Hard Gold Read Online Free PDF Page B

one hundred of sugar, seventy of rice, and two hundred and fifty pounds of bacon, plus beans, coffee, molasses, and some dried fruit. I saw a Dutch oven—in which sat a six-barrel pepperbox pistol—and a tin coffeepot. An old Bible, blankets, and some medical ointments were there, plus more, too much and varied to enumerate. All had been set about in no particular design or order.
    But as I turned from the wagon, I saw something disturbing: among the people who had come to see us off was Judge Fuslin. And he was staring at me.
    I turned away in haste and dove behind the wagon. Then I peeped around to observe the judge speaking to one of the men who was coming with us, Mr. Mawr. Only then did I recollect where I’d seen him before: he’d been with the judge when I had told him about Jesse. I had little doubt Fuslin understood my intentions: I was going west with the train to be with Jesse. My stomach must have turned six times. Being in the train meant I’d be leading his friend, this Mr. Mawr, right to Jesse. Oh, how I regretted bragging to the judge!
    I was still wondering what to do when one of the wagon drivers—Mr. Wynkoop—yelled, “Let’s get a-going!”
    That was when old Reverend Gideon Fobbscott from our Episcopal Methodist Church, a white-bearded fellow in black frock coat, stepped forward. “Neighbors!” he cried in his rough, booming voice. “I should like to bestow a final blessing upon our emigrant friends!”
    People quieted down as the minister stepped up on a porch that overlooked the wagon train. He then commenced his preaching. He went on for a time, and I’ll confess, wanting to leave as quickly as possible, I paid but scant attention. Still, in the middle of his sermon he said something that I would never forget.
    He said: “Gold looks like a god’s eye, bright, bold, and beautiful. It’s smooth and soft, the way a god’s touch should feel. You can bend it, shape it, and darn near chew it. It won’t change on you. It won’t rust. Get enough gold in your hands, and you can buy yourself a palace.
    “But,” cried the minister, and it seemed as if he was pointing his stubby finger right at me, “gold can make a person crazy. Because if you get gold seeping into your heart and mind, if you let it take over your soul, it will turn you into a hard devil. The only thing your gold can buy you then is a cold coffin in a colder grave.”
    His words chilled my heart.
    Next moment Mr. Wynkoop called, “Westward ho! Gee!” and cracked a long bullwhip over his oxen team. The great beasts leaned into their yokes. One bellowed. Wheels groaned but turned. Wagons lurched. Wood and leather creaked. As we began to roll forward, the crowd shouted, “Godspeed!” “Farewell!”
    I felt true distress at leaving my parents behind in such a fashion. And what was I to do about Mr. Mawr? Was I to be a stalking horse, leading him straight to Jesse? I didn’t think he had ever seen Jesse, but no doubt Judge Fuslin provided a description.
    Not sure whether to stay or go, I stood in the middle of the road, only to feel a pluck upon my sleeve. I turned, and there was Lizzy.
    “Orphan boy,” she taunted. “Ain’t you coming, after all? Did I scare you off?”
    “I’m coming,” I murmured and hastened to catch up with the wagons.
    Laughing, the red-haired girl ran ahead of me, scrambled onto the tailgate of her wagon, and watched me run. She even stuck out her tongue at me.
    One of our wagon owners, Mr. Griffin, and his son, Peter, had fife and drum, and led the way out of town playing a stirring “Yankee Doodle.” The crowd cheered. It was like the glorious Fourth of July!
    The music quickened my steps and allowed me to show some spirit, though I will, in the name of honesty, admit to feeling a mix of joy and sickness all at once.
    “Jesse,” I whispered to myself by way of encouragement, “hang on! I’m a-coming to see the elephant!”

CHAPTER TEN

    We Head West
    I T WAS almost noon when we got