Wilderness Days Read Online Free Page B

Russell shook his head in a bewildered way and then looked at me wryly. “Well, you heard her, gal. Go on and make this little girl a dress. I reckon I’ll be fixing supper.”
    Sootie shot me a triumphant smile.
    “I reckon you will, Mr. Russell,” I said, and smiled right back at my small defender.

CHAPTER FOUR
or,
Mr. Swan’s Gamble
    Men began arriving on a daily basis from as far away as Maine, having heard word that a man could earn his fortune in oysters on Shoalwater Bay. They came by horse from the East overland, and by schooner up the coast. Many of the men who had not found gold in California were determined to strike it rich at last, or, at the very least, claim their own land.
    In short order we had a retired sea captain, a mason, a carpenter, and a gentleman called Red Charley, who liked to take all the hard-earned money of the other men by selling whiskey at exorbitant prices. I longed for another woman to arrive, but it seemed that fortune hunters were not good husband material. In addition to bathing infrequently at best, the men arriving on Shoalwater Bay were of very questionable character. It was widely suspected that more than one of them was fleeing the law or some other trouble from where he came. None of them brought a wife.
    Mr. Russell’s cramped cabin could no longer accommodate all the visitors, and there was suddenly a buzz of activity as small cabins were erected and tents pitched along the arch of the bay to house the new arrivals. I was thankful not to have strange men staying in the cabin any longer. Well, except Mr. Swan, Mr. Russell, and Brandywine the hound. There was talk of building a proper store, and one enterprising young man even constructed a nine-pin bowling alley in an abandoned Chinook lodge, where men could be found drinking and bowling and playing card games long into the night.
    I kept busy cooking and cleaning around the cabin, and for extra money I took in mending and laundry. The laundry was pure drudgery, and after a week of darning socks, sewing holes in sleeves, and cleaning pants that had been on a body for so long they deserved a proper burial, I resolved to pursue something else.
    Mr. Swan and I owned an oyster business together. To be clear, he owned a claim on a sizable patch of oysters on the bay, and I owned a sturdy Chinook canoe. Oysters were very popular everywhere in the States, although I found them quite disgusting. Even so, the slimy gray things did bring in a silver dollar apiece in San Francisco, and while harvesting them was hard work, it didn’t involve scrubbing bloodstains from collars. We’d had a very successful oyster harvest in July, and I had used some of my earnings to purchase a new pair of boy’s boots and blue calico fabric for new dresses. But now my funds were rather low.
    I set out looking for Mr. Swan one late October morning.Men were working hard everywhere, building cabins and mending canoes. As I followed the path that led to Chief Toke’s village and then onto the beach where I suspected I’d find Mr. Swan, men called out to me and whistled wolfishly. Jehu saw me coming down the trail, and put down the axe he was using to chop wood.
    “I’m looking for Mr. Swan,” I said.
    He wiped his forehead. His thick black hair was damp with sweat, and it clung to the nape of his neck. “I think he’s down on the beach scribbling in his diary.”
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “Father Joseph wanted me to build him some more benches. Seems he’s hoping to get a bigger parish with all the new arrivals,” he said with a knowing wink.
    I laughed. Father Joseph had a very difficult time getting the men to come to church. I suspected that if he offered whiskey instead of communion wine, he’d have a full house every week.
    Jehu hefted a piece of wood onto the small pile. His arms were muscled from years of working on ships. I stood there for a moment, just watching. I had, of course, seen Jehu around the settlement, but he most