The Mother Lode Read online

  Joe silenced the man’s whining. “Look at the bright side of this situation, farmer. I gave you a free shave. On top of that, you’ve got a couple hundred dollars in cash, three slaves that you call your wives, and all those fine, healthy children who will work for you when you grow old. On top of that, now you have two farms! Why, you’re a very wealthy and fortunate man!”

  “Goddamn you!” Eli cried, lunging for the last of his money.

  As he did so, Joe kicked him square in the balls. It was a vicious, hold-back-nothing kick that would guarantee that Eli did not father any more children for a long, long time. Maybe never.

  Purvis went down howling. And he kept on howling until Ellen burst into the barn followed by the Purvis wives and some of the older children. One of the wives fainted and two of the children burst into tears.

  “Did you kill him!” Ellen yelled accusingly at Joe.

  “Nope, just made him a true believer.”

  “In what?”

  Joe handed the two thousand dollars to Ellen. “In honest business dealings with his neighbors, of course. Ellen, Mr. Purvis just bought your farm for two thousand dollars. Didn’t you, Eli?”

  When Eli didn’t answer, Joe stepped up to kick him again and make the farmer a true gelding. But then Eli cried out that, yes, he had bought the Johnson farm for two thousand dollars.

  “Ellen,” Joe said, “do you need a bill of sale?”

  “No,” she said in a tight voice, “these women are honest. They’re all witnesses.”

  Joe sheathed his bowie knife and belted his tomahawk. “Then I do believe that our business is finished here.”

  “Not quite,” Ellen said, her face grim as she approached the writhing man on the ground. Through her swollen and blood-crusted lips, she hissed, “Eli, you slandered my name, you turned all the people against me when I did a Christian act for Joe, and . . . finally . . . you struck me hard in the face without feeling, remorse, or just cause.”

  And then . . . to Joe’s complete amazement . . . Ellen Johnson reared back and kicked Eli in the crotch so hard, her body came off the ground and the farmer roared in agony.

  Ellen turned and faced the two standing Purvis wives. “I’m pretty sure you women won’t have to service your husband for a long, long time. And for that, I’m sure you’ll secretly thank me.”

  The women clutched each other tightly, and then pulled their children outside so that they could not see their terrified and mutilated father weeping and moaning in the dirt.

  Up in the loft, the red rooster crowed and some of his hens flew up to keep him company. Joe almost laughed because it struck him that Eli Purvis wouldn’t be mounting any of his hefty and obedient wives soon, but the big red rooster sure as hell would be.

  16

  JOE MOSS AND Ellen Johnson skirted Carson City on their journey up to the Comstock Lode. They followed the meandering Carson River eastward, then turned slightly north and picked up the well-traveled road that ran up Gold Canyon into the barren hills toward Mount Davidson. Even down low on the hills, Joe and Ellen saw hundreds of small mines where rough-looking men dug furiously into the side of the barren hills hoping to strike it rich. You could easily tell how far they’d progressed by the size of their mine tailings. And along the road, heavily traveled by ore and timber freighters, were signs posted every few hundred feet reminding travelers that they would be “shot on sight” if they so much as set foot on one of the claims.

  Joe was amazed at all the miners, most of them living in little caves or even holes in the ground covered with brush and canvas. As a mountain man he’d lived in some primitive conditions, but this beat anything for hard times that he’d seen yet. “Ellen, I wonder how well all these fellas are doin’ working dry claims this far down from the Comstock Lode.”

  “From the looks of them,” she said, “I’d say they weren’t doing very well. They’re all thin and down at the heels. They’re poorer-looking than the Paiute Indians.”

  “That’s why I think that they oughta dig up closer to Virginia City,” Joe said with a sad shake of his head.

  But a little later that day, when Joe asked a miner who was dressed in rags why he didn’t go up to the Comstock Lode, where there was a greater chance to strike it rich, the man explained the way of things in short order.

  “A common workingman like me can’t begin to buy a claim up on the Comstock Lode. Why, the prices of claims up there go for hundreds of dollars a running foot!”

  “Are you serious?” Joe asked with astonishment.

  “Of course I am!” the ragged miner snapped. “Why else would all of us be diggin’ in these dry hills so far from the lode? And besides that, all the real gold and silver is too deep to reach by tunneling. You see, it’s buried far underground in big pockets.”

  “Then how do they reach it?” Ellen asked.

  The miner spat a chew of tobacco and shook his head. “Shoot, you two don’t know nothin’, do you?”

  “No,” Joe admitted. “I was a trapper, then a wagon train master, and finally a freighter. I’ve never been a miner and don’t intend to become one.”

  “You’re smart,” the prospector said with a look of dejection. “You got any tobacco I can smoke or chew?”

  Joe gave the man his pouch and papers. The miner nodded his appreciation and rolled a cigarette. He lit it and inhaled deeply. “Damn, that tastes good,” he sighed as the smoke curled out of his nostrils. He gazed eastward toward barren hills that stretched on forever. “Gawd, but I hate this country.”

  “Then why don’t you leave it?”

  The man inhaled deeply again and shook his head. “Because this Comstock Lode is the richest and biggest strike I’ll ever see in my lifetime.”

  “Even bigger than the one in California?” Joe asked.

  “It’s too early to say, but I think it will be. The difference is that in California the little man could get lucky and strike it rich if he found a few big nuggets. Not here, though. People like me are just scratchin’ the belly of this mountain and barely makin’ bean and flour money.”

  “Maybe you should take up another line of work,” Joe said.

  “I can’t. All I know is how to dig for gold and silver.”

  Joe frowned. “Mister, it sounds to me like you’re playin’ a losin’ game down here in this gulch.”

  “I am,” the prospector admitted. “But I’ve got gold fever just as bad as I did ten years ago on the other side of the Sierras. Trouble is, us Forty-Niners who panned out the cold rivers runnin’ off the western slopes of the Sierras came here and were told that we had to go deep down in cages and learn all about hard-rock mining.”

  “What do you mean cages?” Ellen asked.

  “It’s like this, ma’am. All the mining up on the Comstock Lode is done with hydraulics and it’s the big companies that are hirin’ miners. No one mines for themselves up there because they ain’t got the money to buy all the heavy machinery it takes to go underground hundreds of feet. But the big mine companies have done it and they run twenty-four-hour shifts. They drop their miners down in cages lowered on twisted wire cables. Drop ’em hundreds of feet into the belly of the mountain, and bring ’em up the same way after twelve-hour shifts in hell.”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t think I’d ever go down on a cage that deep. Do the cables ever break?”

  “All the damned time,” said the miner bitterly. “And when those wire cables snap, the miners can kiss their . . . well, ma’am, I guess you can imagine what it would be like droppin’ a couple of hundred or even a thousand feet down a dark hole. They say there isn’t much left you can recognize of a man who falls that far to the bottom.”

  Ellen Johnson looked a little pale. “I’d imagine not.”

  “What happened to your faces?” the prospector said, eyes shifting from Joe to Ellen and back again. “No offense, but did you two whip up on each other?”

  “No,” Ellen said, smiling a little even though it hurt her lips. “We’re the v
ery best of friends.”

  “Well,” the prospector said, drawing hard on his cigarette so that it burned down to his fingers, “you need to stick together up there in Virginia City. There are more thieves and murderers up there than you can imagine, and all they live for is to skin you alive after takin’ every last cent of your money.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Joe said. “Have you found any gold yet?”

  “Barely enough to keep me in bread and beans.”

  “Have you thought about going to work for the big Comstock Lode mines?” Ellen asked him.

  “Oh, I think about it most all the time I’m awake, ma’am. They have a miners union up in Virginia City, and those fellas that go down in the deep mines earn four dollars a day. Can you imagine that! Why, four dollars a day is the highest miner’s wages in the world. They got fellas comin’ from the hard-rock mines in England, Ireland, and Wales. There are hundreds of men just itchin’ for jobs at the big mines like the Consolidated and the Bullion. But that ain’t the life for me. I always worked for myself and I don’t like being out of sight of God’s pure sunshine.”

  “Amen,” Joe said. “I don’t know how men can work that deep underground.”

  “They do it strictly for the money,” the prospector said, taking the last deep drag on his cigarette. “But the Virginia City and Gold Hill cemeteries there are fillin’ up fast from all the mine accidents. Men fallin’ outa those flimsy cages, or slammin’ their picks through a wall holding back boilin’ water and gettin’ scalded to death. Havin’ tunnels and shafts collapse on ’em so deep under the ground that nobody even bothers to try and find ’em for a Christian burial. No, sir! I don’t care if they do earn four dollars a day. I just can’t do it. They say that some men go crazy in that hot hell down under the mountain, and I’m afraid I’d do the same.”

  “Here,” Joe said, tossing the man his tobacco pouch and papers. “I’ll buy some more up in Virginia City.”

  “Thank you kindly,” the prospector said. “I’ll take your gift in exchange for the advice I freely gave you both. Last thing I’ll say is that everything up there is higher than the moon. Those three fine horses of yours? They’ll cost a small fortune to board because anything and everything in Virginia City has to be hauled over from Lake’s Crossing, or even all the way from Sacramento and San Francisco. That’s why they’re payin’ those poor bastards four dollars a day to work in their deep-rock mines.”

  Joe nodded with understanding and thanked the man for his time before they continued up the rocky road in Gold Canyon.

  Later that afternoon, the canyon narrowed and they came to a place where it pinched in so tight that two big wagons would have had trouble passing through side by side. There was a line of freight wagons backed up, and a man was taking money from everyone that passed through his narrow portal.

  “What is going on here?” Ellen asked.

  Joe scowled. “Looks to me like someone thinks he can charge everyone money who goes through that narrow pass. Damned if he’ll charge us, though.”

  “Joe, if everyone else has to pay, then we probably will, too.”

  “The hell with that,” Joe said, spurring his horse forward past the waiting wagons until he came to the toll taker. “What is goin’ on here, mister!”

  The man collecting money glared at Joe and snapped, “Get back in line and wait your turn to pay your fare so you can pass through Devil’s Gate.”

  If there was one thing that riled Joe Moss, it was taking orders. “The hell I’ll pay you!”

  The man was big and rough-looking. He glanced at Joe, then pointed up to both sides of the pass where he had riflemen posted. “Oh, you’ll pay,” he said, “ ’cause if you try to go through here without payin’, then my boys will shoot you dead.”

  Joe studied the two riflemen up above. They had Winchester rifles and they looked like they knew how to use them. However, he had never paid a toll to anyone other than a ferryman who had to work hard to get him and his horse across a wide, swift river. This, however, was entirely different, and it stuck in his craw like sand.

  “How do you get away with this bullshit?” Joe demanded.

  “I own this piece of property called Devil’s Gate and that gives me the right to charge everyone a toll. Now, if you don’t like paying me a dollar each, then you can turn that horse around and ride about five miles back down this canyon and then another ten miles to start up the mountain from the north like the folks do from Lake’s Crossing. It’s called Six Mile Canyon, and it’ll take you an extra day of hard riding.”

  Joe had no intention of losing a full day. “I ain’t got that much extra time.”

  “Then ride that horse back to your place in line and wait your turn to pay. Those three horses you have will cost you three dollars.”

  “That’s highway robbery!”

  The man laughed, but it was not a nice sound. “I told you your choices. Now quit wastin’ my time, mister.”

  Joe wanted to get off his horse and whip this sonofabitch who owned Devil’s Gate and had riflemen posted ready and willing to kill for a lousy few dollars. But he was with Ellen and he wanted to make sure she got settled somewhere safe. Also, he was nearly to Virginia City and his beloved Fiona. Considering all that, he decided that he would swallow the sand sticking in his craw and pay the outrageous toll.

  But if he ever caught this man in some saloon or by himself, he was going to kick his ass up between his bat ears and then mark his hide, by gawd!

  After paying, he and Ellen continued up the canyon through the bustling little mining community called Gold Hill. They stopped at a little café and had something to eat that wasn’t good and was very expensive.

  “How much farther is it to Virginia City?” Ellen asked the café owner.

  “About a mile and a half to The Divide that separates our two towns.”

  “That all?” Joe asked, feeling his heart beat a little faster with anticipation.

  “Yep. But it’s the steepest mile and a half you’ve ever seen wagons being hauled up. It’s a corkscrew road and there are a lot of runaways between Gold Hill and Virginia City. And mister, if one of those big freight wagons breaks loose at the top of The Divide and comes barrelin’ down that curve at you, it’s the end.”

  Joe nodded with understanding. “We’ll be watchin’ for that,” he said.

  “See that you do. You have three horses?”

  “Yep.”>

  “It’ll cost you a fortune to board ’em up in Virginia City. You could keep them in my corral for only a dollar a day.”

  “For all three?”

  “Hell, no! A dollar each per day.”

  Joe almost fell over. “Mister,” he said, “you’ve already scalped us for this sorry meal. Now you want to do the same to our horses? No, thanks.”

  The café owner laughed. “You’ll see when you get up there what I’m talking about. Mostly, they’re finding silver, and it assays at an honest $3,000 per ton! That’s the richest ore that has ever been discovered in the West, so unless you’ve got a big fat wad of money, you and your horses will end up eating dirt by next week.”

  Joe started to grab the man and shake some manners into him, but Ellen stepped in between saying, “Now, Joe, let’s just get on up to Virginia City without any more trouble today. After all, Fiona and your child are up there and you’ve already waited too long to find them.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, “I guess you’re right.”

  So he helped her out the door and then onto her horse. The sun struck her hair and it shone real pretty in the high desert sunlight. Ellen Johnson was, Joe thought, really quite a looker. And he was sure that she would soon have a line of admirers standing to win her hand and her heart.

  Joe smiled. That was good and it was right. Ellen deserved the very best, but then so did Fiona McCarthy.

  17

  WELL,” JOE SAID, his eyes drinking in the famed “mining town of Virginia City, “there she be! The Queen of the Comstock Lode
, just like that sign says.”

  Ellen studied the big sign at the top of the steep grade that told them they had indeed reached Virginia City, whose latest population numbered over two thousand. “See, Joe, aren’t you glad that you can read?”

  “I sure am,” he said. “Look at the size of this place and all the building that’s going on here! Why, I never seen anything like it before. Everything is built on the side of this steep old mountain.”

  Virginia City was teeming with business and activity. The main street leading into town was clogged with people, horses, and wagons. Everywhere you looked there were houses, shacks, and businesses being erected, and Joe could see at least half a dozen huge mines belching smoke into the clear blue sky. What was missing was the color green. There wasn’t a pine or shade tree in sight nor a blade of green grass. Instead, the Comstock Lode was all rock and sage and soft brown dirt. Once there had been some scrubby piñon and juniper pines on the slopes of Mount Davidson, but they had long since been chopped down for firewood or timbering.

  “What do you think, Ellen?”

  “It’s even worse than I’d imagined,” she said. “I’m not sure that a Mormon farm girl like me can stand it up here for long. I don’t even see so much as a flower or a tomato plant growing in anyone’s yard.”

  “You don’t have to stay,” Joe told her with genuine concern. “We can sell your horses and put you on a stagecoach.”

  “But where would I go?” she asked. “I could never return to Genoa, and I certainly don’t want to return to Carson City.”

  “You must have kinfolks someplace that would be happy to see you.”

  “I don’t,” she admitted. “They’re back in Indiana and they are also of the Mormon faith. When they learn what I’ve done . . . .”

  Her words trailed off, and Joe understood. “Look,” he said, “I’m sure that there are some nice women up here that will help you feel at home.”

  “I wonder,” she said. “But let’s go find out about Fiona and your child, Joe. Their absence has been driving you for too long.”