Gold For San Joaquin

By John J. Law

John Thorn was up with the sun, and long before his wife and two sons awakened was riding for town. He had much to do and little time to do it in.
John had been ranching in these parts for the past ten years only to find the open range around him was vanishing faster than rain on the trail in the August heat. Today was the day he was selling off the herd. Another—luckier—local rancher had gone into business with the town banker, and their offer wasn't great, but it was the best he was going to get.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223023937

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GOLD FOR

SAN JOAQUIN

JOHN J. LAW

Copyright © 2023 by J.C. Hulsey Books

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

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Cover Art by Michael Thomas

Cover design by J.C. Hulsey Books

Published by J.C. Hulsey Books

August 2023

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CHAPTER ONE

John Thorn was up with the sun, and long before his wife and two sons awakened was riding for town. He had much to do and little time to do it in.

John had been ranching in these parts for the past ten years only to find the open range around him was vanishing faster than rain on the trail in the August heat. Today was the day he was selling off the herd. Another—luckier—local rancher had gone into business with the town banker, and their offer wasn’t great, but it was the best he was going to get.

The ranch itself had been sold a week prior to a land speculator from back east who was certain a railroad would be running through the Tender Bush Valley sometime in the next few years. John felt he’d gotten the best possible deals on both the ranch and the cattle; and with cash in his pocket, he was planning on a new start—his family would be heading west to California and a new home in the San Joaquin Valley.

Tender Bush itself was more of a crossroads with a couple of stores than a real town, and there wasn’t a person in sight when John rode in and tied up. He knew he was at least an hour early for his meeting. He grinned because that meant he had time to relax at a table in the dining room of the small hotel and enjoy some of those biscuits and gravy for which the cook was famous. His mouth watered at the very thought.

Morning, John. Harry Toms was sitting by himself in the dining room, and he waved John over to sit with him. Harry owned a small ranch on the other side of town, and the two usually helped each other drive their cattle the fifty miles to the railhead in Wichita.

So, today’s the day, huh? Harry asked.

Yep, John replied thoughtfully. He was thinking that it was odd to see Harry eating a store-bought breakfast. In fact, it was a bit unusual that Harry was in town at all. He couldn’t recall that he’d ever seen Harry except out at his ranch or on the trail somewhere. Odd for sure, but nothing to worry about, he thought.

He sat down at the small table. I’ll collect my cattle money in about an hour, and tomorrow, we’ll head for California. Then, it’s the San Joaquin Valley for us.

It sounds real nice, John, but are you truly certain that the fellow who told you about it during the war wasn’t just spinnin’ a yarn? Harry asked. You know. Just something to pass the time.

There he goes again, John thought. Harry hasn’t said a darn thing about the San Joaquin Valley. Not a word since I told him about it back in Wichita after that last drive, and suddenly, this morning he’s all chatty.

John shook his head as he realized he was getting suspicious of his oldest friend. No, I don’t think so, Harry. He was a cavalry officer who had been stationed out there after the war with Mexico. He said it was the greenest valley with the richest soil he’d ever seen. I figured that he’d be the one to know if anyone would. After all, his family had owned a farm back in Ohio for three generations.

Harry nodded but kept right on with the questions. So, how much did you get for your herd? And how many head did you end up with after the hard winter we’ve had? he asked, never thinking it might be none of his business.

They didn’t offer full value, but they were reasonable, John replied as the cook’s boy walked up to take their order. We’ll have a good grubstake.

That’s good, John, Harry said. You got to be prepared.

Morning, John. Morning, Harry, The cook’s boy greeted. How’s everythin’ out at yo’ places?

Everything’s just fine, Sam. Thank you for asking, Harry said. 

John nodded a quick hello and responded, Well, we’re a bit sad to be moving on, but that can’t be helped. Cattle need open range to run, and that’s getting hard to find around here.

Ain’t that for sure, Sam said. Now, what can I get you fine folks this morning?

After Sam had headed to the kitchen for a double order of biscuits and gravy, Harry asked, How’s Jacob handling the move? I saw Betsy Thornapple yesterday crying like her heart was broke in two.

Well, I know Jacob was sweet on her, and they mighta made a good couple, but cattle ain’t the only things that need room to grow, John answered. Jacob is taking it as an adventure. I told him if he still feels the same way about Betsy after he’s helped get the family moved then I wouldn’t stop him from heading back here.

John paused in thought for a moment. Although, I’d be a bit surprised if he comes back or if she’s still waiting. You know how it is with kids—everything just moves so fast. It’s going to take two years to get out there and get settled in and then another six months to come back. That’s a long time for a young man—or a young woman.

John settled back, pulled out some papers and tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette. After he lit it, he continued. I know that they’re old enough to get hitched. Heck, my wife was only sixteen when we wed. I might have considered letting Jacob stay or bringing Betsy along, but you know what? He never came and asked. Not once. I tell you, you can’t trust a young boy more than you can a horse that ain’t been broken.

Both men laughed. Then a serious expression came over Harry’s face. Listen, John. You been driving those herds with me and you know that I’m not having much better luck than you are. What would you think of my coming out to California and trying to better my fortune?

Hell, you’ve been a good neighbor so far. I can’t see that that would change in California, John said with a surprised smile. Tell you what. I’ll do some scouting around, see where there’s good land at the right price and let you know. I hear the price of land out there is cheap, and the stockyards are only sixty-five miles away—in Fremont on the San Francisco Bay. They load them up on ships and then send them off to New York or up the coast to Seattle and Portland. As a matter of fact, San Francisco itself is almost as big as New York City anyway, and that new rail line means they can ship as far north as Shasta and as far south as San Diego on the Mexican border.

CHAPTER TWO

Hey, Thorn, ain’t you left yet? Buck Chambers hollered across the café. Buck Chambers was a local who made a living bounty hunting, hiring out as an extra hand on trail drives, and, if you believed the stories some told, rustling cattle and stealing from travelers. Of course, since he was still walking around, those last two occupations had never been proven.

There was no doubt, however, that he was a mean and vindictive man who had it in for John Thorn. In the ten years that John and his family had lived in Tender Bush, Chambers had, at every opportunity, tried to stir up trouble. The gossip among most townsfolk was that their feud was over an incident during the Civil War—or as some called it, the War of Northern Aggression. 

John Thorn had been a cavalry officer on the Union side in the Civil War and in fact had served under Brigadier General Judson Kilpatrick in the Battle of Waynesboro that opened the way for General Sherman’s infantry to break through to Savannah and complete his famous march to the sea. Chambers, on the other hand, had served in Quantrill’s Raiders—a force of guerrilla fighters that, after they slaughtered 183 men and boys in Lawrenceville, Kansas, were considered by most to be no better than outlaws and bushwhackers.

No one was sure that Chambers had been involved in the Lawrenceville Massacre but there was no doubt that he was a heavily-muscled lout and a loudmouthed bully who preferred to fight only when the odds were in his favor. Women, smaller men, and young boys learned to stay out of his way—particularly if he’d been in the saloon.

Over the years, John Thorn had generally ignored Chambers, but townsfolk still talked about the time that the big man had just finished a particularly unlucky game of poker and stumbled into the street almost under the hoofs of the horses pulling Mrs. Thorn’s buckboard. No one was quite sure what Chambers had said, but a day later, John Thorn came into town, called him out of the rooming house and nearly beat the man to death right there in the street.

For a long time, even though Chambers claimed he was drunk at the time and had simply passed out, people noticed that he tended to cross the street if he saw Thorn coming. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and a year or so ago, the big man regained his courage and had gone back to his old ways.

Yo, Thorn! Chambers said loudly. You going to burn down this town before you move on like you did Atlanta? Or are you just planning on raping the women and stealing the crops like your people did in the Carolinas? What’d that crazy bastard, Cump Sherman, call it? Oh, yeah, ‘scorched earth.’

There were two rough-looking men at Chambers’ table—one skinny with a long scar on his face and the other a lot shorter but heavy-set with a look of hired muscle—and they were laughing at everything he said as he continued. Pretty fancy name for just marching through and stealing stuff.

This was typical of Chambers. He’d keep on goading his opponent, hoping that he could fan the flames of anger into rage so that when a fight broke out, his opponent wouldn’t notice that the odds were stacked against him. Except for that one time with John Thorn, Chambers had never gone into a scrap without a couple of friends or a hideout pistol.

It was a strategy that had worked many times on many men—all of whom regretted it—but Thorn appeared to take pleasure in frustrating Chambers. Every time he wouldn’t take the bait, he knew that anyone watching remembered how Thorn had already beat the tar out of him once. Chambers knew it as well, and it simply infuriated him.

Lately, Chambers had been trying even harder with the clear expectation of a fight with a very different outcome—preferably one that included a bullet-hole in Thorn’s gut—but John Thorn just tucked into his biscuits and went right on talking to his neighbor as if Chambers hadn’t spoken at all. To everyone watching, it was clear Thorn’s calm attitude had made Chambers almost blind with fury, but he held