1- Jem Strikes Gold

Pa pans gold, and Mama bakes pies for the miners. Seven-year-old Jem wants to help his family, but mean Will Sterling ruins his pie-selling errands. When Strike-it-rich Sam, Jem’s prospector friend, shows up with a scrawny dog, Jem might have an answer to the bully problem–it only Jem can convince his parents that another mouth to feed is a good idea.

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Chapter 1

Gold Camp Rules

 

“Hey, Jem!”

Jem did not answer his little sister. He was too busy.

A piece of gold was mixed up with the black sand in his round, flat pan.

A teensy piece of gold. Smaller even than the onion seeds he and Mama had planted in the garden yesterday.

But it was real gold.

“Don’t bother me, Ellie,” Jem said. “I have to get this gold flake.”

He scooped a little water into his pan and swished the sand around. He was going to add this speck of gold to his pouch.

Even if it took all morning.

It might take longer than that. Jem’s fingers were too big to grab the sparkly gold.

“Can I help?”

“Roasted rattlesnakes, Ellie!” Jem looked up. “You know panning for gold is a one-man job.”

Ellie knew the rules. She was almost six years old.

Rule one. Stay on your own gold claim. Rule two. Pan your own gold.

Pa had a big gold claim along Cripple Creek. Jem and Ellie had two small claims next to Pa’s.

“There’s your spot.” Jem pointed to where the creek splashed over five big rocks. “Go get your gold pan.”

Ellie plopped down beside him. “I can’t.”

Jem sighed. He was nearly eight years old. Mama said he was the big brother. Big brothers must always be patient with little sisters.

Even when little sisters wanted to help every minute of every day.

“Why can’t you?” he asked.

“Mama needs my pan to bake an extra pie for the miners.”

Jem laughed. “You’ve been using Mama’s pie tins again to pan for gold?”

Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re just the right size for me.”

Jem was glad his own gold pan was the real thing. Much too big for baking pies. 

He went back to work. More water. More swishing. More sand dribbling over the edge of the pan.

Jem wished he had a pair of tweezers. Tweezers worked great for picking up teensy bits of gold.

Sometimes his prospector friend Strike-it-rich Sam let Jem use his rusty tweezers. Rusty or not, they worked just right.

But Strike was not here today. The old man had left three weeks ago on a prospecting trip.

Nobody in Goldtown knew where Strike went. Nobody ever learned what he found.

A new gold claim? A river where gold nuggets were everywhere, just waiting to be picked up?  

Nobody ever asked.

Rule three. Mind your own business in a gold camp.

Miners never told anybody when they found a good spot. If they did, a hundred other miners would trample the claim and grab the gold.

More like a thousand other miners, Jem thought.

There were more than a thousand people in Goldtown. Most of them were men. Maybe only a hundred were women.

Mama was one of the women.

“So, Mama’s baking an extra pie today?” Jem’s heart gave a happy thump.

Another pie meant another customer.

Ellie nodded, arms still crossed. She looked grumpy.

Jem knew why. She wanted to help him. 

After his third try at picking up the gold flake, Jem let out a big breath. “Wish I had a tweezers.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. She dropped her arms and scooted closer. “My fingers are tiny. Tinier than yours. About as tiny as tweezers.”

She waited.

Jem gave in. “Oh, all right. See if you can—”

“I can!” Ellie poked her head in front of Jem. She reached into the pan of wet dirt and sand.

Her thumb and finger pinched the gold flake. “Where’s your pouch?”

Jem dug into his back pocket. Out came his wrinkled gold pouch. It held all the gold he had panned in his whole life. 

The pouch was not even half full.

“Be careful,” Jem said. “Don’t drop it.”

“I won’t.” Ellie squeezed her thumb and finger tighter.

Jem held the pouch wide open. “Now, Ellie. Drop it in.”

The gold flake made no sound when it fell inside the pouch.

No plunk. No thud. Not like the sound a big gold nugget would make.

Jem didn’t care. Each tiny flake added up.

He pulled the strings tight and stuffed the pouch back in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Maybe next Saturday you’ll pan a really big nugget,” Ellie said with a smile.

Jem grinned. “Maybe.”

There was always next Saturday.

Right now, though, Jem couldn’t wait to tell Pa about his newest gold flake.

 

Chapter 2

Pie Peddlers

 

Ellie spied Pa first. She waved.

Pa could not wave back. He was carrying two big buckets of creek water. He set them down next to a long wooden box.

The tall end of the box sat on the creek bank. The short end opened into the creek. A handle stuck up on one side of the box.

Two rockers—like a rocking chair—peeked out from underneath the box.

The miners called the contraption a rocker box.

Pa and Strike were good friends. They didn’t follow the pan-your-own-gold rule. When Strike was home, he and Pa worked on the rocker box together.

One person would pour gravel and water into the top of the box. The other person yanked the handle back and forth.

Water, gravel, and sand jiggled down the box and into the creek. The heavy gold always stayed behind.

Pa hoped to wash more gold with this new box than he could by just using a gold pan.

Jem would rather squat in the creek with his pan.

“Did you hit color?” Pa asked when Jem and Ellie ran up.

Ellie’s head went up and down. “We sure did!”

“What do you mean we?” Jem held up his pouch. “I found a small flake and—”

“I put it in the pouch,” Ellie said. “That makes it both of ours.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.” Ellie put her hands on her hips. “It would still be in the pan if I didn’t help.”

Pa laughed. “Never mind, you two. Mama has pies for you to deliver this afternoon.”

Pies! Jem had forgotten for a moment that Saturday was pie-baking day.

The miners looked forward to Mama’s pies all week.

Jem’s belly rumbled. Mama sometimes saved extra pie dough and some dried apples or blueberries. Two little pie tarts might be waiting for Jem and Ellie when they came back from their pie deliveries.

Yum! 

“Let’s go, Jem.” Ellie headed for the large canvas tent their family called home.

Jem followed more slowly.

He wanted to deliver pies by himself. But the road to Goldtown was bumpy. It was also full of holes.

Jem needed Ellie’s help. If she didn’t hold on to the wagon’s sides, it would tip over in the first rut.

That would be terrible!

“Hurry, children,” Mama called. “The wagon is packed and ready to go.”

Jem walked faster.

Ten pies fit in the bottom of the wagon.

Jem’s mouth watered when he sniffed the air. Blueberry pies today!

“Bring back the empty pie tins from last week,” Mama said. She covered the pies with a clean, white cloth.

“I’ll remember,” Ellie said.

Jem nodded. “I’ll bring back the pie money.”  

And maybe a tip.

Sometimes a miner was so happy for a pie that he gave Jem an extra pinch of gold dust.

Mama handed Jem a small pouch and a list of customers. “I’ll have more pies ready when you get back.”

Jem stuffed the list and the pouch in his pocket. Then he grabbed the wagon handle. “Bye, Mama. Come on, Ellie.”

The pie wagon slowly bumped along Cripple Creek.

Jem left one pie with Henry Logan. Nine Toes took another pie.

The miners smacked their lips and paid in gold nuggets.  

Jem dropped the nuggets into Mama’s pouch and tucked it back in his pocket for safekeeping.

They walked farther along the bumpy road. Jem pulled the wagon. Ellie hung onto the sides.

Keeping the wagon steady was hard, slow work.

After a long walk, Jem and Ellie came to Goldtown.

Hundreds of canvas tents spread out everywhere. There were only two or three brick buildings. The wooden buildings had burnt down three years ago.

Now everybody was living in tents.

Signs hung from the big tents. One read “Café.” Another said “General Store.”

The biggest tent hung out the biggest sign: “Saloon.”

Some of the tents looked half burnt. Stovepipes poked up through the canvas tops. Smoke puffed out.

Jem was glad Mama kept their cookstove outdoors, far away from their tent.

He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the café. “Mr. Sims, we got your pies.”

A big man pushed aside the tent flap. “Just in time.” He paid in gold and handed Ellie his empty pie tins.

Mr. Sims took a blueberry pie in each hand. He sniffed. “Your ma is a pie angel sent from heaven.”

Jem smiled. Every miner in camp loved Mama’s pies. She could not bake them fast enough to fill orders.

The miners and café owners had to take turns.

“Thank you,” Jem remembered to say. “Good-bye.”

Two more pies quickly found homes.

“Mama earns more money baking pies than Pa makes washing gold,” Jem told Ellie.

He curled his fingers around Mama’s gold pouch. So why do I always feel we are dirt poor?

The answer to Jem’s question stepped out in front of the wagon just then. “Hello, pie peddlers.”

Will Sterling. The richest kid in Goldtown.

Will’s father owned the new gold mine. Their family was building a brand-new house up on Belle Hill. It was the biggest and fanciest house Jem had ever seen.

Will always made Jem feel dirt poor.

Jem swallowed. Will was trouble too.

Big trouble.

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