5- Valley of Treasure

To raise money for Cousin Nathan’s operation, Jem, Ellie, and Strike-it-rich Sam head for the high Sierra to find and recover the gold they lost five years ago on a previous prospecting trip.

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Chapter 1

Celebration

Goldtown, California, April 1865

Jem Coulter stood with his cousin, Nathan, and half a dozen school chums on the spanking-new boardwalk along Main Street. “Hooray, hooray for the USA!” he hollered, waving his hand-held flag. Thirty-five stars showed in the dark-blue corner, along with the thirteen original red-and-white stripes.

“Hooray, hooray!” the other boys chanted. They echoed the adults’ shouting and cheering. Miners and townsfolk shot off pistols. Dogs howled, yipped, and scurried out of sight down dark alleyways. Horses whinnied and reared, throwing their riders. Shopkeepers handed out penny candy and ruffled the hair of boys and girls alike.

Across the street, Jem’s sister, Ellie, shouted at the top of her lungs. She linked arms with her girlfriends and jumped up and down. Her auburn braids bounced off her shoulders.

Does she even know why we’re celebrating? Jem wondered idly. Or was his eleven-year-old sister shrieking and laughing just because everybody else acted wild with excitement? The entire town, along with hundreds of miners from the surrounding area, had turned out this Saturday afternoon, lining both sides of Main Street as far as Jem could see.

Even fussy Aunt Rose had been talked into coming to town. She stood behind the squealing girls, quiet and reserved, but for once she was not making Ellie settle down and “act like a lady.” After a year of living on the outskirts of a rowdy gold camp overflowing with scoundrels, rough miners, and lawbreakers, the Coulter kids’ Boston aunt was finally beginning to thaw. A smile lighted her face at the news of the Union army’s triumph.

Pa had coaxed his older sister earlier that day. “This is a celebration you won’t want to miss. I’m sure our California gold helped ensure the North’s eventual victory.”

Maybe it had. Maybe it hadn’t. Jem only knew that millions of dollars’ worth of gold had steamed down the Sacramento River, around the horn of South America, and into the hands of the Union army. Not long ago, he and Ellie had been aboard such a paddle-wheel steamer.

He had not enjoyed even one mile of that ill-fated trip.

Gold or no gold, victory or defeat, Jem never again wanted to step foot aboard a steam-powered water vessel. Who knew when its boiler might explode? One had blown sky-high last September, catapulting Jem and Ellie overboard.

Jem pushed the watery memory aside and stepped off the boardwalk for a closer look at the oncoming victory parade. Before today’s celebration, he hadn’t given the War Between the States much thought. Goldtown was so far removed from the conflict that he often found himself yawning during Miss Cheney’s wartime school lessons.

Well, Jem wasn’t yawning now. The War was over, and the North had won! Even in California, a state far from the fighting, a display of loyalty and support for this hard-fought victory was in order.

The schoolmarm would not let her sixty pupils forget the date. “On Sunday, April 9, 1865,” Miss Cheney announced as soon as the news arrived at the telegraph office, “General Robert E. Lee surrendered his army to General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox, Virginia.” She paused and blinked back tears of joy. “I’m adding ‘Appomattox’ to your spelling list.”

As expected, the entire class groaned.

“I can’t pronounce that highfalutin, far-off place, much less spell it,” Dutch Warner blurted.

Miss Cheney smiled patiently and let Dutch’s out-of-turn remark pass. Then she announced the upcoming festivities for Saturday, and her pupils perked up and cheered.

******

It had taken Goldtown’s citizens less than a week to plan the celebration. A parade, with wagon floats decked out in red, white, and blue. Exhibitions and entertainments of all kinds. And plenty of firecrackers.

Firecrackers are grand, Jem thought, but I’ll save mine for after the commotion dies down. He reached into his pocket to finger his supply. Mr. Tobias of the Big Strike Saloon had dug through his storeroom and found hundreds of firecrackers left over from last July. He passed them out to the boys as freely as Mr. Stanley passed out candy from his general store.

Jem’s friends Cole and Perry nearly blew their fingers off lighting firecrackers during the first few minutes of today’s celebration. Will Sterling, his pockets full of the tiny explosives, showed more caution.

As he should. Last summer, Will’s carelessness with black powder had nearly cost Jem, Ellie, and Nathan their lives—along with Will and their friend Chad. The old Belle diggings had collapsed with the kids inside.

Will’s shouting brought Jem back to the here and now. He was saying something, but Jem couldn’t make out the rich boy’s muffled words.

No wonder. Not even the stamp mill’s nonstop clanging could be heard over the clamor on the street. Or . . . had the owner of the prosperous Midas Mine half a mile away shut down the gold-crushing mill because of the celebration?

Considering the size of the crowd, Mr. Sterling had most likely given his miners and mill workers the day off.

“What did you say?” Jem yelled at Will, stepping back up on the boardwalk.

Just in time. A sweat-soaked horse galloped by.

“I said we should win a war every day,” Will hollered in Jem’s ear. He stuffed another hunk of licorice in his mouth and chewed. “Free candy, free firecrackers, and heaps of fun.”

Jem drew away from Will’s licorice breath. Roasted rattlesnakes! Why does Will annoy me so much? After spending the night in a cold, dark mine, the two boys had called a truce and were on decent terms, but the mine-owner’s son always rubbed Jem the wrong way.

Like sandpaper on an open wound.

Several hastily draped floats in red, white, and blue streamers rattled by. Miners and townsfolk rode in the wagon beds, waving small flags and shouting. . Behind the floats, Goldtown’s brass band blared an off-key rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Ka-boom! A deafening blast exploded a block away.

Jem whirled, shading his eyes against the mid-afternoon sun. He’d heard black powder explosions before, but never anything like this. An ancient-looking cannon supported on two large, rickety wooden wheels brought up the rear of the parade. Billows of blue-gray smoke poured from its mouth. 

 

Five miners whooped at the success of their shot. Dry Dirt McGee poured black powder down the cannon’s barrel. Another miner reloaded the ancient piece of artillery with a heavy black ball. A third miner rammed it all in place.

Nathan whistled his amazement. “Where did they dig up that old thing?”

“Dig up is right,” Jem said. “It looks like it’s been buried for a hundred years.” Shivers raced up his arms. He had never seen a cannon fired—not in his whole life. What a stupendous blast!

“Some miners probably carried it off from Fort Miller,” Cole guessed. “Maybe during the Mariposa War.”

“What Mariposa War?” Jem and Nathan asked together.

Cole shrugged. “Gramps talks about it sometimes. Thousands of miners came to the gold fields in the beginning, and of course the Indians didn’t much like those prospectors trampling all over their lands. So they fought. The miners won.”

Jem grew silent. Pa and Mama were two of those thousands of miners back in ’49, the year the gold rush began. He didn’t like to think about his father involved in anything so brutal as an Indian war.

The Coulters’ best friend, prospector Strike-it-rich Sam, no doubt knew all about the Mariposa War. He’d been one of the first to arrive in gold country. But Strike never talked about those days. He stuck to gold-rush tales about striking it rich or sad stories about losing your pile.

Jem winced. He and Strike had once lost their pile. For eight-year-old Jem, the sight of two heavy sacks of gold nuggets plummeting over a precipice’s edge had been almost too much to bear.

“How did they drag that ol’ cannon from Fort Miller clear to gold country?” Will demanded in his high, nasal voice.

What a dumb question. Jem pressed his lips together to keep his mean-mouthed words inside. Miners hauled dirt and ore just as heavy as that cannon. Rich Will Sterling, who had never worked a gold pan or pushed a full wheelbarrow to the creek, would not understand.

“Who cares how they did it?” Nathan scoffed. “It’s here, and it’s a jim-dandy exhibition. I hope they shoot it off again.”

“So do I,” Jem agreed. The other boys nodded.

All eyes turned toward the cannon. Like Jem and his friends, the townsfolk looked eager to witness another loud boom from this unexpected diversion. A hush fell over the crowd when one of the miners lowered his slow-burning match cord toward the fuse.

“That’s enough!”

The miner jerked his hand away from the fuse as if he’d been stung. A curse flew from his mouth.

Jem’s stomach turned over. Pa had been sheriff for a full year, but icy fingers grabbed Jem’s belly whenever his father confronted a group of rough miners.

Like now.

Sheriff Coulter stalked to the cannon, crossed his arms over his chest, and faced the men. “Are you boys loco? That ball tore through the café’s awning and blew a hole in the boardwalk. It barely missed half a dozen bystanders. They’re still picking wood splinters out of their hair and clothes.”

Pa shook his head. “And here you are, reloading without even cleaning the barrel between shots. Do you want to blow up yourselves and the townsfolk?”

“Aw, Matt, leave off,” Dry Dirt McGee protested. “We’re just havin’ a bit o’ fun.”

“Well, you, Gruber, and the others can have your ‘bit o’ fun’ by turning the barrel thataway.” Pa jerked his chin toward the vacant lots along Pioneer Street, where the buildings had been washed away during last winter’s flooding.

“Who are you to say what we can or can’t do?” Gruber sneered. He slapped his dirt-encrusted hand on the cannon’s barrel. “This here’s my cannon. I’ll shoot it where I got a mind to.” He spat a long stream of tobacco juice that landed an inch from the sheriff’s boots.

Jem caught his breath. Goldtown harbored a few cranky residents who did not appreciate the new way of things, not even after a year of law and order. Jem didn’t recognize this particular miner, but why should he? Miners came and went through Goldtown in a steady stream.

This fellow looked eager to show off his cannon, like a young boy sharing a show-and-tell at school. Today’s celebration of the War’s end had given him the perfect opportunity.

Pa unfolded his arms and brushed the dust from the silver star hanging on his vest. “This badge gives me the right, Gruber. Now, you turn the cannon about, or I’ll confiscate this outdated piece of history and melt it down as slag.” His fingers curled around the six-shooter resting in a holster at his side.

Gruber sputtered and cursed. “Why you—”

“Don’t worry, Matt.” A slim, bronzed figure stepped up beside the sheriff. “I’ll make sure he and his partners mind their manners.” He lifted a shiny Navy Colt pistol and aimed it at the miners.

“There’s no need for that, Deputy Rafe.” Pa smiled as two miners joined him. Dakota Joe and Casey stood shoulder to shoulder with Rafe and Pa. “I don’t think the fine citizens of Goldtown want their celebration disrupted on account of a little misunderstanding over a cannon shot.”

Dry Dirt backed off. “The sheriff’s right.” He turned to Gruber. “I reckon you can drag your own hunk of metal around. This ain’t worth tanglin’ with the law.”

Seeing his defection, another miner joined Dry Dirt, and the two men melted into the crowd.

“Appears to be one too many rules in this here gold camp, and a sight too many lawmen.” Gruber drew his bushy eyebrows together. “You plan to shut down every bit o’ fun we got planned for today, Sheriff Goody-two-shoes?”

“I’m only trying to keep folks from getting killed,” Pa replied mildly. “Even you.” He ignored Gruber’s jab and his query. “Now, either point this cannon the other way or haul it back where it came from.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and headed up the street.

“We’ll see about that, high-and-mighty sheriff,” Gruber hollered at Pa’s back.

When Pa ignored the miner’s words, Gruber motioned to his remaining partners. They closed in around the miner, muttering threats and curses. Soon, the cannon began a slow, ninety-degree turn toward the empty fields.

When the next ka-boom sounded, Jem didn’t even twitch.

Chapter 2

A Bear and a Bull

The cannon’s echo faded, and the townsfolk returned to the festivities. Grinning their approval, the crowd parted to allow the sheriff’s swift passage through. Sheriff Coulter was well liked by most of Goldtown’s residents. However, it was the other, tiny slice of population that kept Matt Coulter busier than ever and often away from his struggling ranch.

Much to Jem’s disappointment, the only occupation Pa no longer embraced was panning for gold. “My prospecting days are over,” he’d told Strike shortly after Mama died, during the winter of 1860. Pa had turned to ranching with high hopes of making ends meet, but that hadn’t worked out too well for the Coulter family, either.

It seemed to Jem that the one thing Pa did well was keep law and order in rowdy Goldtown. He took to it as easily as Ellie catching frogs for the café. Perhaps, Jem pondered without much hope, their expensive new bull would prove his worth. Pa could then hand over his sheriff job to Rafe once and for all and settle down to ranching life.

Until then, I’ll just have to keep trusting You, God, to keep Pa safe. Today was not the first time Jem had sent up that prayer, nor did he figure it would be his last.

The ruckus over Gruber’s cannon was soon forgotten. He let off another blast to much cheering and shouting. Firecrackers snapped and crackled, and the celebration returned to its previous rowdy level.

Jem’s spirits rose when Pa strolled by. He gave his son and Nathan an all’s-well wave and headed for the other side of the street. He caught Ellie up in a quick hug, set her down, then disappeared into the crowd farther along the boardwalk, back toward the Black Skillet Café.

“Uncle Matt doesn’t seem too worried about that fella and his cannon,” Nathan remarked.

“Nah. Miners are mostly loudmouths. Once they figure out they can’t run wild, they shout, curse, and then settle down.” Most of the time, anyway, he added silently. I hope Gruber will do that.

Jem turned back to his chums. Cole, Perry, and the other boys were crowded around a new arrival, Dutch Warner. Their voices rose in whoops of anticipation. They ignored the dwindling parade.

Most of the floats had finished their route by now and were headed back toward the livery. Gruber’s cannon sat silent and abandoned in an empty lot. The crowd broke up as quickly as it had gathered and began drifting after the wagons.

“What’s going on?” Jem pointed at the folks headed out of town. “Where’s everybody going?”

Dutch glanced up. “The fun’s just beginning.” He thrust a poster under Jem’s nose. “The printer wasted no time putting up these notices. I grabbed one off a telegraph pole.”

Jem took the paper and scanned it.

In honor of the Union’s victory over the South, the celebrated bull-killing grizzly, Zeus, will fight a bull on Saturday, April 15, at 3 o’clock p.m. on Jackrabbit Flats north of town. A dollar a head admittance. Children admitted free.

Jem had seen cockfights, and he’d heard about dog fights and other entertainments on which the miners spent their gold dust, but he couldn’t believe his eyes at this news. “A dollar a person?” He whistled. “Are you sure it’s not a joke? Where would anybody get a grizzly bear? Even if they did, how could they keep hold of it long enough to fight?”

“It’s for real, all right,” Perry told him. “On my way home from school yesterday, I watched a couple dozen men digging holes and slapping together a sturdy pole fence to make an arena—a big arena. With raised planks for seating. The pit must be forty feet across! They were still at it this morning. It’s gonna be some show.”

Jem glanced up at the town’s small clock tower. “It’s a quarter to three.” No wonder half the town was hurrying north.

“I gotta go.” Dutch snatched the notice from Jem’s hands. “I’m not missin’ this for all the gold in the mother lode.” He turned and shot off down the street. “Better hurry, or the best seats will be taken,” he hollered over his shoulder.

The other boys whooped and followed Dutch, leaving Jem and Nathan standing in the street.

Will Sterling also lingered. He studied Jem and Nathan with a knowing smirk. “I reckon it’s tough luck for you two, what with being the sheriff’s kids and all. Always having to be the upright and goody-goody examples.”

Will’s jab was an old story. Jem should have let it go, but he couldn’t. He took a step and went eye to eye with the mine-owner’s son. He kept his clenched fists at his sides. You little weasel, he wanted to shout, but instead he growled, “What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t know?” Will pulled his cap farther down over his unruly black tangles. “If the sheriff gets all tied up in a knot over a lousy cannon shot, do you think he’d ever let you watch a bear-and-bull fight?”

“Why would Uncle Matt care?” Nathan asked before Jem could answer. “It’s no worse than miners shooting each other or going at it in a knife fight.” He turned to Jem. “Right?”

Jem didn’t know for sure, but a bear-and-bull fight sounded a whole lot worse than two miners swinging bowie knives at each other. However, he refused to agree with Will, so he acknowledged Nathan’s bold words with a nod.

Last spring, when Nathan had first arrived, Jem never dreamed his Boston cousin would survive the harsh conditions of a muddy gold camp. Now, a year later, Jem glanced at the ragged shirt, torn knickers, and disheveled blond hair and knew his cousin was no longer a greenhorn.

Standing up to Will Sterling was the frosting on the cake.

“What’s keeping you from heading out to the arena?” Jem challenged Will. “Are you scared of an ol’ grizzly bear?” The snide remark about Pa was burning a hole in his belly. “Nathan and I are just heading out to watch.”

“We are?” Nathan’s eyes widened.

Jem nodded, exulting in Will’s sudden look of uncertainty. Pa might call this one of Jem’s “numbskull” ideas, but it was too late to take his words back. “Come on, Cousin.”

Without a backward glance, Jem jumped off the boardwalk and broke into a run. Nathan kept at his heels. Instead of slopping through muddy streets, an unseasonably dry April brought dust puffing up with each step.

“Hey, wait for me!” Will scurried to catch up.

The three boys followed the townsfolk to Jackrabbit Flats, a huge swath of level land north of Goldtown. Oak-and-pine-covered hills rose around the flats. A few small miners’ and farmers’ cabins dotted the area.

Dominating the landscape, a makeshift fighting arena had been erected. Young pine-tree logs, their branches lopped away, stood jammed together and driven into the ground. The tops had been sawn off about eight feet above the ground. Ropes lashed the crude fence posts together, giving them extra support.

Jem and Nathan squeezed their way through the sea of bodies. Men, women, and children, dressed in their finest, jostled each other to find seating on the plank benches that rose in tiers above the arena. The benches were already half filled.

Jem pressed his forehead against the timbered fence and peeked through a wide crack between the posts. He gasped and stepped back. “There’s a grizzly in there, all right.”

Instantly, Will and Nathan slammed against the tightly packed posts, eyes to the cracks. Jem joined them and gaped at this mighty beast captured from the California wilderness. “Zeus” sat in the center of the arena, tied by a hind foot to a thick post embedded in the ground. Showing off his large, distinguishing hump, the dark-brown grizzly bear sat nearly as high as the back of a horse.

“Betcha he’s seven feet tall when he stands up,” Will whispered in awe.

Jem’s reply stuck in his throat. The glare in Zeus’s eyes told the grizzly’s story. He was at least a thousand pounds of raw fury and looked ready for battle with whatever came his way—man or bull.

The crowd knew it too. Already they were buzzing their impatience to get the exhibition underway. Money exchanged hands in fast and furious betting. Which beast would win?

Jem withdrew his gaze from the grizzly and looked up at the commotion. The tiers of seating were packed with miners, men and women from town, and children of all ages. Revolvers and shiny bowie knives glinted from the spectators’ sides. “Zeus! Zeus!” they cried.

“We’ll never find a seat,” Jem told Nathan.

Nathan kept his eye to the crack. “That’s fine by me. I’ve got a jim-dandy view from right here.”

With the tiers now filled to bursting, Jem was mighty glad he’d secured his place along the fence. The wide cracks gave him an unrestricted view of the excitement while he stayed safely behind the stout posts.

Little by little, others followed the boys’ example, lining up alongside the barrier. “Ain’t nary a bull in all of Californy that can whip that there grizzly,” a miner quipped to the man standing next to him.

“A fine specimen, Hank,” the other agreed. “But I’m bettin’ on the bull. I hear tell those horns can spear a bear in no time.”

Hank cackled. “We’ll see.”

Jem’s heart raced at the miners’ conversation. He clutched the pine posts so no one could jostle him away from his spot. Then he returned to his favorite crack to watch the show.

And just in time.

Zeus rose with a thundering roar, and the hairs on the back of Jem’s neck stood straight up. He forced his eye closer. “That’s some grizzly bear.”

Neither Nathan nor Will answered. They looked frozen in place.

Zeus stormed around the post, straining at his five-foot-long, hind-foot tether. Keeping a safe distance, a man on horseback circled the grizzly with a long pole. He kept the bear from chewing the thick rawhide securing him to the post.

An iron chain might have been a better idea, Jem thought with a sudden stab of fear. What would happen if Zeus chewed through the leather cord?

There was no time to ponder such a dreaded outcome. A pistol shot announced the start of the fight, and the crowd fell into hushed silence.

Jem’s gaze shifted from Zeus to the far side of the arena, where an opening in the fence appeared. With a snort, a wild bull charged through the gap and into the compound. A makeshift door slammed into place behind the bull, preventing his escape.

The spectators raised their voices in a mighty shout.

Jem didn’t shout. He didn’t move. He stared at the longhorn. He had never seen a leaner, scragglier, or meaner-looking bull than this raging beast. He moved as quick and wild as a deer. This was no rancher’s prized, petted bull. No, sirree.

“This bull’s begging for battle,” he remarked in a hushed voice.

Armed with two long, sharp horns, the bull took one look at the bear, recognized an enemy, and pawed the ground. Dust wafted up in a cloud. Then the wild longhorn lowered his head and charged across the arena in a blur.

 

The crowd groaned. This might be the quickest fight in history and not worth the dollar each adult had paid.

Jem didn’t want to watch. He knew Zeus was done for, and the miner who’d bet on the bull was right. The beast’s deadly horns would gouge the grizzly in a moment.

But Jem couldn’t pull his gaze away. A flicker of uneasiness worried his conscience. What would Pa say if he knew I was watching this cruel exhibition?

Old Zeus did not look troubled. He rose to his full height and waited until the bull’s horns came within a yard of his massive chest. Then he dodged quicker than a human bullfighter. As the bull shot past, Zeus brought down his paw on his opponent’s neck with a mighty whack. Grabbing the bull’s head between his massive paws, he gave it a quick twist. Before the bull knew what had happened, he sank to the ground and lay still.

Just like that, it was over.

Jem gasped. Nathan yelped.

Will stood still as stone. “I’ve never seen anything happen so f-fast,” he stammered.

The spectators murmured their dissatisfaction. The fight was over too soon. For a dollar, they expected more than a quick end to the bull. “That ain’t no fight!” one of the miners hollered when the booing and catcalling settled down.

The bear’s owner climbed to a platform above the barrier and addressed the crowd. “Ain’t my fault if ol’ Zeus knows his business.”

“Get another bull!”

The owner stood fast, but beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “He won fair and square.”

“Aw,” muttered a man near Jem’s elbow, “he jus’ don’t wanna see his precious grizzly wounded.”

“Would you?” His companion laughed. “I hear tell that fella’s worth fifteen hundred.”

Fifteen hundred dollars! Astonished, Jem returned his gaze to the crack.

Two horsemen trotted into the arena and lassoed the dead bull’s rear hooves. Zeus roared and lunged at the intruders. The men kept their distance, eyeing the bear’s tether and pulling the bull away with all possible speed.

The crowd grew restless. “Another bull,” they chanted. “Another bull!”

Seeing some in the crowd pulling out their revolvers, the owner gave in. He waved for silence, clearly not willing to see his grizzly shot dead. “Settle down, folks. I reserved another bull or two for situations like this.”

Jem frowned. How did Zeus’s owner get another bull? This was gold country. Very few wild bulls like that last ferocious fellow roamed the foothills. Had a local rancher sold his bull for a good price?

“Bull, bull!” the crowd clamored.

Just when Jem thought things might take a turn for the worse, a new bull appeared through the gap in the fence. At first, the beast drew back, but two men on horseback followed the bull, prodding and poking him along. The door slammed shut behind them.

This bull was a fine specimen and in his prime. His sharp, glistening horns looked polished, although they were not as long as the former contender’s. His coat glowed with good health, and his eyes blazed with a dark fire.

Jem pitied the beast. What a waste of a fine animal. Even if he killed the bear, the chances were high that this bull would be mortally wounded and put down.

The spectators cheered their approval and settled back to watch the competition.

The men drove the reluctant bull farther into the arena. He snorted and stamped and surveyed his surroundings. Then he circled the arena before making a mad dash back toward the gate through which he’d come.

The audience groaned.

Jem’s jaw dropped. Zeus’s new opponent had brushed by the fence cracks during his race around the perimeter. In that moment, Jem saw the JE brand on the bull’s hindquarters. “It’s Cicero!”

Nathan choked back his horror.

“They stole our bull!” Jem’s hands shook so violently that he could hardly hang on to the pine posts. Oh, God, please no!

He couldn’t watch. In a few minutes, their expensive bull—the bull Jem’s family had scraped and saved for—would be slaughtered in a brutal display.

And there was nothing Jem could do to stop it.

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