At the Rainbow's End

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Mine foreman.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  His wide fingers twisted her hair painfully, withdrawing the pins and dropping them onto the floor. He lifted a handful of her ebony tresses, which gleamed in the strange, reddish glow of the northern lights illuminating the sky outside the hotel, and rubbed them against his face. “So soft you are, honey. Take off the blouse. Let me touch the rest of you.”

  “Kevin, why did you hate your stepfather?” she whispered. If she stalled long enough, Joel might find them. Her heart called out to him, its small voice faint through her pulsing fear.

  The mad light gleamed in his eyes again, and he gripped her face roughly in his hands. “When your father dies trying to make things better for his family, you don’t want your mother sleeping with one of his murderers!”

  “Kevin!” Compassion filled her voice as she said quickly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. It must have hurt you when she decided to marry him.”

  He slapped her so hard that the sound resounded through her head, and she screamed. Slammed against the wall, she stared at him in horror. This was not the man she had known at Fifteen Above.

  “Don’t you speak like that about my mother! He forced her to marry him.” Seeing her disbelief, he snarled, “He did! He must have! She wouldn’t have married him, otherwise. Oh, she pretended she was happy, but I never believed her. That’s why I killed him!”

  Samantha mouthed his shocking words. She and Joel had never known the true emotions hidden beneath his serene surface. They had trusted him unwisely. That he had spared Joel meant little. He had simply not wanted the Mounties to guess what he had planned.

  “Enough talk. Take off your blouse, woman.”

  She could see that refusal now would mean her death. His eyes held the same hate as when he spoke of the man he murdered. Her only salvation was to allow him to degrade her completely. It was a small price to pay for a chance to survive. She could not make her quivering fingers undo the buttons quickly, but the sheer silk finally slid along her arms.

  He stepped closer and touched the warmth of the skin visible above her lacy chemise. Laughing, he wrapped his arm around her waist. The sharp steel of the pistol beneath his coat pressed painfully into her, but she did not attempt to draw away. She must not give him any reason to kill her.

  He bent to trace the curves of her body with his mouth. She fought not to flinch. As he fumbled with the ribbons securing her skirt, she closed her eyes. This could not be happening. A moan escaped from her lips as she felt the dark material drop to the floor.

  She could not stop herself as he loosened her petticoats. She reached out and struck his face with an impact which stung her palm. A growl erupted from his distorted lips. Shoving her against the mattress, he raised the pistol to hit her. She cowered, but the blow never landed—there was a knock at the door.

  On a second knock, she heard a muted voice from beyond the door, warning of trouble to come. It had taken Joel less time than she expected to find them. Kevin rose, whispering to her not to move.

  Her fingers clenched the brass footboard of the bed. It was not Joel on the far side of the door. The voice was one she had heard before she first went to the Fifteen Above.

  “Palmer!” she moaned.

  Kevin glared at her from his spot near the door. He did not need to speak his threat as he drew back the hammer on the gun. Without opening the door, he called, “Did you want something?”

  “You have to clear out! The street is on fire!”

  Samantha’s gaze moved to the window. Footsteps in the hall and another shouted order told her Constable French was warning everyone in the Aurora. The flickering red had not been the northern lights, but flames much closer to earth. When Kevin did not move from the door, she leapt to her feet. Her movements broke his paralysis.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, centering the pistol on her again.

  “You heard Palmer! Fire! We must—!”

  He growled as he heard her use the man’s name. This one who had called on her before she came to Fifteen Above, to his traitorous partner. He wondered what she and the Mountie had shared during those two weeks. Joel Gilchrist, Constable French, possibly Liberty Burroughs. He wondered how many men she had slept with. And she had refused him.

  “Back on the bed!” he ordered. He grabbed her arm and shoved her, and she tripped over the jumbled clothes on the floor.

  Suddenly she screamed in horror. Scrambling back from an outstretched hand covered with blood, she saw a crumpled form under the bed. She did not have to guess who it was. Kevin was destroying all those who had refused him. First had been dance hall girl Leslie Morgain. Next—Samantha Perry.

  She leapt to her feet and raced in unseeing panic for the door. She must escape. She must!

  He captured her and swung her back toward the bed. Unable to control her terror, she screamed again.

  “Shut up! Why do you all have to screech? Be silent!”

  “Kevin, listen! We can talk about this outside. The fire! Remember the fire! Please, you must let—” As he brought the gun down on her skull, her words vanished into a soft moan. All her fear swelled into pain. Dropping into the bottomless maw of unconsciousness, she did not feel him lifting her up, did not think of his other victim.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Constable French rubbed his raw knuckles in his palm as he watched the men starting fires on the river to thaw the ice. As soon as a hole could be made in the ice, a hose from the pumper would be inserted. The other end was connected to one of the fire engines in which Dawson had inordinate pride. Then they could fight this fire, which was consuming the well-dried wood buildings like a starving man eating at a feast.

  He swore. The firemen had been on strike for higher wages. If the city was not rife with inflation, this fire would not have spread so quickly. Breaking into the locked firehouse to bring out the engines had wasted vital minutes, and normally the pumpers would have been filled and primed to race to the site of a fire. Tonight was nothing like that. Even as he was supervising the men breaking through the ice, others struggled to build up enough pressure in the steam engines to work the pumps.

  An impatient hand tapped his shoulder and he spun to face a man. Despite the red glare and the strange fog formed as the fire struck the cold air around them, he recognized Joel. His lips lengthened in open dislike as he recalled Samantha’s sad face, and the broken heart she could not conceal.

  “Gilchrist, I’m busy here.” He could not let his personal distaste for the man keep him from his duties. Although he would like to thrash the lout who had stolen Samantha’s joy, he would have to delay that pleasure.

  Joel understood the disgust on the Mountie’s face, but he did not want to delay to explain Sam had forgiven him. He must have assistance. Now! “French, I need your help.”

  “Not as much as the firefighters do. Why don’t you get out of here? These men need room to do their work.”

  “It’s Sam—Samantha.”

  In spite of his duty, French could not keep from asking, “What’s wrong?”

  “My part—my ex-partner Kevin Houseman abducted her at gunpoint from the Monte Carlo. I can’t find her.”

  “What do you expect in this mess?” He did not bother himself with the blatant illegality of Houseman carrying a firearm in Dawson. Such misdemeanors were of little consequence right now. The city could be destroyed by morning.

  “Have you seen them?”

  French started to shake his head, then stopped short. “Houseman was in the rooms upstairs in the Aurora. I’m sure of it. I went door to door there, to tell the girls and their customers to get out. He answered at one.”

  “The Aurora?” Joel turned to look at the wall of fire surging along the buildings of Front Street. “I should have guessed! He always got along well with Leslie. She must have let him use her room.”

  French smiled. “Then they’re out. I told everyone to clear out before the fire.
I—”

  Shouts cut short his words. Men raced past them, calling for help over their shoulders. Joel did not hesitate when he heard what they were saying. Grabbing the Mountie by the shoulders, he spun him around to follow the others.

  A muted explosion was swallowed by the crackle of flames bursting over them. All along the serpentine line of hoses, the seams were bursting as the water in the lines froze solid. The call for hot water had come too late. Every hose was ruined. There was no hope for the city now. They could not fight a fire when the temperature was more than 45 degrees below zero.

  A moan swept along the street as the flames licked ferociously at the dry wood roof of the largest bank, threatening the year’s profits of many standing on the street. The fire would reduce that soft gold and currency into useless, ash covered lumps.

  Palmer lost track of Gilchrist as he called for assistance. Bucket brigades remained their only alternative. Men lined up eagerly to swing the heavy pails and splash them against the wall of fire. As night wore on it was clear how little they were doing to stop the fire, but the men fought on against the relentless enemy.

  While some tried to rescue what they could from the doomed buildings, Captain Starnes called his Mounties together. They could not continue to let the fire burn until nothing remained but the whores’ cabins out in Lousetown. Drastic measures were necessary.

  “Carruthers,” shouted the Mounties’ commander over the roar of the flames, “take your dog team out to the warehouse where Olney stores the dynamite for his bench claim. Bring back enough to set the Aurora dancing on her foundation. We’re going to stop this fire!”

  The short man nodded and raced to get his team. Even as Starnes set his men to other tasks, Carruthers was hooking his dogs to the sled traces and readying to careen out of Dawson on his desperate mission.

  Joel wiped smoke from his burning eyes as he reeled from one set of firefighters to the next. He must find Samantha. Leaping aside as someone raced past him, he bumped into another man and mumbled a hasty apology. A wry smile twisted his lips as he saw Bill McPhee, the owner of The Pioneer, with his beloved moosehead in his arms. The man had brought it with him to Dawson and made it the centerpiece of his hotel. Now, after he lost everything else he had worked for in Dawson, he had risked his life for the moldy trophy.

  Every man he questioned told him the same thing. Miss Perry had been seen by no one since she left the Monte Carlo. For once, he was pleased she had been remembered by so many men. It prevented him from being sent on fruitless chases. He heard others searching for missing loved ones in the glow of the flames.

  “Maybe Linda was with Brillyea tonight.”

  “No, she was with—”

  Joel left them to their arguments as they swung the heavy buckets. He could not waste time on this. Already he had gone to the livery and pulled out his sled team. They waited at Mrs. Kellogg’s, where Kevin could not find them and drag Sam back to Fifteen Above.

  He sought out the dance hall girls to ask if they had seen Sam, Kevin, or Leslie Morgain. If the woman Kevin first wanted to marry had lent him her room, she must be privy to his plans. She might know where Kevin had holed up when flushed from the Aurora.

  The cold cut into him as he fought to be heard over the crash of roofs succumbing to the fire. Heated on one side so his skin felt scorched, freezing where the river wind struck it, he raced from one group to the next. No one could help him.

  At the end of Front Street he paused to regain his breath, keenly aware of the passage of time. He stared at the flames staining the sky red. No one remaining in those buildings had any hope of surviving. French had assured him he had warned Kevin to leave the Aurora, or he would have checked the endangered building for Sam.

  Barking caught his attention. He looked toward the Yukon sleeping in frozen silence. His eyes narrowed as he saw a lone form moving along the shore toward Lousetown. Something about the man urged him to race forward.

  Joel aimed for a point which cut off the man’s direct path. When he was within a few feet of the furtive shadow, he shouted, “Kevin!”

  The man glanced quickly over his shoulder and sprinted toward the frozen river. Joel followed. What had his partner done with Samantha? A shiver of fierce pain shot through him.

  The whistle of a bullet squealed over his head, and he dropped to the ground. He had seen the silhouette of the gun. Kevin was so desperate now he would not hesitate to kill him.

  Leaping to his feet, Joel hid behind a pile of discarded supplies, silently thanking the prospector who had left them on the shore. A quick peek told him Kevin had not altered his course. Maybe he thought he had killed him.

  Joel ran parallel to the river, from trash heaps to trees, or anything which gave him shelter. As he ran, he gauged the distance between them. When he exposed himself to the gun, he had to be sure he could jump before Kevin could fire it.

  When he was close enough, he sprang forward, and Kevin whirled to see a phantom leaping at him. He raised the gun and Joel’s hand slammed down hard on his wrist. The pistol went spiraling in the air to skid across the ice.

  Shoving Joel aside, Kevin raced after the weapon. Joel followed, shouting, “Where is she?”

  A hysterical laugh sounded through the icy air. Losing his footing, Kevin fell on the ice, inches from his gun. With a smile, he grabbed it and aimed it at Joel. Slowly he rose.

  “I’ll tell you where she’ll be before another hour passes. Look!” He gestured at the fire outlining the horizon. “She’ll be dead! And she can join you in Hell!”

  “Will be?” Joel took a half step forward. “She’s alive? What did you do—?”

  Exulting in his victory, Kevin laughed triumphantly. “One of them is dead already. But Samantha couldn’t be killed so quickly. Her crime was greater than lovely Leslie’s. Now you’ll meet her in Hell!”

  Joel leapt from the bank. Kevin fired, but again the bullet missed. He aimed again, but Joel struck him, sending the gun hurling into the darkness. A soft splash told of an open lead not far from them. The pistol had sunk into it.

  Fire as wild and bright as Dawson’s blazed in Joel’s eyes. Grabbing two handfuls of Kevin’s coat, he demanded. “Where is she?”

  “Find her yourself,” he sneered. “If you can. You’ll be too late. The fire was close when I left.”

  “The Aurora!” Joel shoved him away to turn to the shore.

  “You’re wrong. Look for her there, and you may waste your last chance to find her.”

  Fury erased every thought in Joel’s head. He swung his fist into his ex-partner’s face. When Kevin did not fall, he struck with the other. A vicious sneer twisted his lips as he hit Kevin in the middle.

  As the man bent over in pain, Joel ran toward the shore. He could not make Kevin pay as he wished. He had to get to the Aurora before the fire.

  Something hit him in the middle of the back as he was scrambling up the bank. He gasped as his breath exploded out of him. Collapsing, he fell to the ice, groaning.

  He was rolled onto his back, barely able to discern the shape of the madman lifting whatever he had struck him with. Instinct alone moved him. He raised his legs and kicked hard at Kevin’s stomach, propelling him across the ice. He heard a sound in the dark, then a panicstricken cry. He struggled onto his stomach. Retching, he tried to rise and fell again.

  “Kevin?” he called.

  No answer came. His head snapped up. Although his ex-partner had bested him, he knew Kevin would not leave now until he had killed him. Crawling forward, his hand slipped into freezing water, racing between chunks of ice. Swearing, he quivered with the cold. Knowing it was hopeless, he shouted, “Kevin? Kevin?”

  Again, no answer. He looked out over the open expanse of ice. From the way his hand had been sucked beneath it by the current, he knew what had happened to his partner. In the darkness, there was no hope of rescue.

  Forcing himself to his feet, he reeled toward shore. Through eyes which could barely focus, he watched out for the
treacherous leads. One could open at any time and suck him into the swirling currents, to share Kevin’s horrid death.

  He must not die. He had to reach the Aurora. If he did not, Sam would suffer for her crime of loving him.

  Samantha woke to pain, fiercely trying to catch her breath. An ache ripped across her forehead, but most of the pain centered at the back of her head. She blinked, causing more agony, and a moan slipped from her lips. At this, she found full consciousness.

  She was bound painfully to the footboard of the bed in the room where Kevin had brought her. Sickness welled in her as she recalled the corpse beneath the bed. What Leslie must have suffered!

  Trembling, she quickly appraised her situation. Not only were her arms bound to the iron railings, but her ankles had been wrapped with more twine. A thick cloth tasted horrible in her mouth, keeping her from making any noise louder than a faint groan.

  Furious, she tested the ropes. It was useless. Too many tied her too tightly. As she struggled, they felt like fire burning her arms.

  Fire!

  Terrified, she looked toward the window. The red glow seemed more virulent than before … whenever before was. She had lost track of all time. The smoke which hung heavy in the room warned her that the conflagration was not far from the Aurora.

  Kevin had left her here to die. He intended, she was sure, that no one else would have her love. In his desperation to be foremost in the heart of one woman, he wanted to destroy her life. As he had his mother’s. As he had Leslie’s. As he would Joel’s. Another moan drifted from her lips.

  She began to cough in the thickening smoke. Gagging, she wanted to scream. She had to escape before the flames reached her! She scraped the ropes as much as they would move, on the bed spindles. It was futile, but she could not wait here to die without trying to escape.

  Tears coursing along her face might have been from the smoke. They might have been from her sorrow at the thought of never seeing Joel again, and how he would mourn her. Whatever caused them, she ignored their wetness. She concentrated on breaking free. She must—before the fire reached her.