by Alison Hart
The boatman called to his dogs, and then added, “My uncle was one of the three Swedes to discover gold in the area.”
“That’s so interesting. Did he get rich?”
Lindblom snorted. “He left Nome poor. Judge Noyes changed the law, saying a foreigner couldn’t file a proper claim. He evicted my uncle and other rightful owners and gave the claims to McKenzie and his bunch. The only gold I’ll ever earn is ferrying the men who swindled my own kin.”
As we approached a huge mine with machinery that rose into the sky, Mr. Lindblom shouted to his dogs to whoa. Pausing at a planked area on the shore, he dropped off several crates.
Two men came down to help. They stared at Sally. Quickly she turned her back on them. “Look, Murphy,” she whispered. “The sign says ‘Alaska Gold Mining Company. No Trespassing.’ This must be McKenzie and Carlick’s mine.”
Carlick. I had already heard that name too many times today.
“I did not dare file a claim in case Mama got wind of it,” she continued in a low voice, “so we will try to travel far beyond any established mines. I do not want to encounter an angry prospector.”
The boatman clicked and the team started off again. I noticed how well he cared for his dogs. During the trip they had frequents rests, pats, and treats. Not all masters were like Carlick.
As we floated northward, signs of active mines disappeared and we mostly passed piles of rusting and rotting equipment. We saw a small Native village of scattered tents, then a herd of elk, and then nothing but stretches of tundra. When we neared a spot where stunted pines drooped over the water, the boatman called to his dogs.
“Far as I can go, miss,” he said, rapping the end of the pole on the bottom of the river. “Rocks are ready to rip open my hull and the current is wearing out my team.”
“Yes, sir!” Sally hurriedly reattached my harness and I leaped from the boat, causing it to sway. “Thank you!”
Mr. Lindblom helped Sally off the boat. “Good luck on your journey, miss. I hope your father appreciates your effort.” Then he pointed his finger at her. “And tell your father to stay away from McKenzie, Carlick, and his bunch.”
“I will.” Sally scrambled up the river bank, with me after her, and waved goodbye.
Mr. Lindblom whistled and called to his dogs as he turned them around. Sally and I watched the boat float quickly from sight, the current pushing them. Then suddenly it was silent except for the rustle of the river.
The tundra stretched in all directions without a house, tent, or tree rising into the sky. Wildflowers and grasses blew in the breeze. It was beautiful, vast, and quiet.
I sniffed the clean air. I was glad to be away from Nome and the clanking and crashing of the people, the machinery, and the sea. Beside me, I felt Sally shudder.
“It’s just us now, Murphy,” she whispered. “We are truly on our own.”
Whining, I butted my head against her side. Was it worry I heard in her voice? Did she want to turn back?
Then she whooped excitedly. “Oh, Murphy, I have been waiting for this adventure since we arrived from San Francisco!” she exclaimed. “Come on, let’s find our camp—and our gold!”
We hiked through squishy bogs and over drier hillocks. Sometimes we followed a trail well worn by other prospectors and animals. Sometimes we slogged through thick mud and brush. Sally wore her mask of netting, but mosquitoes stung my nose until she greased it with lard.
We kept the river in sight, only leaving it twice when we heard voices. There were gold seekers even this far upland, and Sally was determined not to meet them and their nosy questions.
At one point the trail followed a ridge cut into the bank. Sally had to sidestep to keep from pitching over the small cliff, which sloped down to the river. I followed her, my claws scrabbling at the dirt to keep from sliding too. Once we had reached the other side, Sally out a relieved breath. By then the sky was turning gray.
“Let’s camp here tonight, Murphy.” She dropped her pack to the ground and unstrapped my harness. I shook, glad to be rid of the burden.
We ate cold beans and biscuits for dinner. Then Sally wrapped herself in the blanket and oilcloth and promptly fell asleep. I lay down beside her, head perched on my paws, and kept watch.
The next day, we again hiked for miles. Finally Sally stopped at a bend in the river, where a brushy willow hung over a shallow, sandy pool. Firewood was scattered nearby, and weeds had started to grow again in what had been a cleared area. Someone must have camped here.
A breeze blew, scattering the mosquitoes. Behind us, ptarmigan sounded their throaty calls.
“What do you think, Murphy?” Sally asked.
I whacked my tail heartily, ready to stop.
“I think we’re far enough away from Carlick and his crew. We’ll camp here tonight and see if it suits.”
After Sally took off my harness, I waded in the river. The water cooled my tired paws, and I drank greedily.
Sally waded in beside me, her feet bare. “Brrr! It’s cold. Look!” she said. “Black sand under my toes. Surely we can find some gold in it. Perhaps the miner panning here before us is now living in a castle.”
Giggling, she splashed me. I kicked up great waves with my back legs, splashing her back. Then I saw a large flash of silver dart from under a rock. I lunged, catching a good-size salmon in my jaws. It twisted, but I kept hold. I was hungry.
“What a mighty hunter you are, Murphy!” Sally exclaimed. “If salmon and black sand are in this pool, it will be a good place to stay. I’ll get a fire started.”
As Sally gathered the wood strewn on the shore, she began to sing, the words filling the air with her happiness.
But as the sun dropped, my ears began to pick up the sounds of the night. Sally could not hear the distant howls, snorts, and yips, but I did. My journey from Dawson City had taught me that the land was filled with wolves, bear, and fox.
I wasn’t a mighty hunter. But I hoped that I could keep Sally safe in the wilds of the tundra.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Danger
August 16, 1900
Nine days of panning and not one nugget.” Sally was knee-deep in water, tilting her pan back and forth and side to side. Her legs were bare, her skirt was caught up in her belt to keep it dry, and her hair was tucked under her hat. “A flake or two, yes, and flour, which is filling my vial. But if we are to buy a cabin, I need to find something bigger.”
I stared into the water where it rippled over the rocks, intent on a different kind of prize—a silvery salmon. Hunger was always on my mind, even though I had caught several hares and a ptarmigan and found nests of birds’ eggs and a lush gooseberry patch. I might not be courageous, but my stomach drove me to be a patient and crafty hunter for food.
Sally picked the pebbles out of the pan and tossed them in the river. Then she dipped the pan in the water again and began to shake and swirl the sand and gravel that remained. “Though I am getting better at this. It’s good Mr. Smithson made me practice.”
I cocked my head, listening—not to Sally’s words, but to another sound in the distance: a rumble. A storm? So far, we’d been lucky—only light rain and fog that hadn’t kept me from hunting or Sally from prospecting. Storms on the tundra could be fierce, but the sky was blue to the horizon.
“I’ve been keeping count of the days, Murphy. If Mama left with the ship, she should be halfway to Seattle. Do you think she did go?” Sally sounded anxious. “I wouldn’t blame her for leaving me after what I did.” She jutted her chin. “But I had no choice. I was not returning to San Francisco.”
Sally dumped the sand in the pan back into the river. “No gold. Not even a flake.” She sighed. “Maybe when we get back to Nome, Grandpapa will be there. He said he was coming on business. What business, you ask?” She shrugged. “‘A young girl does not speak of such things with an adult.’” She said in a Mama-like voice. “I say ‘humph’ to that.”
Whap! A salmon flipped into the air and landed back
in the water with a smack. I plunged my muzzle into the water, trying to catch it, but it slipped away.
Another rumble. This time when I lifted my head and sniffed, I could smell the rain in the air. Angry clouds had gathered in the north.
Sally and I had dug a burrow into the half-frozen bank, and she had fitted it with a roof and walls made of oilcloth to keep out the moisture. A veil of netting protected us the mosquitoes. Both of us slept tight as ticks in the hole. It had stood up to rain and the constant wind, but it hadn’t been tested by a storm yet.
“If she’s gone, you and I will still need a cabin.” Sighing, she stood and rubbed her back. “Nome winters will be as fierce as Grandmama.”
Then another sound reached my ears—the howl of wolves. We had heard them at night when we were safe in our burrow. I had also heard them on my trek from Dawson City to Nome. Old Blue had taught me that the pack howled before a hunt and after, but never during.
Ignoring the noises for now, I turned my attention to finding another salmon. A crash across the river startled me and a lone buck leaped from the brush and into the water. He bounded toward us, spray flying skyward and making him look as if he had wings. He charged past so fast, I didn’t even get off a woof.
Sally stared open-mouthed as the buck jumped over the stacked firewood and disappeared. “Did you see that? He was so beautiful—and not at all afraid of us.”
I knew why he wasn’t scared of us. The whites of his eyes and the foam flecking his mouth told me that he was running for his life. The wolves were after him.
Sally bent down and inspected her pan. “Murphy!” she gasped. “A nugget!”
I had no time for gold. If the deer was running from the wolves, the pack would be right behind him, following his trail right to Sally and me.
Whirling, I sprang toward Sally and barked furiously. I rammed her with my head, knocking her in the direction of the burrow. The pan flew from her grasp, plopping into the water. “Murphy!” she screeched. “You made me lose—” Then I saw understanding in her eyes.
Again I pushed her toward the burrow. She dove into the hole and pulled her knife from the sheath. I was prepared to stand guard, but she grabbed my collar and dragged me in after her. Then she yanked the tarp down in front of the entrance.
Wolves had never attacked our dog team or even come into camp when I was with Carlick. But there had always been fires and men with torches and rifles. I did not know what a pack would do if it caught Sally alone and in its path.
Moments later we heard the splashing of bodies and the drumming of paws. I could hear their panting and smell their scent. I shivered and Sally held me close. She was shivering too, but she bravely clasped the knife in front of her.
Then in a whoosh, as if they were a cloud blown by the wind, the wolves passed us.
We waited. “Do you think it’s safe?” Sally whispered. “Oh, it must be safe. I have to find that nugget before it gets swept away!”
Throwing back the tarp, she scrambled from the burrow and ran down to the river’s edge. I trotted after her, glancing uneasily in the direction the wolves had gone. What if the deer doubled back and led them to us again?
“I was standing right there, wasn’t I?” she asked, pointing to an eddy by some rocks. She had a fever in her gaze that reminded me of the buck.
“Or was it over there? Oh, there’s the pan!” She snatched it from the water. “It’s empty!” Dropping it, she dug furiously at the river bottom. “The nugget must be here somewhere.”
I sat on the shore, straining to hear the wolves. The rumbling in the sky turned into a boom, the dark clouds drew overhead, and the wind began to flail the brush along the banks. A storm would soon be upon us. Sally was so intent on finding the lost nugget, she didn’t seem to notice.
Suddenly lightning zigzagged to the earth. It struck so close that my fur crackled. Then the rain came, whipping the river with its gusting torrents.
“No-o-o!” Lifting her head, Sally howled, sounding like a wolf herself. Rain pelted her cheeks and dripped from her hat. Then her shoulders slumped as if she knew there was no use looking. Calling to me, she dragged herself to the burrow. Hurriedly I crawled in after her.
“It’s lost, Murphy,” she whispered as we huddled together, both of us drenched. “That nugget would have bought our cabin and a winter’s stay. But now it’s gone and all is lost.”
I ran my tongue over Sally’s wet cheek. But she stared straight ahead as if she didn’t see me. “What if I have to leave Nome too? What if Grandpapa is in Nome and he makes me go back with him? Oh, Murphy, I can’t go back to Grandmama’s house. Even with you there, it will be intolerable. Lessons and corsets and unreasonable rules that must be obeyed.”
I could hear the despair in Sally’s voice. We had survived the wolves and now faced a storm. But she didn’t seem to care. Whining deep in my throat, I wrapped myself around her, trying to keep us warm, and gently laid my head on her leg.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lost
August 20, 1900
The storm continued for four days, pummeling the tundra with wind, rain, and lightning. Sally and I dined on canned beans and sardines, and we only left the burrow to do our business. Even then, venturing just three feet up the bank, the fear of being swept away was real, and she held on to my collar as we made our way behind a bush. Each time we returned soaked, it took longer and longer to warm up.
Sometimes Sally shook with the cold. Her clothes, my fur, and the lone blanket stayed damp. The fire had long since died out. Fortunately the burrow didn’t collapse, though water leaked around the edges of the oilcloth and pooled by the entrance.
When there was enough light, Sally read to me from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. “Hansel and Gretel” was her favorite story. She delighted in switching voices for each character, cackling hysterically when she was the witch.
“I would never be as silly as Hansel and drop bread crumbs to find my way,” she scoffed. “You would gobble them up and so would the birds, and I would be as lost as Gretel.”
Later, when it grew dark, Sally would fall into a restless sleep. That’s when I grew alert. My ears stayed pricked for signs and sounds of danger. What if a bear found our buried food? The river might reach our hole. A wolverine could blunder into our burrow. Or a poisonous spider might crawl from behind the oilcloth.
Finally the storm blew itself out and the sun rose hot and bright. We emerged like foxes from a lair and shook ourselves. Sally shed her wet clothes. She washed them in the river and draped them over the willow to dry. Then she gathered wood to make a fire.
I bounded up the bank and raced around the tundra, glad to stretch my legs. A ptarmigan burst into the air, and I set my sights on hunting. A diet of beans had left my stomach wanting.
I didn’t like leaving Sally for long, but hunger drove me. Finally I brought back a hare. I held it high and proud as I trotted into camp. By then, Sally had a fire burning. The blanket and oilcloth, which she had also washed, hung on sticks to dry.
“Murphy, you are a wonder!” Taking the hare, she twisted a hind leg and began to pull off the hide. “I am glad Grandpapa taught me how to skin and cook a rabbit,” she said. “We need fresh meat in our bellies. Oh, I miss him! I imagine he and Grandmama will be glad when Mama arrives home safely. Not that San Francisco is home to me anymore. I wonder if I will even be missed.”
The roasting hare smelled delicious. Sally buried several potatoes in the coals and I knew we would have a feast.
While we waited for the food to cook, Sally waded into the water. “I’m going to find that nugget, Murphy. Or one like it,” she said, as she began to pan. “We missed four days due to the rain. August is coming to an end, and the storm was only a taste of winter. I know we must head back to Nome soon, but I won’t leave until I have my prize.”
Sally scooped sand and dirt from the river bottom into the pan. Then she dipped the pan into the water, swirling and shaking it, intently watching for gold. Finally I
had to bark, reminding her that the hare was done.
She ate quickly, tossing me the bones, and then went back to work. In her zeal, she forgot to bury the rabbit hide away from our camp so it would not attract wild visitors. I dragged it far into the tundra and left it, stopping to eat some gooseberries on my way back.
A grunt made the hair on my back rise. I crouched and peered from behind the scraggly bushes. A bear and her two cubs were dining on berries too. Their silver-tipped hides were glossy. The mama bear’s claws were long and sharp as she stripped berries from the branches.
The cubs gamboled around their mother, who was as intent on berries as Sally was on gold. I did not dare run. But then the mother bear’s nose began to twitch and I knew she had smelled me. Nothing is fiercer than a mother grizzly guarding her cubs.
I flattened myself against the boggy earth, trying to disappear. She rose on her hind feet and looked around, huffing. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to disappear into the ground. Dropping to all fours, she began to lumber in the direction of the camp.
I couldn’t let her find Sally. Leaping up, I barked, startling her. The cubs squealed as if hurt. With a clack of her teeth, the huge bear sprang toward me.
Grizzlies are fast, but not as fast as a frightened dog. I raced away from Sally and our camp, zigzagging from hillock to hillock. My paws, stabbed by thorns and scraped by roots, were raw and bloody.
When the mother bear charged after me, the babies followed, bawling because they couldn’t keep up. When it seemed I could run no longer, the big grizzly stopped. Turning, she gathered her cubs and peacefully headed toward the horizon as if the encounter had never happened.
I dropped to my belly, panting wearily, until their silvery backs were out of sight. By then it was dark. I sat up and looked around. The tundra flowed around me like the sea. I had no sense where I was. Which way was the river?