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Gold Mountain
Sharon Cullars
Gold Mountain
Copyright © February 2010 by Sharon Cullars
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eISBN 978-1-60737-534-0
Editor: Judith David
Cover Artist: Natalie Winters
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or
existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
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Chapter One
Sacramento, California
1865
The hammers and chisels rang out almost in unison, the sound of metal against granite
creating a peal that echoed throughout the mountains, reverberating upward. The crewmen's tools
carved away at the rock frantically as the men raced against the sun. In less than an hour it would
be too dark to set off the charges, and the boss man would not be happy. And when he was
unhappy, he made all of them pay, literally, with a month's wages.
Beads of sweat trailed down Quiang's face as he brought up the hammer against the stone
again and again, the small chasm almost wide enough now to hold his last bundle of dynamite. In
the hours since the sun had risen, Quiang alone had already embedded fifty bundles. The other
men on the crew would have a similar count, more or less. In all, there were over a thousand fire
sticks that would blow the southeast ridge into raining pieces of shale that would shower the
valley below. Quiang's basket shook violently with his quickened motions, but he couldn't afford
to stop. Still, he was too aware that the life of any crewman depended on the virtue of the ropes
that held his basket. If the hemp gave way, a man could plummet hundreds of feet. They had lost
a man in such a way not more than ten days ago. The scream still echoed in Quiang's head,
joining the ringing peals.
The sound of the horn reached across the gorge between mountains, the boss man's signal
that they were to stop. It was time to set off the explosives. The red-haired Irishman stood on
another ridge, a safe distance from the hub of action, horn in hand.
On cue, the crewmen put matches to the long fuses attached to the dynamite. Men manning
the pulleys above began the grueling process of pulling up the crewmen as quickly as possible. It
was a precarious maneuver because too often accidents happened. Ropes sometimes sheared

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