Jasper and the Riddle of Riley's Mine

by Caroline Starr Rose

  Mr. Theroux’s nostrils twitch. Stanley’s skinny fingers can’t get the lid on right.

  “Bet you were surprised when you got to Dawson and found gold don’t grow on bushes and trees.”

  Mr. Theroux puts his hands right near mine and bends forward, till our noses almost touch. Puffs of frozen air float by me as he talks. “What are you doing, kid?”

  “I want everyone to know you ain’t Riley’s friend,” I whisper.

  I back up a little and make my voice louder. “How do you like this snow?” It’s coming down so fast, I can’t hardly see where the sun’s supposed to be. I ain’t never been this cold before. “Is this winter as mild as the ones you lived through in Fortymile?”

  Mr. Theroux moves from behind the crate box table, till he’s right at my side.

  Behind me, voices murmur. I peek over my shoulder and see the line of men ain’t as straight as before. It’s shifted and spread and moved closer, like a snake that’s gotten riled.

  I turn so I face everyone, so every soul will hear. “When did you meet One-Eyed Riley, Uncle Theroux? A couple weeks ago you didn’t know a thing about him.”

  Mr. Theroux wraps his arm around my middle. “Shut that mouth of yours. Now.” It might look like he holds me in a friendly hug, but that ain’t what’s happening. He crushes me against his chest and squeezes out every bit of air I got.

  Black spots flicker in front of my eyes.

  “I see you’re all alone today,” Mr. Theroux whispers. “Keep up your foolishness, and it won’t be hard to make you disappear. Who besides your brother will miss a scrawny brat like you, anyhow?”

  I fight for air but can’t hardly breathe. He’s right. It would be easy for Mr. Theroux to get rid of me. Mel would never know what happened.

  Mr. Theroux turns on his booming voice again. “Out in Omaha last spring, my old chum Riley paid me a visit. He said with all the time we’d spent together in Fortymile, I was the one who deserved his clues the most. Now, ain’t it generous of me to sell them to you?”

  “Your Fortymile partner,” I barely choke out, “Salt Water Jack. He told me. He ain’t ever. Heard of no Theroux.” Those are Spare-Rib’s words, not mine, but the mister don’t need to know.

  The frozen air fills up with shouts from the crowd:

  “Salt Water mined alone! I know that for a fact.”

  “Riley ain’t never been farther south than Montana. He can’t abide the heat.”

  “These two are running a scam.”

  Mr. Theroux squeezes me so tight, I feel my ribs crack. Pain rushes through me, sharp and swift. I set my teeth onto his sleeve, bite as fierce as I can. That sure makes him scream. Dark blood seeps through the fabric. He shoves me hard enough that I stumble back.

  Now every soul will know he’s a liar, that he’s here to cheat them out of their riches, men who’ve earned it fair and square.

  “What’d Riley look like?” It’s Bill, the old-timer from Bonanza with the gray-streaked beard. He moves in close to me and Mr. Theroux. “I’d know Riley anywhere, and I ain’t the only one. So tell us about that Riley you know so well.”

  “Well.” Mr. Theroux wipes his face with the bandanna around his neck, the one I’m sure ain’t seen a bit of soap since I last washed it. “My memory ain’t what it used to be.”

  “I said, what’s Riley look like?” Bonanza Bill demands.

  Mr. Theroux lifts his eyes to the snow-filled sky, considering. “Riley was a short man with a double chin. His hair was the color of cornsilk and his breath was something foul.”

  The old-timer puts his hands on his hips, where they’re about level with the ends of his beard. “Some of you here today remember Riley. Was he like that?”

  “The Riley I knew was as bald as a baby,” says a voice from the crowd. Then others join in.

  “The Riley I knew was knock-kneed and wore a green pair of suspenders.”

  “Last time I saw Riley, he had two eyes in his head.”

  “Riley’s got long black curls that touch his shoulders.”

  “I thought Riley dropped dead years ago.”

  Everyone gets quiet, their thoughts on Riley and how he might have passed away. I stomp my feet to fight the cold as I try to figure something. How come not one person’s talked about that leather eye patch Spare-Rib mentioned? How is it so many folks remember Riley differently?

  “If anyone knows what Riley looked like, it’s his old partner, Spare-Rib Mackinson,” I say.

  Mr. Theroux makes an ugly sound deep in his throat. “And how would you know that?”

  I tap my chest and wince. My ribs burn like blazes. I hope they ain’t broken. “Because me and my brother are staying with Spare-Rib, that’s how.”

  Bonanza Bill sets his eyes on me. “How is it you’re staying with Spare-Rib Mackinson? Ain’t you that cheechako I met yesterday?”

  “Enough talk,” a fellow shouts. “If these clues are fakes, I want my gold back.”

  Oh, that sets off the crowd. Someone jabs me in my aching side, a set of boots tramp over my feet, which throb with pain and cold. Everyone’s so close, I got to scramble over the table behind me. I bump straight into Stanley.

  “He found them in the newspaper.” Stanley watches the crowd, but he’s talking to me. At first, I didn’t know what he was on about.

  “Found what in the paper? Who do you mean?”

  “My uncle. Those miner names from Fortymile. He made up the story about living there.”

  “You better give us our gold!” someone shouts. “Or you’ll have to explain yourselves to the authorities.”

  Mr. Theroux slashes his arm through the air and points a finger right at me. “My clues are real. It’s this boy who’s lying. He says he’s my nephew, but I ain’t ever seen him before.”

  “This boy,” says a voice I’ve come to dread, “belongs with me.”

  Frank Hazard stands behind me. He clasps his big hand on my shoulder. “I’ve searched all over for you.”

  I look up. From his eyes to his drooping mustache, Frank’s face is almost tender. “I thought I lost you.” A tear slips down his cheek, and he pulls out a hankie and wipes his face, so that everyone might see.

  I know what Frank’s on about. He’s softening the crowd. It’s the same thing I tried with Mr. Smalley when I searched for a bunk on the Queen.

  “I don’t know this fellow—” I start to say, but I stop quick. Because something hard and pointy pokes my shoulder blade, and the way me and Frank face everyone, there ain’t no one but him who can see.

  Frank’s got a revolver and he holds it to my back.

  My heart goes fast as a jackrabbit.

  I’m in a crowd, I tell myself. He won’t dare hurt me, at least not now. I swallow hard and lift my face to him. Whatever Frank’s up to, I’ve gotta play along, because if I don’t, he might try to hurt me later. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  Frank shakes his head, sorrowful-like. “And me, your own dear pa.”

  My pa, he says.

  “Let’s go, son.”

  The crowd parts as we move forward. If anyone sees the gun, no one says nothing. Not Bill from Bonanza. Not Albert, who’s got his hat tilted so far forward, it covers half his face. Not Stanley, who grips that jar of gold as we walk past. And certainly not Mr. Theroux. He only looks out for himself.

  Melvin and Spare-Rib are clear over on Little Skookum. There ain’t a soul out here who cares about what’s gonna happen to me.

  Chapter 12

  Frank forces me over Queen Creek Hill toward the woods that run high above Bonanza, his revolver still held firm to my back. My hands are cold and slick with sweat. I think through a million ways I could distract him, if only he didn’t grip me with his other hand. Frank don’t talk, and I don’t dare anger him with that weapon right against me. All I can do is try to be rea
dy for whatever he’s got planned.

  Once we’re deep in the woods with no chance to be seen, Frank spins me around. My heart turns over when I spy the revolver, now pointed at my middle. All those awful feelings when he had me tied up in Miles Canyon come crashing back.

  I shut my eye behind the broken lens to see if anyone passes on the other side of the trees. What if I shout? Would someone come and help me?

  “So,” Frank says, his sour breath hanging frozen in the air, “you work with me now.”

  I don’t know what he means, but I hope Frank sees I ain’t gonna fight. I ain’t gonna do anything that would cost my life.

  The wind and snow have picked up and the cold has settled deep. With no sun to speak of, it ain’t clear how late it is, but it’s still afternoon. Soon Spare-Rib and Mel will wonder why I ain’t back. Maybe Spare-Rib will tramp over to Queen Creek to search. But even if he gets that far, there ain’t no way he’ll find me.

  “I know who you’re staying with,” Frank says. “One-Eyed Riley’s partner. The man who knew him best of anyone out here.”

  “Spare-Rib and Riley ain’t mined together for years, I promise.”

  He waves the gun. “Tell me your new clues. I know he must have given you some.”

  “I’m telling you, he didn’t.”

  Frank grips the back of my head, holds that big face of his an inch from mine.

  “What do you know about the creeks?”

  So he knows them creek names run throughout the riddles. How I hate to tell him, but there ain’t nothing else to do. “The clues I got have Hunker, Gold Bottom, and Too Much Gold. They’re all east of Dawson along the Klondike River. That puts us pretty far from where we need to be.”

  If Frank already knows this, I can’t tell from his stony face. “So Riley’s clues could start in Dawson City and send a body east of town.”

  I nod. “From there you’d follow Hunker down a ways, continue south near Gold Bottom.”

  With one hand Frank keeps the gun trained on me. With the other, he pushes aside his fur coat and from his pocket pulls a thick piece of wood, maybe six inches long. The outside’s covered in layers of bark, the inside’s flat and even, a sturdy piece of log cut clean in half.

  It’s the wood he stole from Albert.

  He shoves it into my hands. “Tell me what this means.”

  It really is a Riley clue. Words are neatly carved on the smooth side, smooth and even, like Riley took special care. “‘There are three sovereigns,’” I read aloud. “‘The middle one is Victory.’”

  It makes no sense at all. “I don’t understand.”

  Frank nudges me with the barrel of the gun. “Figure it out. Think through all them things Spare-Rib’s told you about Riley.”

  “I said I don’t know what it means!” Watch your tongue, Jasper. Them words of Mel’s come to me quick. I can’t argue or talk back, not with a gun pointed straight at me.

  The wind lashes, sharp as broken glass.

  Sovereigns. Where’d I hear that word before? Sheep Camp. That’s where it was. At the Palmer House. The lawyer said something about Lord Avonmore and how many sovereigns it must have cost for them servants to lug that toilet paper and champagne.

  I swallow hard. “The only sovereigns I’ve heard of are coins.”

  “Or kings. Sovereign’s got a couple meanings.”

  Now that’s interesting. I ain’t sure what kings have to do with One-Eyed Riley’s mine, but I’m gonna keep my mind open to the possibility.

  “Three sovereigns. What could they be?”

  “There’s Queen Creek,” I say, because a queen’s as much of a sovereign as a king.

  “And Solomon’s Dome.” Frank gazes at the trees, as though he can see something on the other side. “King Solomon was the world’s richest king.”

  “Wait.” I ain’t never heard of a king named Solomon or his dome, but it reminds me of something. “Spare-Rib did say the last time he saw his old partner, Riley was about to head out of town. He said he’d go around the dome. I reckoned that meant Midnight Dome, the one in Dawson City, but it could’ve been another one.” Maybe Riley meant to leave Spare-Rib with a clue.

  Frank’s eyes light up. I can tell he ain’t heard this before. “Maybe it’s Solomon’s Dome, or that smaller one called Queen.”

  Two domes. One river. Two queens and a king. There they are, the three sovereigns from Riley’s clue. But what’s it mean that the middle one is Victory?

  “Solomon and Queen Domes ain’t far from here. Follow me.” Frank unwinds the muffler from my neck and just like in Miles Canyon ties my hands in front of me.

  That last bit of hope, the part that thought maybe Frank would let me loose when I told him what I knew, it’s gone now.

  Once when I was just a mite, I woke up scared. Mama got out of bed and lit the lantern for me, even though the brightness made it hard for everyone else to sleep. For the next three nights, she left that lantern near my bed, unlit but close enough to touch if I needed courage.

  Oh, Mama, I need courage now. I pretend I got ahold of that lantern’s polished handle.

  Frank trudges south toward Little Skookum, one end of the muffler wrapped around his hand to guarantee I won’t escape. We cover maybe half a mile, and every step, my boots sink deep in snowy drifts as I try to match his pace.

  “There they are.” Frank stops so quick, I nearly crash into him. “The domes.” He points the gun to a mountain shaped like a loaf of bread on the other side of Bonanza. Even with a hint of darkness in the sky, I see the mountain now capped with snow, the same one me and Mel saw yesterday.

  Except Mel saw two mountains and so does Frank. No matter how I try to see what they do, my broken glasses only show me one.

  ’Round the dome.

  One dome, Riley said.

  Maybe I don’t need to spot what Mel and Frank say is there.

  Maybe I only gotta see like a one-eyed man, like Riley.

  If Riley only spied the one, that means Queen and Solomon Domes can’t be separate sovereigns. They count as one. There’s still two sovereigns left. That leaves Queen Creek as the second sovereign with one sovereign more, the middle one that’s Victory.

  Oh, my head is swimming with the notion.

  If them clues send a fellow east of Dawson and then south down Hunker and Gold Bottom, where a body’s supposed to swing around the dome, he wouldn’t be too far from where we are right now.

  “What happens if I find Riley’s mine?” Will Frank let me go? Or will he pull the trigger?

  “That ain’t for you to know now, is it?”

  If that’s the best he’s gonna offer, then the first moment I can, I’ve got to try to break away.

  “Here’s one last thing.” The more I tell Frank, the better my chances of surviving. “Whatever creek Riley’s mine is on, his claim is nine below.”

  “I know that,” Frank says. “That’s the first clue I learned.”

  “Below discovery claim, right?”

  “Of course, what else could nine below mean?”

  I shrug. The truth is I weren’t completely sure what it meant until right this moment. “We gotta get close to the dome as we can to find the middle sovereign,” I tell him, “the one that’s Victory.”

  “What do you think the middle sovereign is?”

  “I don’t know yet, but that ain’t gonna stop me.” Since leaving home I’ve stowed away and tracked down Mel and climbed a mountain and traveled the Yukon on a flimsy raft, and tackled a whole pile of other things I ain’t never done before. Now ain’t the time to start believing I gotta have things figured out before I jump on in.

  Dark’s moved in, and no one’s about. From where we stand, the dome is east of us, and Queen Creek is to the north. “Let’s follow Bonanza past that little town of Grand Forks, where it meets Eldorado Cree
k,” I say. “Over there, it looks like Bonanza runs near to the dome.”

  Frank unties the muffler wound about my wrists. “It wouldn’t be right for a father to have his son tied up as we pass town. But no funny business now.”

  I move my hands, and a painful throbbing rushes through my fingers. The muffler held my wrists real tight, but it ain’t that alone that makes them ache. The cold reaches clean to my bones. I’ve been outside since morning, and I forgot to bring Pa’s woolen socks to wear over my hands.

  Frank points his gun straight at me through the pocket of his long fur coat. “Not a soul in Grand Forks will know I got you at gunpoint.”

  We leave the woods and scramble down the hill to Bonanza. Darkness wraps itself around us. The snow’s gotten so thick, it’s hard to lift my feet. My sore ribs twinge with every breath, and the cold makes my toes hurt something fierce, but I remember Spare-Rib said the ache is good, it means blood’s still moving through them.

  Soon we’re near Grand Forks, and just as soon we’re past. The only thing in that tiny town is a couple of shacks. I ain’t ever been on this part of Bonanza. Me and Mel didn’t make it this far last night. Claim fires along the river burn down to coals, lining the creek in pockets of red. They thaw the ground for tomorrow’s diggings, but they don’t offer much light.

  Then a stream joins with Bonanza on its far side. It’s the first one we’ve seen since Grand Forks. The cabins along it are sparse and tucked away, the darkness blindfold-thick, but the snow has slowed a bit. “I gotta ask a question,” I say.

  “So do it.”

  “It’s for someone on that creek. We ain’t gonna find Victory unless we ask.”

  We gotta cross Bonanza to reach them cabins. The ice is smooth in some parts, in others thin and brittle. And what feels solid ain’t no guarantee it truly is. Frank shoves me on in front of him. I scramble to keep from falling and gotta creep across the moaning surface, where just below, water still trickles. Frank’s right in step behind me. He holds the muffler like a lead. If I fall through, he’s far enough behind me to be safe, close enough to pull me out, if he had a mind to.