country he’d decided to live in. It reminded him again of how isolated he was. He rummaged around in his saddlebags for a minute, then went over to the tent and got the halter and lead rope. “C’mon Spud, let’s go see the horse again.”

  She’d obviously heard them coming, because this time she was nowhere to be seen. Simon walked directly to the shelter. “Hey, girl, you in there? Think you’re pretty smart, but you’ve got yourself in a corner.” The horse moved enough to confirm his suspicion. He stepped into the dense shade of her hiding place, and let his eyes adjust to the low light. He soon spotted her; backed to the rear of the cove, she studied him suspiciously. Simon advanced slowly, his hand out, the last close encounter with her fresh in his mind. She nodded her head and pawed once at the ground. “Easy, girl. It’s time you came home with us.”

  Simon watched her shoulder muscles as closely as he could in the dim light. He stopped when he was within her striking distance. She had her head turned slightly with one ear cocked in his direction. He moved forward again, hand out. His heart pounded furiously as he watched her front legs. Then he took three quick steps and threw one arm around her neck. She threw her head back and tried to rear up, but his weight held her. She tossed her head and shoulders back and forth as she tried to back up, but he hung on with clasped hands. His feet lost contact with the ground every time she turned. Then she stopped.

  Simon waited a very tense minute for her to buck again. When she simply stood, he fiddled with one hand to get the halter opened up, and showed it to her. She jerked her head, her eyes rolling wildly at this fresh insult, but as soon as the leather dropped onto her nose, she settled again. Simon buckled the strap below her jaw and took his arm from around her neck. “There now, that’s not so bad, is it?” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out the braided leather thong. “Didn’t even need this.” He led her out of the shelter and into the sunlight. Twenty minutes later, they were back at the cabin.

  A frustrated Simon picked the saddle and blanket out of the dirt again, and turned to face the horse. Short-tied to the pole corral, her defiant rolling eyes dared him to try again. The trip from the hot springs to camp had been a pleasant walk as the horse had plodded along, showing no signs of being upset. Then he’d thrown the saddle on her, and she’d exploded like he’d set her on fire. He’d been at it for over an hour.

  “We’re going to get this done,” Simon muttered, wiping the side of his nose with his sleeve. He crowded her against the corral poles, put the saddle down, and laid the folded blanket on her back. As soon as he flapped the blanket open, she pushed away from the rails. He put his shoulder into her flank and shoved her back. She stood still, trembling. The saddle slapped onto her back, and she flinched. Simon cautiously drew the cinch tight. He stroked her neck with one hand while he untied the rope with the other, then led her out of the corral and into the meadow.

  She started to spin as soon as his second foot left the ground, but he managed to throw his leg over her back. Spud danced around her hooves, barking, delighted to join the fun. Soft dirt and tufts of grass flew as she turned furiously in a tight circle. Then she stopped, jumped straight up twice, landing stiff-legged, and took off toward the hot springs. Simon gave her free rein, leaned over her neck, and kicked her in the flanks. Into the boggy ground along the first feeder spring she flew, almost falling as her hooves sank in. Then through the next, and the next, until she slid to a halt in front of her sanctuary. Simon let her blow, head down, for a few minutes before he reined her around and walked her back to the cabin.

  The horse shook after he pulled the blanket off, her big muscles outlined in white foam and gleaming wet with sweat. Simon rubbed her down with a feed sack, then dumped a half gallon of oats onto a piece of canvas. As he slid the gate poles into place, she raised her head and looked at him. Her soft eyes told him all was forgiven, and she went back to snuffling through her treat.

  As usual, Spud noticed the visitors first and stood with his nose in the air and his tail curled stiffly over his back. Simon studied the north end of the meadow for several minutes before he saw the familiar sight of Reed and his mules.

  “Wondered about you all the way to the mouth of the creek, then I smelled your smoke. How you been, Simon?” Reed climbed off his horse and tied him up.

  “Had some times I thought I might not be here come spring. Had some others that made me glad I am. Good to see you.” Simon put out his hand.

  “Looks like he still holds a grudge for something.” Reed pointed at Spud.

  The dog sat in the doorway of the cabin, ears up, wa
tching Reed.

  “Ignore him. I do.” Simon nodded his head at the mules. “You brought three.”

  “Yup. Couldn’t fit it all on two, so I added a few things you might want. No problem if you don’t. I’m going on upriver with some of it anyhow. Nice-looking cabin. Sure didn’t expect to see that.” Reed headed toward the log house. The dog got up and moved away.

  “It was close, but we got it done,” Simon said. “And the first thing on my list for your next trip is a window.”

  “Glass?”

  “Yup. I couldn’t stay in there. Had to move into the tent soon as the bitter cold was over.”

  “Real glass is hard to come by out here, expensive. Isinglass or vellum will work.”

  “Ever been in a hole with no light?” Simon pointed into the dark interior.

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “I don’t recommend it. It really messes with your senses.”

  Reed glanced at the tent. “Better than freezing.”

  “Just barely. No, I want glass, about sixteen inches square. It’s on my list.”

  “Okay. It’ll come from Boise City or Corinne, so it could take a while.”

  “Just order it up and pack it in.” Simon pointed at the coffeepot sitting by the fireplace. “Want a cup of coffee?”

  “Wondering if you was going to ask.”

  “Want to unpack the mules first?”

  “Naw, we had a real easy trip coming in. They’re all right for a bit.”

  Simon went into the cabin and got another cup. Reed was standing by the fireplace when he came out. Simon poured the cups full, and handed one to Reed. “Let’s go sit on my new bench.”

  They both leaned back against the log wall, legs stretched out straight. “How high did the water come up? I had to find a different way in. The old trail’s gone.”

  “I suppose it came within forty feet or so.” Simon swept his hand over the ground in front of them. “That whole meadow was a slow-moving lake, except on the far side. There I saw whole trees tumble. Felt the ground shake. Found out what that was in the cut at the south end. Part of the mountain washed away. I was worried about the horse. Needn’t have. She found a nice shelter by the springs.”

  “What do you mean, shelter?” Reed looked at him over his cup.

  “Up the draw behind. Nice rocky overhang and lots of trees. She was better off than I was. Glad it was there. I went to get her just today, and if she hadn’t been backed in there I don’t think I could have caught her.”

  “So, you gonna put her there again.”

  “I won’t have to. When I rode her, she wasn’t too cooperative and took off. I let her go, and that’s where she ran. I suppose she thinks it’s her second home.”

  “Those horses are gonna try your patience in the spring.” Reed drained his cup and stood. “Let’s go unload those mules.”

  Later they sat by the fireplace and ate. Reed had brought a lot of extra things, canned fruit among them. Simon speared a slice of peach with a fork and laid it on his tongue. The tart-sweet fruit filled his mouth, and eyes closed, he played with it, squishing it from side to side. When he opened his eyes, he found Reed staring at him. He chewed the piece twice and gulped it down as heat climbed up his face. “You want some more?” He offered the can.

  “Nope.” Reed started to chuckle. “To interrupt what I just saw would’ve been like knocking on a honeymoon door. Want me to leave for a few minutes?” He covered his mouth, but couldn’t stop a burst of laughter.

  Simon’s face felt on fire. “I . . . it’s jus . . . if I . . .” He put the can down as Reed’s shoulders shook. Then the infection struck him, and he giggled. The girlish sound took him by surprise, and he burst out laughing. Spud padded over from the tent and pushed his nose under Simon’s arm. Simon dissolved into a helpless fit of alternate gasps for air and howls of delight. As one, the men came off their respective stools and sank to the ground, tears streaming down their cheeks. The dog looked from one to the other and whined softly.

  Finally, Simon gained enough control to speak. “I haven’t done that since I was home. Oh, damn, my side hurts.”

  “You should have seen your face. I thought you were going to swoon.” Reed started to chuckle again.

  “I’d forgotten how good a peach tasted.” Simon got off the ground and set his log stool upright.

  “Well, you made the trip in here worth it.” Reed arranged his seat also.

  “If Red Socks is watching, I expect he’ll think we’re crazy.”

  “Red Socks? You mean that Indian that’s been skulking around?”

  “Yeah. I had a run-in with that wolverine. He fouled the meat I’d stored. The Indian brought me some more.”

  Reed’s eyes went wide. “Just walked in and give it to you?”

  “Well, no. He left it in the tent. I heard him, but I was half-asleep and passed it off as something else. Spud heard too, I think, but he didn’t get upset. The next morning I found three meat haunches. Two elk and the other smaller one had to be a sheep or a goat.”

  “If you didn’t see him how’d you know it was your Red Socks?”

  “There was lots of snow, and I tracked him.”

  “You what?” Reed threw his hands up. “You have any idea what could have happened if you’d caught him? They live up here. He could have walked you into a trap and knocked your brains out before you could blink.”

  Simon looked at his agitated friend. “I did catch him,” he said quietly.

  Reed looked perplexed and exasperated. “Simple as that? Just walked up and tapped him on the shoulder?”

  “No. I caught up with him and saw him. He was across a clearing and quite a ways up the hill on some rocks. He had his hand up.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “No doubt. He didn’t put his hand up until I stepped into the open.”

  “How did he hold his hand?”

  “Up.”

  “No. How high? Palm out or not? Over his head or chest high?”

  Simon imitated what he’d seen.

  “He was telling you to stay away, and if his hand was above his head, he really meant it.”

  “But he helped me out. I’m afraid if he hadn’t given me all that meat, I might have been in trouble.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. They don’t think like humans. Have you seen him since?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does that dog still go off?”

  “All the time.”

  “You’re both crazy.” Reed shook his head and reached for the coffeepot. “Have you had a chance to look around you, or has it been all work?”

  “I climbed up there.” Simon pointed to the narrow end of the valley.

  “What for?”

  “I went to look at the damage the flood did and just kept going.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “Nothing in particular. Just wanted to see. These mountains go on forever, range after range.”

  “Yeah, I know. There’s a range about thirty-five miles west of here that make these look worn out. And beyond that, still more. Folks’ve found a lot of gold over there.”

  “That’s Boise City you’re talking about, right?”

  “That’s it. You’ve heard of it then?”

  “Yeah. The freighter who took me to the Snake told me about it.”

  “He tell you there might be gold around here?”

  “He said there were miners by Salmon City, but I don’t think he knew about this place. Like I told you, an Indian at Fort Laramie told me about this.”

  “And he mentioned gold?”

  “No.” Simon looked up from the fire and found Reed studying him. “Do you think there’s some here?”

  “I don’t know if there is. You can find small amounts all up and down most of these creeks.”

  “Well, I didn’t come here looking for that.”

  “But I can see it interests you now that I’ve brought it up.”

  “Yeah. I knew a prospector w
ho found some in the Dakotas. A person can’t help but be taken by it.”

  “Do you know how to look?”

  “Yeah. He showed me a few things. Now you got me going.”

  “Yeah. It’ll work on you.” A wry smile formed on Reed’s lips.

  June 8, 1874. Reed surprised us with supplies. He thinks there is gold here. Maybe we’ll look. Good to see him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Reed stayed for three days. Simon found his company around the fire at night wonderful as he answered Simon’s questions about life downriver and whittled on his sticks. Every day they poked around in the meanders and behind big rocks.

  And Reed was right; they found gold everywhere they looked. The only problem was the amount. The specks were tiny, a tenth the size of a grain of salt. But in those three days, Simon became quite proficient at panning. On the fourth day, Reed strung his mules and started out of the valley. He was barely out of sight before Simon picked up his shovel and pan, and headed upstream.

  Tay had told him that there was only one way to find the source—look for it; the advice as simple and straightforward as all his many words of wisdom had been. Simon started by digging in the bank directly across from his cabin. Half a dozen pans full of gravel yielded the same minuscule specks he’d found downstream. He walked upstream a hundred yards, and dug another hole. And found more specks. By late afternoon he was opposite the hot springs, and his last hole surprised him by showing ten times as much color. Though still small, Simon convinced himself they were definitely bigger than the last find.

  He moved upstream some more, and started another hole. The sun dropped behind the western ridge as he reached the bedrock, shoveled two small samples into his pan, and squatted down by the creek to wash it out. The sharp rocks made a watery grinding sound as he shook the pan vigorously and swirled the sample around in the bottom. With a swipe of his hand, he scraped the top third of the gravel into the creek, dipped the pan for more water, and repeated the action. After doing that three more times, he had about a cup of fine gravel and sand in the pan. His heart beat faster as he carefully scraped the top bit off, and took on some clean water.