Barkerville Gold (12 page)

“We will, Rusty, tomorrow for sure. I know there are lots of things still to see, but don't worry, we'll get to them all.”

“But...”

“Quesnel is only about an hour from here. We thought we'd spend some time there today. There are riverboat trips to take and trails to walk and the old Hudson's Bay Company log building is now a restaurant. We'll have lunch there.”

Rusty moaned. It all sounded so tempting. But they absolutely had to see Mason and Daly's first thing this morning.

“Also,” Gram continued, “GJ wants to have the truck looked at before we haul the trailer out of here. He thinks the brakes might need some work.”

“But...”

“Don't be selfish, Rusty. I know the girls would like a change. They haven't complained about spending time in Barkerville, have they?”

“No,” Rusty admitted. Then it hit him, the perfect way out of this.
The best defense is the element of surprise—
at least that's what his dad always said. “Okay then, let's ask them. If Katie and Sheila want to go to Quesnel today, then you won't hear one word of complaint from me.”

Gram searched his face. “Promise?”

“I'll go willingly, with a big happy grin.”

To Gram and GJ's amazement, both girls were adamant that they wanted to spend the day in Barkerville.

“All right then,” Gram agreed. “GJ and I need to go, but we'll just do the shopping, have the truck checked over and come back as soon as possible. You kids can go to Barkerville, but only if Joyce Evans agrees to drive you. She was planning to spend the day there and I'm certain she won't mind, especially since we already asked her over for dinner tonight. That way, if you run into any problems, you can go to her.”

“But remember,” GJ said sternly, “the three of you have to promise to stick together, just like yesterday, and stay inside the town limits.”

“What about Richfield?” Rusty asked. “Can we walk up to Richfield? I want to see Judge Begbie's court.”

“That shouldn't be a problem,” GJ agreed.

“Now,” Gram warned, “don't give Ms. Evans a bad time.”

“Who?
Us?
” Katie raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” Sheila said.

Rusty shook his head. “No way.”

No one in Ms. Evans' little red Jeep spoke as they left the campground. The silence lengthened as they neared Barkerville. Rusty glanced sideways at his cousin, expecting her to be full of questions, but it seemed she wasn't sure how to begin.

Ms. Evans solved the problem. “So, Rusty, I hear you're interested in history?”

“Yep! And especially your grandfather, Three Finger Evans.”

“My husband's great-grandfather,” she corrected.

“Did you know he stole a bunch of stuff—like Hair Invigorator, whiskey and leather pouches?”

Ms. Evans' fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“Some people think his ghost wanders around at night,” Katie added. “Now, I don't believe in ghosts, but I have to admit, we've seen a couple of old prospector types around here.”

“More than one?” Ms. Evans' voice was high-pitched, her knuckles white.

Katie nodded. “One small thin one and another bigger one who always tags along behind.”

Ms. Evans gasped. “But…are you sure?”

“Yes. They both have white beards, and…” Katie hesitated, then plunged right in, “we think the smaller one is you.”

Ms. Evans hit the brake, then the gas pedal, and the car hopped along like a jackrabbit. “Your grandparents told me you were quite the detective, Katie, but what makes you think that?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like the boots and the white beard in your trailer,” Rusty said.

Ms. Evans drove for a moment in silence. “Those boots belonged to Three Finger Evans, did you know that? But the beard was my son's. Scott and his best friend, Danny, dressed up as old prospectors one Halloween years ago. I found some really authentic-looking beards for them at the theater where I worked.”

“Why did you dress up like that?” Katie asked.

“I just… I didn't want to be recognized and questioned if anyone saw me wandering around at night. I figured if people thought they were seeing a ghost, they'd likely keep quiet about it or everyone would make fun of them, you know? Also, being an actress, I always like to get into the part I'm playing.” She slowed to enter the parking lot. “But this other ghost, exactly what does he look like?”

Rusty described him and added, “He's mean, too. He told us to stay out of his way or he'd ‘teach us a lesson we'd never forget'!”

“So,” Katie asked, “are you going to return the gold soon?”

“If I can find it, believe me, I'll return it immediately.”

“Maybe we can help,” Rusty offered.

“No.” Ms. Evans parked the car and switched off the engine. “I want you to stay out of this. That man you describe sounds dangerous.”

14
Frizzy Hair

T
hey walked with Ms. Evans along Barkerville's damp street as far as Saint Saviour's Church. “What do you three plan on doing this morning?”

“We want to see Mas...” Rusty began but was drowned out by Katie.

“We're going up the Richfield Trail,” she said.

“Oh! Listen, why don't I treat you to some fresh-baked goodies at the Goldfield Bakery before you go? I can smell it from here.”

Rusty could too. The rich aroma of fresh baking was overpowering. “All right! Thank you, I'm so-oo hungry!”

“We just finished breakfast,” Katie objected, but she and Sheila followed close behind as Rusty walked beside Ms. Evans to the bakery.

“Aren't you going to have one?” he asked, selecting the biggest donut he could see.

Ms. Evans shook her head. “I'm afraid I can't eat as much as I used to. One donut and I'd be full for the entire day!”

They wandered outside. No sooner had they settled on a bench than Ms. Evans glanced at her watch. “Oh dear!” she said. “I've just remembered, I'm meeting someone down the road and I'm late already. Enjoy your donuts. I'll see you later!”

They watched her take off at a near run along the raised plank sidewalk, wearing a small backpack, jeans, a light jacket and white running shoes.

“Hmm,” Sheila observed, “she sure was in a hurry to get rid of us. I wonder what she's up to?”

“If you ask me,” Katie licked a whipped-cream mustache from her upper lip, “she's going to return those gold pouches while everything is quiet. She was way too tired to walk into Barkerville last night, in the rain. After that, she needs to return the gold before her son's birthday.”

“But she doesn't have it,” Rusty said.

“I know, and it's up to us to find it for her, whether she wants our help or not. I say we check out Mason and Daly's, then go up Stout's Gulch and find that abandoned mine shaft. If the gold is there, we'll bring it out and give it to her.”

“And if it isn't?” Sheila asked.

“It will be,” Katie said.

As he limped along Main Street behind the girls, Rusty thought about another eleven-year-old boy, on a fishing trip with his dad. He tried to imagine how he would feel if his own father were suddenly taken from him. Katie was right—they had to find that gold. And fast!

She wore a different dress, but Rusty recognized her immediately. Her frizzy hair and squashed-bird hat were unmistakable. Her small gray eyes narrowed suspiciously when the three of them walked into Mason and Daly's. Rusty tried to ignore her, but his eyes were drawn against his will. He suppressed a gasp. Her hard, cold stare sent a shiver down his spine, and he pulled his eyes away to examine the large, cluttered room.

No space was wasted. Shelves crammed with clothing, boxes, hats and all manner of unusual items lined the walls. Pots, pans and huge woven baskets were suspended from the ceiling on hooks. Furniture, arranged in haphazard fashion, covered much of the floor space, while jackets and coats hung on racks.

His survey stopped at the small, rectangular window. Three brown leather pouches were lined up side by side on the sill. He started toward them, but was shoved roughly aside as Frizzy Hair dashed ahead of him and scooped up the pouches.

A plump young man wearing a suit jacket, bow tie, breeches and high boots stepped from the back of the store. “Phyllis! What brings you here so early?”

Frizzy Hair, or Phyllis, pulled the pouches close against her full skirt, hidden from the young man. “Just doing my rounds, Jason. I like to be certain everything is in order.” She scooted out the door before anyone could say another word.

Rusty followed her, with Sheila close at his heels. Frizzy Hair sprang down the stairs so fast she tripped on her skirt, caught herself and darted across the street, her fine hair floating like a dark cloud around her head.

She kept her left arm straight down, hiding the pouches in the folds of her full skirt until she disappeared into a short alley between the Theatre Royal and the Barkerville Hotel.

“She's heading for the staff-only building again,” Rusty said. They darted around the corner of the hotel and skidded to a stop.

Frizzy Hair was standing in the middle of the road talking to two men Rusty recognized in a flash. They were the same two security guards he had overheard in Wake-Up Jake's!

Rusty and Sheila watched Frizzy Hair show them the pouches. “He's come back! Didn't I tell you? Three Finger is returning everything, just as I said he would. Oh, how I would love to see him close up! He'll bring the gold back next, just you wait and see. And when he does, we'll be waiting for him.”

“Now, Phyllis,” the big guard said, “remember, we agreed to keep this quiet. Otherwise we'll be overrun with ghosthunters and golddiggers from all over the world. As if that
Spirits of the Cariboo
book won't cause enough trouble, now
you're
seeing ghosts too?”

Phyllis glanced nervously over her thin shoulder and her narrow eyes got narrower. “There they are! Those are the children who keep following me!”

The big guard noticed Rusty then. His eyebrows raised just slightly, but enough to tell Rusty that he recognized him. The man started toward them. “Want to tell us what you're up to?”

Rusty quivered in his sneakers. His throat seized up. He wanted to run, but his legs had turned to jelly. And then, to his horror, he heard himself say, “Actually, no.”

The man stepped closer, so close Rusty could not see his angry eyes. He could see nothing but a tan button in the middle of a tan shirt.

Sheila grabbed Rusty's elbow and yanked him away. “We're simply touring Barkerville,” she explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “That's what we came up here for. I hope it's not a problem.”

“You can't go around harassing our staff members,” the big guard said. He glanced at his partner. “Shall we take them in for questioning?”

“You can't do that,” Sheila told him. “We didn't do anything wrong. I know the law, my mom's a police officer.”

“Just don't cause any more problems,” the smaller guard said. He smiled and his brown eyes looked friendly. “I'm David Eng,” he added. “Tell me, why are you following Phyllis?”

Rusty began to relax. “Because she keeps taking all the stuff Three Finger returns. We want to know why.”

“You see?” Frizzy Hair said. “I told you this boy saw Three Finger!” Her scowl miraculously vanished and her face crinkled into a smile. “Tell me, exactly what does he look like, son?”

“I, uh...he...” What was he supposed to say? Should he describe Joyce Evans in her Three Finger disguise or the other, bigger Prospector Man?

“I'm sorry,” Sheila said, “but we're late for meeting our friend.”

They walked quickly back toward the main street. “Where is Katie anyway?” Rusty whispered. But he no sooner asked than he saw her, waiting at the corner beside the Barkerville Hotel. She motioned them to hurry.

“Where were you?” Rusty asked.

“I saw Prospector Man again. He went into Mason and Daly's. And look over there!”

Across the crowded street, two people were standing in front of a carriage shed. One was Ms. Evans, the other was a chubby man wearing a blue baseball cap, dark blue sweatshirt and jeans. He had plump pink cheeks and his head was encircled by smoke from the pipe sticking out of his mouth. A blue and white sports bag slung over one stooped shoulder seemed oddly out of place.

“That's him!” Rusty whispered. “That's the man from Prospector Man's campsite. I bet he's telling Ms. Evans we were snooping around yesterday. Let's get out of here!”

“We can't go back,” Sheila said. “I don't want to meet up with those two guards and Phyllis.”

Before they could decide which way to turn, Ms. Evans glanced over and waved. “Hey, kids!” she called. “Come and meet Bill!”

They dragged themselves across the street. “Bill,” Ms. Evans said, “these are my friends I told you about, Rusty, Sheila and Katie.”

“You know, it was the strangest thing,” Ms. Evans explained, “but last night, just after I left your trailer, I saw Bill splashing toward me in the rain. I could scarcely believe my eyes! You see, Bill's from Cornwall, just like me, and I know him because our two sons have been friends since they were kids. Also, it turns out his campsite is right behind mine, but we never noticed each other. Isn't that odd?”

Rusty looked up into Bill's round face. He wasn't a tall man, but he loomed above Rusty nevertheless. His smile was friendly enough as he reached out to shake Rusty's hand, but his slate gray eyes were hard and cold under his bushy white eyebrows. “Pleased to meet you,” he said and squeezed so hard Rusty felt the bones in his hand crunch together.

“That's some coincidence,” Sheila remarked as Bill turned to shake her hand.