Gold Dust (10 page)

Yet, for all its humble appearance, Skaguay teemed with life. The beach was not the only area that was busy. The streets were
clogged with humanity as well as mud. Carts bumped their way through muddy ruts, horses stood with heads down in the cold
drizzle, dogs barked and wove through the traffic, chasing each other, nosing people and garbage, and generally getting in
the way. Katy turned up a street and saw a pig rooting through a heap of refuse behind a large tent. The tent boasted a brightly
painted sign that promised a delicious dinner for seventy-five cents. The pig obviously thought the food was delicious, until
a pack of three dogs spotted it and set off in pursuit with pork dinner on their minds. The pig ducked into the next tent
down the line, a large, dingy gray structure from which lively piano music emerged. The pack of dogs followed. Several bulges
in the canvas walls bore evidence of the fracas inside, as did the thumps and curses audible above the piano music, which
never faltered. A moment later, all three dogs shot through the tent exit, tails between their legs. The pig stayed.

Katy laughed and scratched Hunter’s head with one finger. He looked up at her with a wolfish smile, tongue lolling. “Yes,”
Katy agreed. “Wolves are much smarter than dogs. There’s no denying it. If you had taken out after that pig, it would have
been pork chops.”

Some town, Katy mused as she wandered on. Every second tent seemed to be a saloon, gambling emporium, or dance hall, and those
businesses that didn’t hawk liquor or offer card games sold supplies, mining equipment, maps to and of the goldfields. She
passed several flimsy structures in which tables of shell games and other sirens of chance relieved the gold kings of their
money before they even made it. Outfitters’ signs announced having everything from long underwear to shovels. One enterprising
fellow sold boats to be carried over the pass and used for transport down the upper Yukon River. A tentmaker hawked tents
that could be folded into a neat package to be carried upon the back during the day, then expanded into a “palace of comfort”
at night.

Nowhere did Katy find a hotel or a rooming house—there were no houses at all, with the exception of one or two unimpressive
log structures. One rather large tent did advertise beds for two dollars a night—an outrageous price that many were willing
to pay, apparently, for the sign in front announced that the place was full. People were camped on the beach and in the woods,
in tents, under makeshift branch and brush shelters, or with no shelter at all. The prospect of sleeping under the stars didn’t
disturb Katy. She knew better than most of the inhabitants of Skaguay how to live outdoors. But before she set up camp for
herself, she wanted to find work.

The task was harder than one would think in a town so lively. The safest place to seek employment seemed to be one of the
groceries that displayed canned goods, fresh meat, sorry-looking vegetables, fresh and dry milk, dried fruits, and huge bins
of flour, sugar, salt, and beans. Katy ducked through
the canvas entrance of one such business and wandered up and down the rows of shelves. The grocery had a wide variety of goods,
all selling at prices twice what they would fetch in the States. But then, where else could the eager goldseekers buy if they
hadn’t purchased a complete outfit in Seattle and paid to have it hauled north on the steamer? Doubtless all the groceries
in Skaguay charged similar prices.

Katy decided that the proprietor could afford to hire on a bit of help with all the money he must be making on his goods.
She picked up a box of matches, a half pound of salt, and two bars of bath soap and took them to the counter that ran along
the front of the tent.

The proprietor, a balding, slight man in his mid-fifties, regarded her with polite curiosity. “Will that be all, miss?”

“For now. You need any help in the store? I’m looking for a job.”

His expression changed immediately from friendly to shuttered. “Don’t need any help. I’ve already got two fellas helping me—one
of them living in the back room to watch the place at night. And every day I get at least ten more in looking for work or,
worse, a grubstake.”

“Oh. Know anyone who’s looking for help?”

He shook his head. “For every job in this place, there’s five or ten men looking for a way to earn enough to get to Dawson.”

With that many men clamoring for work, why would anyone hire a woman? The storekeeper didn’t say it, but the implication was
in his words. Katy nodded coolly, put her purchases in her valise, and walked out. Hunter waited for her just outside the
door.

“No luck there,” she told the wolf. “Don’t worry though. We can always live off the woods until I think of something.”

She inquired at three other groceries with the same result. Two clothing stores turned her down, and the proprietor of the
hardware store wasn’t even polite. Toward midafternoon she grew desperate enough to peek into a dance hall, which was
doing a rousing business even at midday. That sort of place hired women. No doubt about it. A platform of unfinished planks
took up one end of the large tent. The sign out front advertised hourly shows, but right then the stage was vacant. Women
moved between tables, serving drinks, laughing, chatting, flirting, sitting on laps. A job serving tables in that joint definitely
included extra duties that Katy couldn’t stomach.

Almost every place in town except the dance halls had a chance to turn Katy down. She almost landed a job as a server in the
restaurant whose garbage pile the pig had found so tasty. The owner was a decent, overworked, and tired-looking woman who
was sympathetic to Katy’s plight. She needed help who could cook as well as serve, though, and Katy was honest about the fact
that she was better at chopping wood than mixing up a batch of biscuits. The woman gave her a bowl of stew for herself and
a plate of scraps for Hunter, then told her to come back if she couldn’t find any work by the end of the day.

Katy’s last hope was something she had been reluctant to do, but it would be better than ruining that nice woman’s business
by trying to cook. She has spotted at least two stables that advertised pack trains for hauling equipment over White Pass.
No one could handle horses and mules better than Katy O’Connell, but she knew her chances of landing a job were less than
nil if she presented herself as a woman. Disguising herself as a boy and maintaining the disguise would not be hard. Jonah
Armstrong had taken her for a boy when she hadn’t even been trying to fool him. Katy didn’t like the idea, though. She didn’t
like to lie, and she wasn’t ashamed of what she was, even though being female was often inconvenient. Still, she needed the
job only long enough to earn a place in one of the numerous high-stakes card games in town. From what she had observed of
the games, Katy was sure she could win enough in a few hours of play to get her to the gold
fields—if she just could get money enough to ante into one of them. Even her pa wasn’t a better poker player than she was.

Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle that problem, though. Katy headed back to the restaurant, planning to wash dishes, clean
tables, or anything else she could do—except cook—to earn a meal for herself and Hunter. On the way she passed a saloon where
a familiar figure sat at a table near the open tent flap. Katy stopped and gave in to the temptation to do a bit of spying.

Sitting with five others, Jonah Armstrong looked morose and angry at the same time. The men with him were equally down in
the mouth. Katy couldn’t hear what they were saying over the sound of a banging piano and a singer who passed among the tables
sounding more like a scalded cat than a soprano, but a fair amount of fist pounding and arm waving gave a clue to the grim
nature of the discussion. Could it be, Katy wondered with a hint of malicious joy, that the renowned Mr. David Hayes, whom
Jonah had thought a more suitable guide than her, had stood them up? She tsked to herself, then smiled. Flapping the tent
canvas gently, she tried to get Jonah’s attention. He didn’t turn her way, however.

Katy was not about to pass up this opportunity for a “told-you-so.” She ordered Hunter to stay where he was and walked boldly
into the tent. Her modest skirt and jacket, dusty and well used as they were, distinguished her as a woman who shouldn’t be
inside a saloon; she stood out like sparrow among a flock of cardinals. Jonah spotted her about the same time that everyone
else did, and the frown he gave her was dark indeed. She didn’t care.

“Hello, Jonah!” she said cheerfully. Three of the men at the table half stood, then sat, undecided about the proper etiquette
of greeting a lady in such an awkward situation. Two others turned red and stared at the table. Jonah, however, simply stared
at her. “Don’t tell me you’re working here,” he growled.

“Of course not! What do you think I am?”

“I’m afraid to explore the subject.”

Alan Smith, with whom Katy was slightly acquainted from the steamer, rose hesitantly and offered his seat.

“She’s not staying,” Jonah told Alan and Katy at the same time.

“I just want a few words with you, Jonah.”

“Not here. Katy, this is not Myrna’s friendly little saloon in Willow Bend, where everyone knows you.”

“Myrna’s friendly little saloon wasn’t so friendly to you, was it?”

His eyes narrowed at the reminder of his debt to her. “All right. You want to talk about something, let’s go where a whole
tentful of men aren’t staring at us.”

“Fine with me.”

They walked out into the dusk. Jonah took Katy’s arm and guided her down the muddy street. Hunter fell in behind them. The
fine drizzle had all but stopped, though by this time, Katy didn’t care. She was soaked clear through and was saving the dry
parka in her valise for when night came and the temperature dropped.

“What is it?” Jonah asked before they’d gone five steps.

“Goodness! Aren’t we cranky today!”

“Katy!”

“Things aren’t going so well, Jonah?”

He stopped and pulled her to a stop beside him. Blue eyes looked down at her without their usual glint of humor. “Did you
have something to do with this?”

“By ‘this’ you mean your guide who took a powder?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“It’s not my fault you chose the wrong person to trust.”

“Then how did you know about it?”

“With you and those other gents moaning and groaning about something in that saloon, your guide not showing up seemed a pretty
good guess. I did warn you, you know.”

“Is that what you wanted to say? I told you so?”

“Naw,” Katy said happily. “But I did tell you so. No guide, huh? No supplies, no pack train. Am I right?”

Jonah abruptly headed back toward the saloon they’d left.

“Wait!” Katy shouted at his broad back. “That’s not what I wanted to say!” She caught up to Jonah in a few strides and grabbed
his arm. He shook it off. “Don’t be so touchy!” she complained.

He stopped and faced her, hands balled into fists on his hips.

“What do you want, Katy?”

She smiled her most engaging smile. “I want you to take me and Hunter to dinner.”

He looked at the wolf, then at her. “I might consider taking Hunter, but why should I take you?”

Katy lifted a brow. “Because I’m going to do you a favor. I don’t know why I continue to be so nice to you.”

“Katy, I’ll buy you dinner only if you promise not to do me any favors.”

“Don’t be any stupider than you have to be, Jonah. You need me.” She dragged him toward the restaurant where she’d eaten earlier.
“The food’s good here, and the woman who runs the place is nice. She gave me lunch, so I owe her some paying business for
dinner.”

The big tent was full when Katy pulled Jonah through the door, but they managed to grab seats at the end of one long table
just as a pair of diners left. Katy waved at the proprietor and winked. The woman smiled and winked in return. In a few minutes
she set two bowls of steaming stew before them.

“Is your wolf friend outside?” the woman asked Katy. “You can bring him in. No one here is going to mind. He’s probably cleaner
and better mannered than most of my two-legged customers.”

Thus Hunter had the privilege of lying beneath the table and gulping down table scraps while Katy and Jonah ate and talked,
or rather, Katy talked.

“Do you have enough money to put together another out
fit?” Katy asked. She believed in getting right to the point. Small talk was for people who were afraid to say what they wanted.

“No,” Jonah answered succinctly.

“Can you get more money from your newspaper?”

“Probably.”

“How long will it take?”

Jonah sighed and put down his fork, as though he had suddenly lost his appetite. “Katy, is there a point to this interrogation?”

“Yes,” she said around a mouthful of stew. “Of course. Have you got any money left?”

“Yes.”

“How much?” Katy asked with a sigh. For a writer, the man was as tight with his words as a miser with money.

“About a hundred dollars. A little less.”

“How long will it take you to get the rest of the money you need?”

“I don’t know exactly. A while.”

“A while is too long,” she said confidently. “Tomorrow’s the first day of September. Winter’s around the corner. Every day
is going to get colder. Start a lot too late and you won’t get to Dawson this season. Start a little too late and you’ll get
there, but you won’t get out.”

“Katy…”

“Listen to me, Jonah. Do you want to spend the winter in a cabin on the Klondike? There’s going to be a lot of people doing
it, but I don’t think it’s going to be any picnic. The ink in your fancy pen might freeze.”

“You missed your calling,” Jonah told her. His expression had softened a bit, but Katy didn’t know if the softening was because
the stew was so tasty or because what she said made sense.

“What do you mean, I missed my calling?”

“Pushy as you are, you should have been a salesman, or better yet, a politician.”

“Women aren’t supposed to do those things, either, remember?”