Barkerville Gold (13 page)

Without stopping to think, Rusty reached out and grabbed Sheila's outstretched hand. “Sorry,” he said to Ms. Evans, “but we're late. We're going up to Richfield.”

He pulled Sheila away and Katie followed. They had gone about twenty steps before Sheila yanked her hand from his. “What was that about?” she demanded.

“Exactly what I want to know,” Katie said. “I was planning to question him.”

Rusty rubbed his aching right hand. With that and his sore foot, he was beginning to feel more like Three Finger Evans every day. “I think he broke my hand.”

“What? Let me see.” Katie grabbed his hand.

It looked quite normal in spite of how much it hurt. “He squeezed as hard as he could,” Rusty explained. “He was going to hurt Sheila's hand too.”

“Oh, wow! Thanks, Rusty,” Sheila said as they hurried south along the street. They were passing the Lung Duck Tong Restaurant when Katie said, “So we know he knows.”

“Who knows what?” Sheila asked.

“Bill knows we were in Ms. Evans' campsite, but he didn't tell her. Which proves he's up to no good.”

“He's been spying on her from the back of his van,” Rusty said. “That back window looks right into her campsite.”

“Right,” Katie agreed, “and it's one-way glass. He probably made sure she never saw him outside, even wearing his white beard.”

Rusty was confused. “How many white beards are there?”

“Two. Ms. Evans' has one, and those two men take turns wearing the other one, depending on who is following her. The good thing is that now we know exactly who they are.”

“Right,” Rusty agreed, trying to sort things out in his mind. Two men who dressed alike, even to their white beards. They even had the same gray eyes. They stayed out of sight when Ms. Evans was at her campsite and took turns following her, wearing a disguise in case she spotted them. “But...” He noticed then that the girls were far down the road and scrambled to catch up.

As they started up Richfield Trail, Rusty kept trying to figure it out. One white beard, two men. If one was Bill, who was the other? Katie knew the answer. Even worse, she knew he didn't know. So, of course, he could never ask.

“Are we almost there yet?” Katie asked.

“Almost where?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To Stout's Gulch Trail!”

Rusty pulled the map from his backpack and unfolded it. “Not much farther.”

They were still studying the map when someone appeared on the trail below. Prospector Man! He trudged up the trail, head bent, wide-brimmed hat hiding his eyes, a coil of rope over his shoulder. He saw them and his head jerked up, his jaw dropped.

Rusty waited for the man to yell at them, but he only scowled angrily and hurried on by.

“Just as I suspected,” Katie whispered, “he's fol...”

Someone else came into sight. “Hi, kids!” David Eng called. “You'd better hurry if you're going up to Judge Begbie's courtroom.”

As soon as the guard was gone they continued up Richfield Trail to Stout's Gulch Trail, which lead up the mountainside to their right. They darted up it before anyone else happened along.

15
Up the Gulch

I
really don't think we should do this,” Sheila said. “It might be dangerous. Remember—”

“I know, I know,” Katie interrupted, “you promised your mom not to cause trouble for Gram and GJ. But didn't you promise GJ we'd stick together?”

Sheila frowned.

“Besides,” Rusty reminded her, “Ms. Evans needs our help.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right, I'll come—but only to keep you two from doing anything stupid.”

“Whatever works!” Rusty grinned.

They stopped at a second, smaller gulch where it joined Stout's Gulch. “If this leads in from the southwest,” Rusty said, “then it's got to be Emory Gulch.”

“I'll check.” Katie rummaged through her backpack and came up with a small plastic compass. “My dad made me promise to always keep this with me. He says I have, like, zero sense of direction.” She bent over the compass. “It's southwest all right. So we start counting here. How many paces?”

“287.”

“Rusty,” Sheila said, “you're the best at imitating Three Finger's way of walking. So you go first and we'll follow.”

Rusty nodded, happy to be good at something. “I'll need a walking stick.”

They spread out and searched the forest floor until Sheila called, “Got one!” She handed Rusty a good stout stick, just the right height to lean on.

“Ouch!” he said. “My hand hurts.”

“Use your left hand,” Sheila suggested. “Isn't it your left foot that's sore anyway?”

“Shh!” Katie put her finger to her lips. They listened, but heard only wind sighing through treetops. “I heard something on the trail below us, I'm sure of it.”

“Probably just a falling fir cone,” Sheila said.

“Let's get out of here!” Rusty leaned on the walking stick and repeated his peculiar, limping imitation of Three Finger's gait as he struggled up the steep slope. “One, two, three…”

At 287 paces he stopped. Just ahead a shallow ditch cut across the trail. Water from last night's rain trickled through the small channel and spilled over the bank to their right. On the high side, a narrow, rock-strewn swath zigzagged down the forested hillside. “This is it.”

Katie checked the direction. “Due west,” she confirmed, “let's go!”

The girls walked in front to push aside bushes and branches of trees, making it easier for Rusty to keep to his lopsided gait. But it was impossible to move quietly.

“...343, 344, 345, 346.” He stopped. Looked around. In the shadowy light of a mature spruce forest there was little undergrowth, while high above their heads a steady wind rustled the canopy, masking other sounds.

“Now what?” Sheila asked.

“We search,” Katie said. “I bet Three Finger covered the mine shaft with wood, just like that escape tunnel Rusty fell into near the old house in Victoria, remember?”

Rusty shuddered. How could he forget? He still had nightmares about it.

“So,” his cousin continued, “be careful, because the wood must have rotted after all this time, and it will be covered with moss and stuff.”

They searched in widening circles, taking slow, cautious steps, searching for any sign that a long-abandoned mine shaft led deep into the ground beneath their feet. Rusty felt ahead with his walking stick and tried to push away memories of that frightening fall.

“Let's try a little farther along,” he suggested. “Remember, when we first stopped on Stout's Gulch Trail, we hadn't gone quite far enough.”

As Rusty made his way through the trees, he thought about Three Finger Evans and felt a growing empathy for the old prospector who once hobbled along this same route, a big gold nugget hidden deep in his pocket. He stopped. What was that?

The ground trembled. An ominous rumble, deep beneath the ground, sent a shiver up through the soles of his feet. He held his breath. A creak, a groan and then an ear-splitting CRACK!

“AHHH!” Rusty threw himself to the forest floor, but the ground gave way beneath him and he felt himself sliding backward. It was happening again! He groped frantically for something to hold onto, something to slow his downward slide. But there was nothing. The end of his walking stick caught between two rocks, held, then began to slip away. His heart raced, his eyes squeezed shut.

He stopped sliding. Opened his eyes. Sheila had thrown herself on the ground and grabbed the only thing she could reach. His walking stick. She inched forward and latched onto his wrist. “Help me!” she yelled.

Katie appeared, flung herself down and grabbed his other wrist. Together they dragged him to safety.

“Congratulations!” Katie grinned and punched his shoulder. “You found it. You're good at stuff like that.”

“Thanks,” Rusty grumbled. He was trembling all over and determined not to go near that open shaft.

The girls edged over the loose gravel and peered into a gaping hole. “It's way dark,” Katie said. She pulled her flashlight from her backpack. Sheila held her hand so Katie could lean closer and shine it down without falling. Katie took a good look, then both girls rejoined Rusty.

“It's only about five meters deep,” Katie said, “and not very wide. Three Finger must have been really small if he fit in there.”

“We need a rope,” Sheila said.

“Maybe not,” Rusty said. “Remember, Three Finger never told anyone about the gold, so he had no one to help him hide it. He didn't start stealing nuggets until after his accident, and he'd never be able to climb down there with his gimpy leg.” He wouldn't want to, either, Rusty realized, after spending a long, scary night down there with a broken leg.

“Then,” Katie reasoned, “he must have hidden his stolen gold near the top.”

“If it was near the top,” Sheila pointed out, “it would have gone down just now with that rock slide. We'll need to do some digging.”

“I don't think so,” Rusty said. “I figure Three Finger would use blue clay to make a hiding place for the boxes, just like he did for the map in his chimney. He'd make little nooks in the sides of the shaft, near the top, where he could reach them easily.”

“Yes,” Katie agreed, “but he'd need to hide the openings with loose rocks, just in case someone else looked in.”

Sheila, being the least likely to fall headfirst into the shaft, volunteered to do the search. She stretched out on her stomach across the gravel with her arms free to reach into the mine shaft.

“You need to help me hold her ankles,” Katie said.

Rusty stared at the loose gravel around the mine shaft and could not take a step closer. He shut his eyes. Falling. Tumbling into a deep, dark tunnel. Cold, slimy.

“Rusty?”

He opened his eyes. Katie was crouched on the gravel, holding Sheila's feet and looking up at him. “If she slips, I don't think I can hold her by myself.”

Okay. Rusty swallowed. He had to do this. He took a deep breath, forced his fears into a distant corner of his mind and stepped closer. He crouched down, placed his walking stick at his side and held one of Sheila's ankles.

“You're right,” Sheila's voice sounded hollow, “most of these rocks near the top are mortared in.”

“Feel for loose ones,” Katie whispered.

After some time, Sheila began to edge around the top of the shaft. The two cousins stayed with her, holding her ankles, keeping her safe. Rusty listened constantly, expecting at any second to hear heavy footsteps, to feel rough hands drag him away. He kept his walking stick close at his side.

Then he heard it. Behind him. A quick gust of wind? A twig crashing from the canopy?
A sneeze?
Before he could turn, there was a clink of rocks hitting together in front of him, deep within the mine shaft.

“I found something!” Sheila cried.

“Shh!” Katie warned.

Moments later, Sheila twisted around and sat up. Her face was bright pink as she inched forward, away from the mine shaft. In her hand was a square tin box the size of a box of chocolates. She opened it. They stared.

The box was more than half filled with coarse rocks, from green-pea size up to one almost as big as a golf ball. Some were light yellow, others were a more familiar deep gold and a few were darker, almost black. Rusty picked one up and held it on his palm. “Wow!”

“Let's get the other box,” Sheila said. “I think it's farther back in the same little nook.” Rusty put the nugget away and closed the tin box, which he placed next to his walking stick. He held Sheila's ankle again as she snaked forward to reach farther into the mine shaft. “Got it!” she cried.

“Shh!” Katie said again.

They sat together at the edge of the gravel while Sheila opened the second box. It was similar to the first, but heavier and crammed right to the rim with gold nuggets.

“Good work, kids!” said a gruff voice. “Now, if you'll just hand it over, we'll be on our way.”

Rusty's heart flipped over. He looked up. And could not believe his eyes!

16
The Lure of Gold

R
usty expected to see Prospector Man, not Bill. And he sure as anything did not expect to see Ms. Evans! Something was horribly wrong. The two came from the direction of Stout's Gulch, but that sound—
that sneeze?—
had come from the opposite direction. He was sure of it.

The plump fingers of Bill's right hand rested firmly on Ms. Evans' shoulder as if he was her boyfriend or something. And she did not look happy. She seemed confused. He soon found out why.

“You kids knew where that gold was all along and didn't tell me?”

“We were going—” Rusty began, but Bill cut him off with a loud, wheezy cough.

The man's breathing was labored, every breath whistled eerily through his chest like a winter wind. And judging by the way Ms. Evans' shoulder sagged, Bill was leaning heavily on her. “I told you, Joyce.”
Wheeze.
“You're much too trusting.” W
heeze.
“I knew these kids wanted the gold for themselves.” W
heeze.
“They were acting mighty suspicious.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Ms. Evans said, “but the important thing is that they found it.” She gave a weak smile. “If you kids hand us the gold, Bill and I will take it to the security office and explain everything. I need to return it and clear Eng Quan's name as soon as possible.”

Rusty, Sheila and Katie scrambled to their feet as Ms. Evans walked over to them. Rusty passed the box of gold to Katie and picked up his walking stick. He didn't like this. Not at all. And he could tell by the way Katie and Sheila edged away, each clutching a box of gold, that they didn't either.

“Please, Katie,” Ms. Evans said, “Sheila. Please hand it to me. I need it, and Bill promised to accompany me into town to make sure the gold is safe.”