Bound for Gold--A Peter Fallon Novel of the California Gold Rush by William Martin

Author:William Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

March 1, 1849

Before the Mail

I allowed my pardners to read my dispatch when we broke off work at midday. Our lunch was beans and coffee and the prose of James Spencer, which I flatter myself had a kind of flow and rhythm not unlike the wheel turning in the river.

But nothing that Flynn or Cletis read made them happy.

Cletis said, “They’re plannin’ to take our water.”

“Can’t take it all,” I said. “The whole district will rebel.”

“If they clear out the Chinks and Greasers at the same time as they’re takin’ the water, it might be enough to keep the boys happy.”

“Oldest trick in the book, that,” added Flynn. “Offer a little with one hand while takin’ a lot with the other.”

“Well, boys, I been thinkin’”—Cletis stood—“gold veins go dry as fast as youth goes by, and our color’s gettin’ thin. May be time to pull up stakes.”

“Pull up stakes?” said Flynn. “On a payin’ claim?”

Cletis spat and went down the bank. “Can’t stay here forever.”

Flynn and I sat in the midday sun and watched the wheel, thumping and turning, thumping and turning, as Cletis took to shoveling.

Flynn said, “I think the old boy’s losin’ his nerve.”

I did not answer, perhaps because I was beginning to wonder if pulling up stakes might not be the best course. Was water really worth a fight? Was the dwindling supply of gold? Were the Chinese, who would have to learn to fend for themselves?

Flynn must have sensed my thoughts. He was good at reading people. He said, “You know, Jamie, Hodges is right.”

“About what?”

“About gettin’ dangerous, or goin’ home.”

Flynn was right, too. I had come to write about this world, but I could not stand aside while others struggled to create a society. Still, I was no fool.

I said, “No matter how dangerous we are, Hodges has twenty men or more. Those are bad odds.”

“Jamie, me lad, odds don’t matter to me one damn bit.” Flynn stood and brushed the dust from the back of his breeches. “If they did, I’d be back in Galway, hoein’ spuds. But all me life, I had men tellin’ me I couldn’t do this or couldn’t say that and best keep me place, no matter who said what to me. It’s why I come to California. Any man can get a piece if luck favors him here, no matter where he come from and no matter how many stripes he has on his back. And I won’t let any one man take that away from me … or any twenty.”

“So if Hodges takes the water, you’ll fight?”

“If I have to. But I been learnin’ from you, Jamie. You always think before you fight. It’s a fine trait. So”—Flynn tapped his head—“I been doin’ my share of thinkin’.”

“Thinking can be dangerous, too,” I said.

“Especially if you do it right.” Flynn disappeared behind the cabin. A few minutes later, he was back, leading our two horses. “Let’s go for a ramble.”

* * *

WE HEADED ACROSS THE roadless hills, traveling south

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