Golden Torment

by Janelle Taylor

  The older man grinned at her as she shuddered from cold. “Woman need mukluk to keep feet warm. Like so,” he indicated, holding out his moosehide boots with fur lining. “You do good on trail. Umiakia surprised. You tillicum?” he asked eagerly.

  “What’s a…tillicum?” she inquired hesitantly.

  Umiakia laughed heartily and gently nudged his younger son. “Friend. You be friend of Umiakia and Aishihik?”

  Kathy smiled warmly and nodded. “Friends,” she hastily agreed. “I’ll try to keep up, Umiakia, but it is difficult. Not because I’m a woman, but because I’m not used to this territory,” she added, laughing.

  “You do good, tillicum Kathy. We see Whitehorse soon.”

  The two cups of hot coffee failed miserably to warm Kathy. She snuggled into her sleeping bag with its sparse offer of comfort and heat. “Tillicum Kathy take off parka. Warmer in poke.”

  Reluctant, she obeyed him. He knew this precarious land better than she did. Sure enough, within minutes she was warmer and more comfortable.

  “Work good, yes?” he asked, leaning over her face.

  She grinned and replied, “Much better, Umiakia.”

  Kathy observed the old man for a time. The parka he had put on at nightfall was made of sealskin, lined with mink felt, and trimmed at the neck with thick coyote fur. He had covered his head with a hat of rabbit fur. Such wisdom and friendliness were etched on his siennacolored face. His mustache and beard were a sparse and wiry mixture of silvery white and dull brown. As if refusing to warmly cover his lower face, his beard looked more like unshaven stubble. His lips were so thin his mouth appeared as a wide slash above his chin. His dark eyes were hooded and slanted, giving him an oriental mien. Numerous creases near his keen eyes radiated like ribs in a fan. To Kathy, he seemed rather small to be so resilient and agile. She concluded she admired and liked this unpretentious and confident man. She felt perfectly safe with him and his timidly remote son, who rarely glanced at her or spoke to her.

  In spite of the wind and cold, the exhausted Kathy was soon asleep. Yet, it hardly seemed her eyes had closed when the genial man was prodding her to wake up. “We go fast. Storm coming soon.”

  Kathy was chilled to the bone before she could slip into her parka. She quivered; her teeth chattered. “Is it always this cold here?”

  “This not cold, tillicum Kathy. This warm next to winter,” he cheerfully delivered his depressing news.

  There was a great deal of commotion in this particular spot. Tenderfeet made or purchased boats for the trip across the treacherous Lake Bennett. Sawed lumber was stacked haphazardly, some for sale and some waiting to be taken to Skagway. Here, more cabins dotted the landscape than in Skagway, as did more snow. The tents were also larger and thicker. Curls of smoke indicated most of them had some type of heat—which she craved.

  Remains of broken boats lay rotting along the lake’s edge. As both men loaded their canoes, Kathy observed the reflections of snow-capped mountains on the blue water. Sighting jagged rocks which severed the surface, Kathy prayed these men were excellent boatmen. Several acquaintances stopped to chat briefly with the two men, but Kathy paid little attention to them or their muffled conversations.

  It seemed that hours passed in soul-shaking terror as Umiakia struggled against the turbulent lake, Kathy hanging on to the sides of the small boat. She dared not open her mouth to speak, fearing she’d be sick. There were other boats braving this agitated span of water; she prayed the men would control them and keep their distance. The idea the craft could overturn and send them into glacial water alarmed her. She sat very still to avoid any perilous tilting and remained silent to avoid distracting the grinning Umiakia, who appeared to be enjoying this awesome challenge with nature.

  The churning flow of water crashed against and around the rocks which invaded its domain. A violent whirlpool was pointed out to her, one which both men skillfully avoided. The little boats seemed to take on a daring of their own, whirling with or against the raging waters which pulled at them. They were taken down a stretch where steep slopes loomed on both sides, imprisoning them in the swirling powers of liquid nature.

  Umiakia called out to her over the roar of the water, “Hold tight, tillicum Kathy. Shoot come. No fear, I be good man.”

  Almost instantly the craft was forcefully seized by the seething rapids and dashed this way and that. She uncontrollably screamed in terror. The din of water and wind ripped savagely at Kathy’s ears. Her face was ashen; she had no time to think of getting cold or wet. The craft went up and down, spraying water in its urge to leave this demanding area. Now she understood why Umiakia had covered her with this water resistent oilcloth!

  As water splashed over the sides of the boat, her gloves and shoes were soaked, numbing both hands and feet. As if the impossible couldn’t happen, it did. The speed of the descending chute increased and the fury of the water mounted. When Kathy felt she couldn’t take this intimidating glacial water and fear any longer, Umiakia was working with skill and power to head the boat into the bank at Whitehorse.

  “Over, tillicum Kathy. We rest; get dry.”

  Too frightened to move, she sat as if in shock. Umiakia beached his sturdy boat. “Come, must dry to stop chill,” he urged the fear-frozen girl.

  “I’m…coming,” she stammered between chattering teeth. She made the rocky trip to the other end of the boat and stepped out, never in her life so happy to touch solid ground, snow and all!

  The Eskimos were greeted by men awaiting the supplies. Without wasting any time, the boats were unloaded and stored for their return trip. Kathy was taken to an oblong building where rooms could be rented by those who could afford such luxuries. Umiakia made the arrangements for her, paying the man with the money she had previously given to him. He had warned of the dangers of allowing anyone to learn she had money.

  “You dry; rest. Umiakia send food, water. Fire take chill. Find Jack; he come, tillicum Kathy.”

  “You are most kind, Umiakia. How can I ever thank you?” she whispered, her throat dry and scratchy.

  He grinned and left. Kathy entered the room and looked around. The furniture consisted of a narrow bed, a small table with a lantern, and one chair. The windows were covered with sheets of cloth nailed to the wall. She sighed in dejection. At least the place looked clean. A knock came to the door. Kathy answered it; a large woman was standing there.

  Without waiting to be invited in, she pushed past Kathy and headed for a rock fireplace. Shortly, she had an inviting blaze going there. She lit the lantern on the table, casting a dim glow in the depressing room. Without speaking a single word, she left.

  The woman returned, carrying a tin tub. She placed it by the fireplace and lumbered out, to return with one bucket of steaming water and one of cold. “That’s all the time and water I kin spare. Don’t git many ladies o’er here. If it don’t do the job, ye’ll have to fetch some more yourself,” she announced, her speech and manner crude. “Silly to bathe when it’s freezing. Body oil keeps ye warm and fights the bite of snow. I’ll fetch your victuals when they’re ready.” She left in a huff, wheezing.

  Kathy had observed this seemingly reluctant service. Why should the woman complain; she was paying for this “luxury”! She locked the door and stripped off her damp clothes. Lifting the bucket of hot water, she poured it in the tub, plagued by thoughts of Landis once doing these similar chores for her. She added cold water and sat in the tub. She bathed as quickly as possible, the tub small, the water scant, and the room still cold.

  She dried off and put on fresh, warm clothes. She placed the chair near the fire and hung her wet garments there. She was utterly fatigued and wanted nothing more than to throw herself across the bed and go to sleep, but she didn’t. Her mind was plagued by Landis and Jake.

  By now, Kathy recognized the insistent knock of the serving woman, Mrs. Kelsey. Kathy opened the door to permit her to remove the water and tub, casting a curious look in her direction. The woman returned with he
r meal: thumb biscuits, hot coffee, and venison stew.

  Kathy smiled and stated, “Thank you, Mrs. Kelsey. It looks delicious, and I’m starved. You’ve been most kind and helpful. I’m sorry to be such a bother for you; I know you must have endless chores. This is my first trip here, so I didn’t know what to expect. I’m here to join my father and husband,” she added to dispel the woman’s resentment of her presence.

  Oddly, the roughly dressed woman smiled at her. “You best watch yourself around these parts, ma’am. Ain’t no place for ladies.” She walked to the door and left without another word, the door closing softly this time behind her oversized rear.

  Kathy shrugged and locked the door. Evidently these people didn’t take to strangers. Laying the clothes on the floor, she pulled the chair to the rickety table. The food did look appealing. She ravenously consumed her first hot meal since leaving Skagway. She smiled as she lifted the coffee pot to refill her cup. No doubt Mrs. Kelsey wasn’t so hostile after all.

  Afterwards, she replaced the chair and wet garments before the fire. There was nothing to do but wait for either Jack or Umiakia to come. But neither came. Only Mrs. Kelsey showed her severely lined face once more to deliver an armload of wood and, thank goodness, an extra blanket! Kathy smiled and thanked her. The woman nodded.

  Wind whistled around the building; the air grew chillier in the little room. It was too late for anyone to come calling tonight. She peeked out. The snow was falling rapidly, moonlight playing over the white covering, as did the winds. She went to the bed and removed her parka, then slipped into a heavy flannel gown and eased between the cold covers, snuggling beneath them, quivering. How she wished Landis was here to…

  Stop it, Kathy, she warned herself. Finally she relaxed and warmed enough to fall into exhausted slumber.

  Dawn had hardly shown her face when someone knocked on her door. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and went to it, annoyingly recalling another such time. “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Umiakia,” the reply came. “We go Dawson take supplies. Jack in Stewart. You come?” he inquired.

  “You mean Jack isn’t here?” she asked in panic.

  “No here. No come. I take to Stewart.”

  Kathy certainly didn’t want to sit around this horrible room and she had no way of returning to Skagway. She fumed as she realized Landis was right about coming inland. There was no decision. “I’ll be ready to leave shortly.” She would prove her mettle!

  This new journey began in relative silence. The majority of the Yukon River was easily travelled. Occasionally they would approach rapids, but few had the awesome force of those first ones. The flow of the water was swift, allowing them to make the ruins of old Fort Selkirk in half a day. Umiakia related how previously hostile Indians had destroyed it. A small settlement called Selkirk had replaced it.

  After a short and uncomfortable night in the open, they continued their trek. Kathy noticed a stark change in the scenery. Small boom towns lined the river’s banks and large river steamers were making their last runs before the river froze. Kathy was sorely tempted to catch one of those larger boats, but felt too safe with her new friends to risk meeting another Marc Slavin. Tremors washed over her; Landis had said Marc was in this area. She shoved aside ominous fears and doubts. They floated past one winding bend after another. The White River joined the Yukon, adding her swirling dark water to the clear emerald Yukon.

  Soon, the water was muddy and obscure again. Kathy prayed unseen perils were not lurking beneath the impenetrable surface, waiting to seize unsuspecting crafts. By late afternoon, the swift currents had urged them into Stewart. As they docked near the settlement, Umiakia suggested, “I see Jack here. You wait. No safe alone. Bad men. Pretty woman. Jack no here; you no stay. Wait in Dawson,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Kathy spoke to the quiet son of her friend, or at least tried to carry on a conversation with a man who knew less English than his father. Eventually they fell into silence, each observing their surroundings. As if instinctively feeling eyes on her back, Kathy turned and looked towards a group of men. She didn’t like the way they were ogling her. She focused her attention on her silent companion.

  One brazen prospector strolled over and asked, “You heading to Dawson to work for Soapy?”

  His implication was clear. She haughtily snapped, “No! I’m going to meet my husband; he’s a Mounty.” That should discourage him!

  As if she.had struck the fear of God into him, he hastily apologized and walked off to join his friends. They chatted for a few moments, looking at her every so often before they ambled off.

  Kathy saw Umiakia hurrying toward them. From the look on his face, she knew what he was going to say. “Jack gone Klondike. Take men. You come Dawson. Be safe. Leave word you there. He come soon. Umiakia take supplies; earn money for winter.”

  Kathy raged at her fate. By now, she should be accustomed to having her plans go awry. She was utterly bewildered. Why would Jack desert her, forget about her? Men, she scoffed mutely.

  In her vexation, she mused, no doubt Soapy will be delighted to offer his hospitality! She shuddered as she recalled that insidious creature who reeked of evil, who had spoken so maliciously of Landis. Kathy instinctively knew she must avoid all contact with him, if possible. A nervous titter escaped her lips as she realized Jack and Landis had enticed her into the domain of the very man both demanded she avoid.

  Umiakia took her strange laughter as fatigue and agreement. He hopped into his boat and pushed it away from the bank. The seemingly endless journey was underway again.

  Dusk approached early this time of year; the men headed for shore two hours downriver. “See Dawson next sun,” the older man informed her.

  The boats were left loaded this time. Only the supplies needed for camping were taken out. They found a place near a thick line of trees beside a sloping hill to offer some protection from the night winds. Kathy trudged in the deepening snow and lay her burden down. Having need of some privacy, she motioned she was going for a walk, her face glowing most noticably. For some reason, she picked up her pack and headed over the hill into the concealing trees. She hadn’t walked far when she realized she was carrying the heavy pack. She laughed and sat it beside a tree, then walked a little further. When she was assured of privacy, she relieved herself. Just as she was about to head back, following her swiftly vanishing tracks in the snow, several shots rent the silence. She halted and froze, sensing danger. She remained motionless, not knowing what to do. She was wise enough to know the Eskimos had rifles, but that was pistol fire!

  Time seemed to stand still as she wavered in doubt. Summoning her courage, she cautiously headed toward their camp. She retrieved her pack. When she gingerly entered the clearing near the river, she halted and gaped at the sight which greeted her horrified senses: the two Eskimos were lying face down in the snow and the boats were gone! The landscape was a vison of white; snow falling as a steady rain. The flakes varied in size, from minute to large. The changeable currents of wind seized them, hurling them down one minute and then every which way the next, covering objects on all sides. She was afraid to seek the truth, but knew she must.

  She dropped her pack and went to Umiakia, rolling him over. She suppressed a scream as she stared at the flow of blood from his forehead and the gaping hole there. Her gaze flew to the crimson-stained snow, as more white powder sought to cover it. She shook him and called his name: nothing, he was dead. She slowly went to check on Aishihik, fearing his lethal fate. He, too, was dead.

  Kathy pushed herself from her kneeling position and glanced around. Everything was gone. The snowstorm threatened to continue and she was utterly alone. She was surrounded by evil and death. She slipped her hand into her pocket and lightly fingered the little gun which Harriet had given to her, suddenly elated to have it.

  Panic washed over her. Where was she? What could she do about her friends? She had no food or protection from the weather or foes. She brushed tears f
rom her cheeks, fearing they would freeze into ice. The winds tugged at her furry hood, more than the cold air chilling her soul. She couldn’t stay here alone. There was only one course of action: she had to head along the riverbank toward Dawson. Someone might find her and help her. She instantly recalled the gaping men at Stewart. She was defenseless and vulnerable. How she wished she were in Skagway in her warm, safe cabin. Landis’s warnings returned to haunt and to mock her.

  Ignoring her fatigue, she lifted the pack and headed toward the riverbank. She couldn’t keep death company. In less than two hours it would be dark. Thoughts of wolves played havoc with her lagging courage. She walked as quickly as she could, the soft snow pulling at her feet and slowing her pace as she helplessly sank into it like quicksand. Puffs of white smoke went before her as she breathed heavily. Despondency flooded her; she knew she couldn’t survive out here alone. She looked skyward, icy flakes falling into her face and extracting her body heat, leaving drops of water behind. She had an eerie feeling of being utterly alone in this deathly silent world. Yet, there was a wild and fierce beauty to her surroundings. Moist clouds had come to sit on the taller treetops and ridges, hovering as some oppressive force. Was Jake Hammond or Landis Jurrell worth this peril, this terror?

  A shout caused her to whirl around. She froze momentarily. Had they come back to kill and rob her? Had they realized there was another person in the party? Perhaps a witness to be silenced?

  Through the haze, her frantic eyes detected one man approaching her. He was tall; yet, the dim light and his hooded mackinaw concealed his identity. She turned and fled from him, dropping her pack in her desperate attempt to avoid this unknown peril. She didn’t get far before she tripped and fell into the snow. She struggled to regain her footing.

  Kathy was seized and yanked to her feet. She fought wildly until he shouted above the wind, “Kat! What the hell are you doing up here!”