Hard Gold (16 page)

We were moving toward the place where Mr. Bunderly had set up his shop when I stopped walking. “Lizzy,” I cried, “I never saw Jesse harm anyone. Never! It would be so awful …” I felt pain raising in my chest. Then I had a memory of him right before he went west: the two of us sitting out in the woods. He’d just shot a pigeon dead. What had he said? “Wish that was old Fuslin.” Was
that
the true Jesse?

I don’t know how long I had been standing there when Lizzy said, “What are you going to do?”

What I said, barely, was, “Go to Gold Hill.”

“Have any idea where it is?”

“Out there,” I said, nodding toward those ever-present mountains. At the moment they seemed to be another world, even vaster than the desert I’d just come across.

When Lizzy said nothing, I said, “You see Mawr?”

She nodded.

“For sure he’ll be going after Jesse. I got to get to Jesse first. You can stay with your father.”

“Early Wittcomb! I would have thought you knew me better. I mean to go with you.”

“Truly?”

“Oh, how each day I lament the loss of my pig, who had the gift of true understanding!”

I grinned. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Good,” she said, calming down. “Now, are you going to help me find a house?”

It proved impossible to find an empty house, at least not a fully made one. We could have taken an abandoned place, but finishing it would hold us a while, and I was in a hurry.

After much looking, we found a poor but complete cottonwood log house. A woman by the name of Mrs. Rascoe resided there. She had come from Texas the previous fall and was living with her two infant children while her prospector husband was in the mountains. They had built the cabin, chinked it with mud, and then he’d left. He’d been gone for so long without sending word that Mrs. Rascoe wasn’t sure where he was. While awaiting his return, she was pleased to rent one half of the house for ten dollars a month.

Denver wasn’t much when it began. But its streets were sure wide.

Like so many other houses, it had but two rooms—or rather, one room divided into two parts by canvas. Another piece of canvas served as window covering. The furniture consisted of a wooden crate and bed. The floor was just dirt.

Mrs. Rascoe was an amiable woman, more than happy to have paying tenants who appeared likely to stay and were willing to talk. “It’ll be good to have a woman about,” she said to Lizzy. “There aren’t many here.”

Having located a place to live, we returned to Mr. Bunderly. He had found someone to shave and thereby earned his “first Cherry Creek gold,” as he put it. “Miss Eliza, I have established myself,” he crowed. “Enterprise triumphs! Progress proceeds! A new day has arrived!”

The oxen pulled our wagon to the log house on a muddy street and there we unloaded. In truth, the space inside the house was hardly bigger than the wagon.

While Mr. Bunderly and Lizzy lodged in the house, I would sleep in the wagon. Since I’d spent so much time sleeping under it, I suppose it was a step up.

That first night in Cherry Creek we ate a dinner cooked on a fire outside the cabin. Mrs. Rascoe offered real bread and antelope stew. While she worked, she told us her tales, emigrant stories not unlike our own. She insisted that great wealth was now being found in the mountains, and she had no doubt her husband would get his full share.

“It must be hard for you, Mrs. Rascoe,” said Mr. Bunderly, “not knowing for certain about him.”

The woman shrugged. “Well, sir, to be in Cherry Creek is to act as if you know what you’re doing, even when you don’t. There’s hardly any money, less civilization, no law, and too much liquor. You live by your wits or lose them. But if my husband is gone, there’s enough men about that I suppose I can find another.”

After a moment to absorb this declaration, I asked, “Do you know where Gold Hill is?”

“Up beyond that settlement called Boulder, somewhere. You going prospecting there?”

“The name sounds promising,” I said.

She sniffed. “Young man, if we could eat promises, we’d all be fat.”

When Mrs. Rascoe retired with her children, Mr. Bunderly, Lizzy, and I remained by the fire.

“Mr. Early,” said Mr. Bunderly, “I wish to acknowledge the fact that having come this great distance with good heart and capable hands, you have kept to your word. Moreover, you have proved a fine friend to me, my daughter, and my late wife. Having reached this place of golden imaginings, I herewith release you formally from your pledge. Be free to go where you wish, taking with you the gratitude—but alas, little else—of this reduced family.”

“And my gratitude, too,” cried a laughing Lizzy, clapping her hands.

“And where,” Mr. Bunderly asked me, “do you go from here?”

“That Gold Hill,” I replied.

“I wish you well in your search. When do you go?”

“Tomorrow morning,” I said.

We continued to sit there until Mr. Bunderly rose up. “Good night. It will be fine sleeping with a true roof overhead again. Lizzy, you’ll come along.” He started for the house.

“Pa,” she said, “when Early goes, I’m going with him.”

Mr. Bunderly halted and came about slowly. “My dear Eliza, you are far too young. …”

“Pa, Early came with us because we needed help. He needs mine now.”

“Help with what?”

“Finding his uncle,” she said.

“Ah, yes, the uncle,” said Mr. Bunderly. “And does he reside upon that Gold Hill?”

“I think so.”

“Dear children … and you
are
children.” He paused and daubed his eyes. “Miss Eliza, I am sure your mother … Alas, she is no longer here, is she?” He cleared his throat. “How long, Mr. Early, do you think your quest to find this uncle will take?”

“Not sure.”

“Mr. Early,” he said, shaking his head. “If I have learned anything, it’s this: though one’s prospects become un-wheeled, one must never cease moving forward.” He turned back to his daughter. “Miss Eliza, as your father, I would not have you do anything foolish, dangerous, immoral, irresponsible, or rash. I suspect if I told you not to go, you would hear my words with perfect kindness but ignore them. You have a keen intelligence, my dear, you do. I put my faith, love, and trust in that. It’s what that woman said, ‘Live by your wits or lose them.’I would offer my blessing, but having been so ill-blessed, I have naught to give.”

That said, he wandered off into the house.

Lizzy and I stayed behind.

“He means well, Lizzy,” I said. “He does.”

“I know” was all she said.

I stirred the fire, causing sparks to fly up and disappear, then said, “In the morning I’ll ask around, and when I get some idea where to go, we can start.”

“I’ll be ready.” She stood and started to follow her father into the house.

I called after her: “Miss Eliza, you’re as good as gold.”

“Mr. Early,” she said just before she went off, “you ever get to thinking that gold isn’t worth the looking for?”

Left alone, I thought of home so many miles away. In my head I composed a letter:

D
EAR
M
A
, P
A, AND
B
ROTHER
A
DAM
:

I
HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY IN
C
HERRY
C
REEK
. N
O SIGHT OF
J
ESSE YET, BUT
I
HAVE WORD OF HIM
. I’
LL FIND HIM FOR SURE AND BRING HIM SAFELY HOME
.

                                                     
M
Y LOVE AND DUTY BOTH
,

                                                            
E
ARLY

                                                            
BY
C
HERRY
C
REEK

Considering what I’d learned about Jesse, they were brave words. Not that I ever actually wrote them. Had no pen or ink. Didn’t know how to send it. Instead, I pondered Lizzy’s words, that maybe the gold wasn’t worth looking for.

Then I went on to ask myself:
Did I truly want to find Jesse? And if I did find him, what would I say? What might he say to me?

All I knew for certain was, I dreaded those words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Into the Mountains

July 14, 1859

W
HEN I woke next morning, all I could think about was getting to Jesse before Mr. Mawr did. So I went rambling early, asking anyone I met for directions to Gold Hill. A fair number of people knew of it, if only vaguely. Others were more precise. But when I put it all together, I had a sense of where to go.

It appeared Gold Hill was in Nebraska Territory, the Kansas-Nebraska border being not too far north of Cherry Creek. The place even had an official name: Nebraska Mining District Number One. From what people said, gold was being found there in good quantities.

To reach it, we’d first need to go northwest, to that settlement named Boulder that appeared to sit right below the mountains. Once there, we’d have to trek into the mountains eleven or twelve miles more. All told, Gold Hill was some fifty miles from Cherry Creek—two or three days’travel. But people said trails could be found with ease.

During a breakfast of bread and coffee, I told Lizzy what I’d learned. Pronouncing herself ready, we took our leave.

Mr. Bunderly held my hand in two of his. “Mr. Early,” he said, pumping my arm like a well handle, “I wish you much joy in the search for your uncle. Extend my warmest greetings, while ensuring him that any close relation you claim is the instant friend of yours truly. With a full heart, I beg your protection of Miss Eliza, and hope you will encourage her toward more gentle, ladylike ways. By so doing, the spirit of her devoted mother would be intensely gratified.”

Lizzy listened to more fatherly advice with patience, promised she’d return in good time, and then gave Mr. Bunderly a fond embrace.

Fortunately, a man with a wild beard appeared to request Mr. Bunderly’s barbering service, which allowed us to depart. So it was that we left Mr. Bunderly cheerful and chatty. I carried nothing save what I wore—the rough clothing that had covered my back since Iowa. Same for Lizzy: calico dress and boots. She also carried a flour sack with food Mrs. Rascoe had supplied.

The ferry pulled us across to the western side of the river, to an area they called Highland. Cost twenty-five cents. Lizzy paid. “Father gave me a dollar’s worth of coins as a parting gift,” she explained.

Upon the river’s western bank, we immediately came upon a well-marked trail leading west. The day proving warm, and the sky all but cloudless, we set off.

It was easy at first. We walked with no difficulty, though now and again I’d turn and look back to see if Mr. Mawr was following. I never saw him—or anyone for that matter, behind us or before us. That said, I was aware there was more than one way to get to this Gold Hill.

“What if your Jesse isn’t there?” Lizzy asked.

“I suppose I’ll keep looking till I find him.”

“Early, he might be anywhere.”

“I know.”

“And if you do find him, what are you going to say to him?”

“I keep thinking about that.”

“You don’t want to talk about him, do you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

I halted. “Lizzy, all these stories about him—they scare me. What if he’s not the Jesse I know?”

“Think you really knew him?”

“Lizzy,” I cried, “back home, my day didn’t start till Jesse got up.”

“And now?

I looked away. “He’s been gone a long time, but there’s a sun in the sky.”

We went on. After a few miles, the path we were following became rough, full of boulders that would have made it hard for wagons to pass. Being on foot, we skirted them with ease and kept our pace. Whether we were following Indian or game trails, we didn’t know. When we reached trail forks, we always chose the northwesterly direction.

As the day wore on and the heat came down, our talk dwindled, though now and again Lizzy sang. She seemed to know a million songs. I never tired of them.