Barkerville Gold (8 page)

Prospector Man faced the trunk of a tree that divided in two to form a convenient V just above shoulder height. He peered through this opening at something in front of him.

The crack of a stick breaking underfoot was followed by a rustling sound, as if a large animal was moving through the bushes beyond Prospector Man. Rusty's eyes followed the sound until he caught a brief glimpse of a white beard and a wide-brimmed hat. What? Another Prospector Man? What was going on?

This second man moved back and forth as if searching for something. Rusty pictured the map in his backpack, the one that showed an old miner's cabin up this way, the same map they saw in Prospector Man's campsite. Was Prospector Man hoping to find the cabin, just like he and Katie were? And who was the second bearded prospector?

Rusty gasped. It had to be Three Finger Evans, still searching for his old cabin and his fortune in gold.

A sudden movement caught Rusty's attention. Prospector Man's hand jerked up to his face. His entire body convulsed. He sneezed. Not loud, but enough. Everything stopped. Everyone held their breath.

Three Finger's ghost took off like a shot into the bushes, away from the sneeze. Rusty expected Prospector Man to chase after him, but instead, to his horror, the man pushed away from the tree trunk and swung around.

He came barreling through the forest directly toward them.

10
Three Whiskey Bottles

T
hey ran. “Hey!” Prospector Man yelled. “Hey, you! Stop right there!”

The steep, rough terrain and slippery rocks underfoot slowed them down. Behind Katie, Rusty forced himself to concentrate as he had never concentrated in his life before. He must not slip. If he fell here…

Concentrate.
He kept his eyes on Katie's new white sneakers, watched them bounce from side to side over the slippery rocks. He stepped in the exact same spots and held his arms out from his sides, brushing the tops of overhanging bushes. If he slipped he would grab on and prevent himself from falling. Falling…tumbling feet first into a deep, dark tunnel. Cold and slimy. Unable to get out.

Rusty shook his head.
Concentrate.
But he had lost precious seconds and now could no longer see Katie.

“Get back here, you interfering little brats!” Prospector Man was so close, Rusty felt the ground tremble. The toe of a heavy boot crashed down solidly on his heel.

“AAARGH!” It hurt so bad it brought tears to his eyes. Ignoring the pain, Rusty kept going. He stumbled. Something was wrong with his foot.
Oh, man!
His sneaker had slipped off his heel! He staggered around a sharp bend and caught a glimpse of red, low down, ahead and to his left; of blue to his right. He saw a thin straight branch lying across the trail. In that instant he knew. He had to reach that branch, cross over it and get out of the way. Fast.

Almost there—right above it—footsteps at his heels. He threw himself forward, crashed against the ground and skidded. His elbows scraped over loose rocks, hurting, but he scrambled to his hands and knees and kept moving.

“AIHHH!” Prospector Man's angry yell filled the forest. It was followed by an ominous roar, like the rumble of an avalanche. Rocks clattered, and a string of swear words rose to the treetops.

Katie and Sheila yanked Rusty to his feet. They ran.

“Quick,” Sheila said when they reached the trail, “fix your shoe!”

He bent down, yanked open the Velcro, slid his foot in properly, slapped the Velcro in place and ran, scarcely aware that his heel hurt with every step.

They ran down and down until they reached the back road of the campground, where they stopped to catch their breath. Katie's face was the color of a ripe tomato and, except for her brown freckles, Sheila's was bright pink. “Let's get out of here,” she said.

“Prospector Man is gonna be mad!” Katie warned.

Rusty grinned. “The man should learn to watch where he's going.”

“What happened to you three?” Gram asked when they walked into their campsite. She and GJ were seated at the picnic table, across from one another, playing a game of cribbage.

“What do you mean?” Katie asked.

“Your faces are bright pink, you're out of breath and you look as if you'd just completed a marathon.” Gram moved a peg forward on the crib board.

“Oh, that!” Katie said. “We decided to race down the trail.”

Rusty had to admire her answer. It was no lie. They did decide to race down the trail, but not against each other.

“Who won?” GJ asked, peering up at them over his reading glasses.

“We did!” Rusty blurted out.

Gram glanced up sharply. GJ put down his cards. Rusty thought quickly. “I mean,
she
did!”

“She who?”

“Sheila, of course. Sheila always wins.”

GJ nodded. “I expect we'll be watching you at the Olympics one of these years, Sheila.” He picked up his cards.

“Anyone for a game of Crazy Eights after I win this game?” Gram asked.

Rusty, Sheila and Katie glanced at one another. They looked at the picnic table and they looked at the road. “Sure,” Katie said, “as long as we can play inside the trailer. It's kind of cold out tonight.” She shivered.

“Cold? It's baking hot,” GJ said in surprise.

“I'm cold too,” Rusty said and gave his best imitation of a shiver, even though he was melting from the heat. “It cools down quickly up in the mountains, you know.”

“I'm kind of cold too,” Sheila admitted. “But before we start the game, can we go over to the shower building? Katie really needs a shower if you ask me!”

Everyone laughed—except Katie.

They walked the short distance to the showers, women's on one side of the building, men's on the other. After long, cool showers, they were ready to stay inside for an entire game. Anything beat sitting outside in full view of the road.

Later, before they crawled into their tents, Katie reminded Sheila and Rusty, “Don't anyone dare go to sleep before midnight. We need to watch and see if any more of Rusty's
ghosts
go creeping past.”

Inside his tent, Rusty propped himself up on his pillow and watched the shadowy road. He fought to keep his eyes from closing.

Two smells tickled his nostrils. Two very familiar smells. The friendly aroma of brewing coffee was all but lost in the sharp scent of burnt toast. A robin chirped overhead but was immediately drowned out by screaming crows. Rusty yanked his sleeping bag from over his eyes. Bright sunlight flooded the campsite. He yawned and stretched and crawled outside.

“It's about time you woke up,” Gram said. She and GJ sat at the picnic table, their little propane campstove perched nearby with a coffee percolator gurgling happily on one burner. On the other burner their camp toaster spouted tendrils of smoke. Two pieces of toast lay side by side like chunks of charred wood, and a crow hopped a little nearer on a cottonwood branch, eyeing the toast and cawing loudly.

GJ raised his coffee mug. “Gram peeked into the girls' tents to be sure they were actually there,” he said. “You three slept in for so long we were beginning to worry.”

“So—you didn't care about me?” Rusty asked, rubbing his fingers through his tousled red hair. “Just Katie and Sheila?”

Gram laughed. “We didn't need to check your tent. We could hear you snoring from inside the trailer.”

“I don't snore.”

“Tell that to the big old black bear who came snuffling around to see what all the noise was about early this morning.”

“Jerry! Don't scare the boy!” Gram turned to Rusty. “It's not true, your grandfather's kidding.” She grinned. “We only
thought
we heard a bear when we first woke up, but it turned out to be you, snoring.”

Rusty opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind. “I'm going in to get dressed.” He limped toward the trailer. His heel hurt more now than it did the night before

By late morning they were back in Barkerville. Gram consulted the schedule of events. “We've missed this morning's guided tour of the town,” she said. “And the schoolhouse demonstration has already started. If we run the entire distance to Richfield, we might catch Judge Begbie's session in the courthouse.”

“But it's uphill all the way,” GJ pointed out. “Aren't all those demonstrations on again this afternoon?”

Gram nodded. “But I want to see the show at the Theatre Royal today.”

“Fair enough, but there's always tomorrow. How about walking up the trail to the cemetery at Camerontown?”

“Gee—that sure sounds like fun.” Katie wrinkled her forehead. “Nothing like visiting a whole pile of dead guys.”

“I want to see Billy Barker's original mine,” Rusty said. “This entire town was built around the shaft where Barker first stuck paydirt back in 1862, so it's kind of important.”

“Listen,” GJ told them, “if you kids promise not to let each other out of your sight and to stay inside the town, you can visit where you want while Gram and I walk up to the cemetery.”

After agreeing to meet in front of the Lung Duck Tong Restaurant at 12:30, Rusty and the two girls set off on their own. Finally they had a chance to talk privately.

“So, Rusty,” Katie asked, “did you see him again?”

“Who? Three Finger?” He shook his head. “Did you?”

“No,” Katie admitted. “I fell asleep.”

“Me too,” Sheila said, “right after Rusty started snoring.”

Rusty didn't object. If everyone thought he snored, it could be they were right. After all, he was asleep at the time, so how was he to know?

They started down the main street, Sheila with her nose in a tourist map. They were passing W.D. Moses' barbershop when she said, “If we cut through here, between the barbershop and Dr. Watt's office, we can see where the fire started. At least, I think we can.”

Rusty studied her suspiciously, wondering if Sheila had developed a sudden interest in history. “Okay, what's the catch?”

“No catch, just a monument.”

They made a sharp left turn onto short grass between the two small buildings and soon found themselves on Barkerville's back street.

“Well, I don't know.” Sheila glanced around. “I thought it was here.”

“Look, over there!” Rusty pointed to a small wooden sign stuck in the grass between the Wake-Up Jake and the barbershop. Katie ran over and Rusty limped behind her.

The sign explained that on the night of September 16, 1868, most of Barkerville was destroyed by fire. “I already knew that,” Rusty said. “People think it started in Barry and Adler's Saloon, so that's where we should go next, to Barry and Adler's. Let's see the map.”

They glanced around. “Where's Sheila?” Katie asked.

There was no sign of her. They returned to the quiet back street and looked up and down. “There she is!” Rusty pointed down the road where Sheila was leaning on a fence in front of a paddock, watching some big, handsome horses with gleaming brown coats.

“Somehow I didn't think she had a burning desire to see where the fire started,” Rusty chuckled. “Get it? Burning des—”

“Shh!” Katie warned, staring in the opposite direction. “Look!”

Across the grass, beyond the wooden sign, a thin figure scurried out from between two tall, narrow buildings.

“It's Frizzy Hair.” Rusty whispered. Her shoulders were stooped forward, just as yesterday, as if she were clutching something close against her stomach. She skimmed over the grass, cutting behind the Kelly House Bed &Breakfast. “What's she doing?” Rusty whispered. “Stocking up on Hair Invigorator?”

“As if she needs it! Come on, if we run we can catch up to her at the corner.”

Katie darted along the back street, passed three small buildings and reached the corner at the same time as Frizzy Hair. Katie slowed to a walk and Rusty caught up.

“Hi!” Katie grinned. “Did you find some more Hair Invigorator this morning?”

Frizzy Hair stopped short. Her narrow eyes flicked from Katie to Rusty. Jerking her head back to flick away hair that floated over her forehead in the breeze, she pulled three tall bottles closer against her stomach.

“We saw you yesterday. At the barbershop,” Katie reminded her. “So we just wondered if you found some more bottles of Hair Invigorator that magically appeared on the shelf.”

“It must be good stuff!” Rusty said, eyeing her hair.

“I'm sure it is,” Frizzy Hair said sharply. She edged around them, turned, ran across the street and hurried up the path to a building marked
Staff Only
. The door slammed shut behind her.

“She's going to look like a woolly sheep,” Rusty said.

“Not necessarily. This time she had three bottles of whiskey.”

Rusty pressed his hand hard against his forehead. He had the strongest feeling that the answer was right there, so close he could almost touch it. Then it snapped into his mind and he said, “Two bottles of Hair Invigorator from W.D. Moses' barbershop. Three bottles of whiskey from Barry and Adler's Saloon. Exactly the things that were stolen on those first two nights, just before Three Finger disappeared!”

For a long moment Katie stared at him, round-eyed. Then she took off at a run. Rusty followed. When he caught up, Katie was standing between the two tall buildings where they first spotted Frizzy Hair. She looked from one to the other. A fence linked the fronts of the buildings, blocking the way to the main street. While the building on their right had a side door, the one to their left had only a window.

“She must have come from there,” Katie said, nodding toward the door.

Rusty nodded.

“So is this Barry and Adler's Saloon?” she asked.

“I don't know. Let's go get the map from Sheila.”

As they neared the wooden sign, someone was standing with his back to them, reading about the fire. It was Prospector Man! They hurried on by, hoping he wouldn't notice them.