Salmon River Kid Page 5

“How can you tell that? It’s winter.”

  “Dried rosehips.”

  They dismounted and walked to the door. A short-haired dog, a collie of sorts, came running from around back, its tail wagging.

  “Ma used to have them. They were special to her.” Samuel remembered how his mother loved the roses.

  “Reminds you of our old home, then?” Charles wondered.

  “Our old farm.” Samuel resolved he would plant his mother some roses when they returned to Iowa and again had a home of their own—just as soon as the O’Riley began producing.

  They heard people at the door.

  “I remember now,” Charles said. “They were yellow.”

  The dog jumped and whined for attention. Samuel stroked its muzzle.

  A man and young boy came out to meet them. They were the man and boy who had been sitting near Bonnie. Samuel’s heart began racing. This is the ranch where Bonnie works. The man was about his father’s age, with flecked blond hair and heavy crow’s-feet.

  “Hey, Charles,” Jon Stromback greeted strongly and shook his hand. “And here be your son, Samuel.” He spoke with a slight Swedish accent.

  “Yes, sir.” Stromback had a solid grip that matched his broad shoulders.

  The young boy, six or seven, muscled his way to the front.

  “Here be my son, Josef.”

  “Howdy, Josef,” Samuel greeted him. He reminded him of his younger self, towheaded with light blue eyes and an impish smile. “Fine place you got here. Fine looking dog too.”

  Josef beamed. “His name’s Roundup. He’s just good for tellin’ us that folks are here. Is all he’s good for.”

  “Welcome in. Meet Mrs. Stromback and the rest of the family.”

  Samuel’s heart nearly stopped. He caught a glimpse of Bonnie standing behind a slightly plump, well-figured woman.

  “Welcome, welcome.” A wide smile crinkled Mrs. Stromback’s face. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” She reminded him of Ma Reynolds and contrasted with his own mother’s soft, quiet manner and slender figure.

  Two small, blond-haired girls bubbled out. “My daughters, Kerstin and Sophia,” Mrs. Stromback introduced. Kerstin curtsied. Sophia ducked behind her mother and peeked out. Samuel strained to see Bonnie. Their eyes met. She glanced away.

  “And this is my niece, Bonnie.” Mrs. Stromback’s greenish eyes sparkled.

  Samuel could see where Bonnie got her eyes.

  Heart hammering, hoping he would not sound clumsy, he took Bonnie’s hand and nodded slightly. “Pleased to meet you, Bonnie.”

  She laughed. It was laughter of silver. “Pleased to make a proper acquaintance of you as well, Samuel.” She curtsied.

  “Here be the lad I told you about who found the quartz mine,” Stromback declared.

  Samuel felt important as they flooded into the dining area. He was reminded of the Shearers’ home; however, this was larger, having separate rooms and painted walls.

  “You men all have a seat,” Mrs. Stromback offered. “Bonnie and I’ll get you some coffee.” They slipped away into the next room, the two small girls following, and soon returned with steaming cups, Kerstin carefully balancing a plate of shortbread. Josef pulled up a seat beside Samuel, studying him.

  “The family wants to hear about your quartz mine, Samuel,” Stromback said, surprising him. Although he did not fully know what the visit was about, he had expected the usual: the men would be talking, and the women would be off doing women things.

  Feeling all eyes on him, especially Bonnie’s, Samuel began. He wondered if he would say things right or if he would come across a bumbling fool. He kept to the basics and tried not to glance at Bonnie too much. She listened intently. She had small dimples that crinkled when she smiled. Her teeth were smooth and incredibly white. Samuel felt embarrassed by his own dingy appearance—by his tattered, badly worn clothes.

  “But how’d you know it was gold?” Josef implored, eyes wide.

  Samuel forgot where he was in the story. “Oh … Mr. Hinley, he actually showed me in some samples what to look for.”

  “You have to show me some.”

  “For sure, someday.” Samuel felt relieved to be finished. He did not like all the attention.

  “You’ll excuse us, Samuel?” Stromback addressed him. “I would meet with your father.”

  “Come on, children, I have a game to play.” Mrs. Stromback suddenly rose and led the two girls off.

  “I want to visit with Samuel and Cousin Bonnie,” Josef protested.

  “You too, Josef,” Mrs. Stromback insisted. “You can show Samuel your roping before he goes.”

  “You betcha.” Josef jumped up and traipsed after his mother.

  Samuel was surprised to find himself sitting alone with Bonnie, although the two men were in the adjacent room. He felt awkward, uncertain, not knowing what to say.

  “It must have been exciting when you found out you had discovered gold,” Bonnie said. Her voice was melodic.

  “It’s a feeling hard to describe,” Samuel began. “You work and work every day, checking rock after rock, and then when you find out you actually have some gold … well, it’s hard to explain.”

  Bonnie laughed quietly. Samuel felt funny. He knew he was in love.

  “Tell me about coming from Iowa,” she asked, eyes sparkling.

  Samuel began talking. And he talked. They talked. Samuel had never found anyone who was easier to talk with—except Miss Lilly, he remembered, now embarrassed. He told her of Iowa, his family, placer mining, and the Chinese.

  In turn, Bonnie told him about Slate Creek and the ranch. “I came out here three years ago when I was twelve to help my aunt and uncle. My mother died, so my father sent me to live with relatives. Sometimes I visit Uncle Nathan in Lewiston.”

  “I’m sorry to hear,” Samuel managed. He thought of his own mother far away.

  “It’s a blessing,” she quickly replied. “My mother was ill for a very long time.”

  “Why don’t you live with your uncle?” Samuel figured living in a city would have been better for her.

  “I could, but I enjoy the ranch very much.”

  He wanted to ask why she didn’t live with her father, but something told him not to. He noticed she talked a good deal about the Strombacks. They had been friendly with the Nez Perce Indians since they had begun the ranch.

  Samuel told her of meeting some Nez Perce in the Salmon Meadows last spring and how he admired their appaloosa horses.

  “Uncle Jon has two appaloosas,” she said quickly, her eyes lighting up. “I do believe they are the most beautiful animals in the world, and they run like the wind. One is almost unaware while riding them.”

  Samuel’s heart quickened. “You like riding?”

  “As often as possible. When I have free time, I sometimes ride up into the hills with Uncle Jon and Cousin Josef. It’s very beautiful there.”

  Samuel knew then he was not talking to any ordinary girl. She was at least handy with horses. But her speech and mannerisms were quite proper. “So where did you live before?”

  “We lived in Seattle.”

  “You speak very nicely, and you sing beautifully.” Samuel did not know how else to say it.

  “My mother was a wonderful teacher. She … she sang and played the piano.”

  Samuel sensed that Bonnie did not have the heart to say more. “That’s very nice,” he managed.

  “I’m helping Aunt Rebecca teach Josef and the two girls.” She shook her head slightly, settling her flowing hair. “The children are so precious. Part of my job is helping care for them.”

  As if on cue, the two small girls came rushing into the room, bouncing around Bonnie, giggling, their curly hair bouncing, Josef chasing after.

  “Here, here, children,” Mrs.
Stromback said as she came in. “They escaped me,” she apologized, looking slightly exasperated. “Come on, you three. I have a story. We can visit the young man later.”

  The girls reminded Samuel of his sister, Elizabeth. He shook his head, watching them go. “I’m trying to help teach my Chinese friend how to read.”

  A shadow flashed across Bonnie’s face.

  “His name is Sing Chen. He’s a year older than me. Probably, he saved my life.”

  She brightened. “You must tell me.”

  Samuel told her about Chen, but then, sensing some disapproval, he refrained from telling her anything more about the Chinese. That’s when he felt his father’s and Stromback’s presence. He wondered how long they had been standing and listening.

  Charles interrupted, “Samuel, Mr. Stromback would like a word with you. Then we’ll be on our way. It’s a long trip back.”

  Samuel felt crushed. He wanted to remain forever and to really get to know Bonnie. He wondered at this mystery, for surely, Bonnie was something like a mystery.

  “Sir?” Samuel addressed Stromback.

  “Will be a minute, lad,” he said, leading him into the next room. “Besides finding a gold mine, I hear you can handle horses.”

  So it was not about the quartz ledge after all, Samuel thought. “I’ve ridden a bit. Helped back in Iowa on the farm—otherwise, that is all.”

  “We have a good ranch here, Samuel. I’ve talked to your pa. If you’d like to take a break from mining when the weather warms a bit and spend a few days with me ranching, you’d be welcome.”

  Samuel could not believe his ears. He wanted to start immediately.

  “Your pa speaks proudly of you. When he told me how you kept at it until you found that quartz ledge, I told myself here was a man who has gumption. I hold that quality high.”

  A warmth flooded Samuel.

  “Don’t get me wrong. My hands are good, hardworking men. You wouldn’t be replacing anyone. I’m just giving you a chance at ranching before the trails open and you can get back to mining. You still have an obligation to your father.”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Samuel managed. “And to my family back in Iowa.”

  “Hell, son, let me come out with it. Ain’t any men in Slate Creek near Bonnie’s age, except our hand, Rex. And though he works for me, I’m not sure he’s the best type for Bonnie. Lately, he’s been hinting about courting her. I thought maybe if you showed up for a few days, she’d figure out there’s others out there who have better heads on their shoulders.”

  Samuel felt his ears burning. He bit his lip to keep from grinning.

  Stromback noticed. “I’m not suggesting a damn thing. You’d have a lot of provin’ to do, same as any man. But it might do Bonnie some good to get to know someone new—someone who has some different notions.”

  “I reckon I’d welcome that very much, sir.” Samuel tried to sound businesslike, but his heart pounded in his ears. “When would you like me?”

  “I was figuring mid-March,” Stromback replied. “That’s when we get some of our worst snows. We have packers’ stock to watch and feed.”

  Samuel felt devastated. March. “I’d like that, sir.” He fought to hide his disappointment. “Wouldn’t mind coming by earlier if you reckoned I could be of help sooner.” His heart still hammered. He almost wished he had not said it. He did not want to push his luck.

  “Could be. I’ll send word.” He offered his hand, and they shook. “Of course, if you and your pa have reason to come back before then, I’d expect you to visit.”

  Samuel already wondered how he would get his father to return.

  After another quick cup of coffee—too quick for Samuel—they said their farewells, pausing long enough for Josef to show off his roping on a set of steer horns tacked to a log. Samuel wondered where he would get a rope for his own practicing before March. He had never roped a steer in his life.

  Back at Slate Creek House, Samuel hardly remembered dinner. All he could think about was Bonnie and returning to Slate Creek to work for Jon Stromback, but then he started thinking about Miss Lilly, and a knot grew and twisted inside his stomach.

  Later, as they prepared for bed, Charles addressed him. “I reckon now there’s three things that can keep you quiet for more than a minute: eating, sleeping, and a girl.”

  Samuel caught his glance. He did not know how to respond. He had been wondering if his father remembered what Jenkins had said and had brought him to Slate Creek for more than just Christmas dinner. He thought about Miss Lilly and how he liked her. He hardly knew Bonnie. Maybe it wouldn’t work. He hated these new mixed-up feelings.

  “I think my father once cautioned me when it comes to women—to not get the cart before the horse,” Samuel replied slowly as he pulled up the blankets. “I’ve managed to do that, but I’m thinking he had other reasons for bringing me to Slate Creek. Right now I’m not sure if I should thank him or cuss him.”

  Charles sat up from unlacing his boots. “I’m sorry if I’ve complicated things, son. Maybe Mr. Stromback had other thoughts about why he invited us out, but I sure didn’t know about his niece, at least not until I saw the family at services. Then I thought I best be quiet.”

  “I’m obliged,” Samuel quickly said, managing to smile. “I ’spect that was a good idea.”

  Samuel stared out the window at the darkness enveloping the land, catching the stars glittering above the mountain peaks. He had looked forward to spring, when they could return to Warren’s camp and prove up the O’Riley, but now he looked forward a few months to when he would again be able to visit with Bonnie. A warmth settled in his middle, and then a fleeting dread. What about Miss Lilly?

  Chapter 6

  IN MID-JANUARY, a heavy winter storm set in with steady, wind-driven snow—snow that piled up, thick and deep, turning the canyon white and closing the trail. The naked limbs of cottonwoods and willows became icy white fingers. A sheer rock outcrop across the river and a few patches of open water were the only areas outside the cabin that were not white.

  Father and son remained in the cabin, briefly leaving it to take care of the stock and to get water or wood. The snow sifted in through the cracks and around the window, piling in lines across the floor and their bedding.

  After three days, the wind began to die. Frigid air, well below zero, moved in. The snow became tiny ice particles, pushed freely by the wind, piling in deep drifts. Except for a small section of fast water, the river froze.

  Cold seeped into the cabin, chased away only near the stove. They quickly burned the available wood. Samuel made a couple of trips to the driftwood pile. When he stepped into the cold, it bit his nose and ears. His scarf helped but his breath caught in it and froze into icicles. He hitched Molly, steam billowing from her nostrils, to a couple of logs and dragged them to the cabin where he could work on them. In the cold, the wood split easily under the swing of his axe, but his hands and fingers stung and became dangerously clumsy.

  They chopped ice to expose the gurgling water underneath for drinking and cooking, but new ice quickly formed.

  “Never in my life have I been this cold.” His father hovered near the stove. “A few minutes outside is all I can take.”

  Coffee had been their steady companion. A hot cup warmed their hands and bathed their faces, and it warmed going down. They were nearly out.

  “Guess some coffee would have been a better gift than a pair of socks,” Samuel observed.

  “Now I wouldn’t say that. I drink the coffee, it’s gone. I wear the socks, I still got ’em.”

  “Maybe we can borrow some more coffee from the Shearers.”

  “Try to buy some.”

  “We can go back to Slate Creek and get some,” Samuel suggested. “Plus we have other things we could get.”

  “I’m guessing you’d like to go back and say hi to that girl again.”r />
  “Yep.”

  In the late afternoon, Mr. Hunt came up to the cabin with two letters. His packhorse trailed behind.

  They offered him some coffee. It was their last.

  “Can’t stay but a minute,” he said. “I’ve been battling drifts all day. Need to get to the Shearers’. Tomorrow I’ll see how far up the trail I can get.”

  Samuel noticed the snowshoes strapped to the extra mount along with the mailbags.

  “You go in there all winter?”

  “I try to get in every two weeks. Usually the snow is no problem until I get up halfway to the freight landing, then it can be four to six feet deep. The summits will get twenty or more feet.”

  “Twenty feet!” Samuel found it difficult to believe.

  “At least,” Hunt corrected. “I snowshoe in from where I hit the deep snow, though I won’t go in a blizzard. The mail will just be late.” He drank his coffee. “Now there’s another job for you, Samuel. If the winter stays bad, you could hire out as a Boston jackass.”

  “A what?”

  Hunt laughed. “When the pack strings can’t get in, they take the supplies as far as they can go, usually the freight landing. Then they hire a bunch of men to pack it in over the snow. Freighters call them ‘Boston jackasses.’”

  “I can see why,” murmured Samuel.

  “Pay’s good—about forty cents a pound. ’Course it takes about a week.” Hunt sized him up. “I figure you’re about up to carrying fifty pounds. Get yourself twenty dollars.”

  It sounded good until Samuel considered fifty pounds on his back and struggling on snowshoes for near sixty miles through snow and back.

  “It’s the only way they get anything until the pack trains can get in in late May or so. I hear grub is already getting tight. There’s about fifty whites and about fifty Chinamen snowed in, trying to winter.”

  “How’s everyone doing?” asked Samuel. He was thinking about Scott and Mr. Hinley.

  “They’re doing good. They did up Christmas just dandy. They had an oyster stew on Christmas Eve with a bit of persuasive drink, lots of singing, even a dance. Now that’s something you can’t beat up there at Warren’s, even in the dead of winter. When ol’ Charlie Bemis and Rube Besse take up their violins and Nate Jenkins takes up his banjo, now that’s somethin’.”