September's Dream (26 page)

Under a leaden sky, Jase and September loaded the sled and harnessed the dogs. Breaking camp, Jase stared heavenward toward the threatening clouds.

"Big storm moving in. We’ll go as far as we can before we have to seek shelter."

They followed the gentle curves of the Klondike, searching for any sign of prospectors. As September’s gaze swept the pristine wilderness, she found it hard to imagine they were stalking a ruthless killer. What kind of savage could calmly travel from place to place wreaking such destruction?

"Is it true that men can walk into this river and see gold glinting beneath the water?"

"It’s true," Jase said, as they paused to allow the dogs to drink.

"Have you seen gold here?" she asked.

Jase nodded. "I’ve picked up a nugget or two. But for the most part, it isn’t that easy. Most of the prospectors have to sift through the river’s silt. It’s hard work. And few of them will go home rich men."

"I don’t understand you," she said. "You know this country better than anyone. Haven’t you ever wanted to stake a claim and hope for a fortune?"

Jase gave her a lopsided smile. "I’m not a poor man, September. I’m well paid for my work. But there are things other than gold I hold more dear." He whistled for the dogs’ attention. "Let’s move out. It’s growing colder."

The snow fell steadily, often blinding them. The wind off the river was frigid. But the worst of the storm held off until nightfall.

Before noon, they stopped at the first camp of the day. From a small enclosure, a donkey brayed pitifully. Leaving September with the team, Jase approached the decaying cabin. When he didn’t return, she cautiously left the sled and moved toward the open door. Inside, she was horrified at the destruction.

Blood spattered the floor and walls. The table had been upturned, one leg ripped off and obviously used as a weapon. It lay on the floor, stained red. Chairs were smashed, bunks ripped apart. The bodies of three men lay slumped about the room. It looked as though they had put up a tremendous fight.

"Is one of them the killer?" September asked, clinging tightly to the door. She felt the familiar nausea begin and fought for composure.

"No." Jase’s words were chilling. "Three partners, from the looks of them. They fought well, but the killer was armed with both a rifle and a handgun."

"How do you know?"

"I know." He glanced up and saw the whiteness of her skin. "Go outside and wait with the team."

"I need to know if one of them could be . . ." She swallowed, unable to continue.

"None of them has red hair, September. And I’ll check each for a birthmark. Now go outside."

Gratefully she obeyed him, hating herself for her weakness. He deserved her help, but she had no stomach for it.

Two hours later they were back on the trail.

"How long do you think they’ve been dead?"

"No more than a day," Jase said grimly. "We’re gaining on him."

Hurry. Hurry.
Her mind kept time with the sound of the team’s straining against the harness.
Be careful, Patrick Malloy. Look over your shoulder.

Watching her in grim silence, Jase read her thoughts and urged the team on even faster.

By nightfall they had found four more dead miners, two in the next camp and two lone prospectors working along the Klondike. The last body Jase judged to be only hours old.

Each time that September had to glance at the bodies to be certain none of them was her father, he saw the fear and pain in her eyes.

Exhausted beyond belief, they made camp quickly and lay clinging to each other, desperately trying to block the scenes of carnage.

*  *  *

Yesterday’s storm left a dull, gray sky, with angry, swirling clouds threatening more snow. Though the air was frigid, the wind had died down, leaving a feeling of heavy oppression. Even the dogs seemed sluggish as Jase and September whistled them into harness.

They moved out quickly. Jase, September knew, was determined to catch up with the madman who was leaving a trail of death and destruction.

Like the others, the first two mines they came across that day appeared deserted. On further inspection, two miners turned up dead. Each time, September forced herself to stare at the dead man’s face, praying it wouldn’t be her father. Each time, Jase heard her long, drawn-out sigh of relief when she peered into the face of a stranger.

At the last mine, the body was still warm.

By mid-afternoon she felt the growing dread as the roof of a shack came into view. As they approached, they studied the surroundings for any sign of life.

Halting the team, Jase muttered, "You stay with the sled. I’ll go inside." He didn’t need to say more. She knew that if he discovered a body he would gently ease her through the painful process of identifying it.

As Jase moved toward the cabin, she thought she saw a movement on the far side of a canvas tent. Leaving the sled, she began to walk across the clearing that separated the shed from the tent. Halfway there, she stopped to stare in shock at a small wooden cross. On it had been painted the name of the mine. She read each word slowly. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Through the mist of tears, the words swam. The Wee Princess Mine.

With a shout she spun around and ran for the cabin. Inside, Jase was bending over a body. At her strangled cry, he straightened.

"Pa. It’s Pa."

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. "No, September. You don’t want to see him."

"I have to. Don’t you understand? It’s my father."

She wrenched herself free and rushed to the figure which lay crumpled in the corner of the room. Kneeling, she cradled his head in her arms, alternately sobbing and crooning as she rocked him gently.

"Oh, Patrick. Patrick. My wonderful, dreamy father." Tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping onto his red beard. Tenderly she smoothed his hair and beard, staring down at the fine white skin, so like her own. His eyes were closed, as if he were peacefully sleeping.

She would tell herself he was asleep. He wasn’t dead. He would open his eyes and laugh at her. And in his teasing, wonderful brogue, he’d say, "Now it’s a fine surprise you’ve given me. My wee princess here in Alaska. Did you bring along a pint of ale, love?"

He wasn’t asleep, she thought with horror. The front of his shirt was drenched in his own blood. He was dead. Brutally murdered. But his face, his handsome Irish face, was untouched. He looked almost serene.

Jase stood by helplessly while September worked through her grief.

"You had it all, Paddy," she crooned. "A wife who loved you, a daughter who adored you. Your queen and wee princess. But you wanted even more. A castle filled with the finest of everything. A mansion on the hill. Why didn’t you settle for half, Pa? Why did you have to have it all?"

She looked up questioningly at Jase. "What would he have done when he found out he had the gold but had lost his queen?"

When Jase could find no words, she answered her own question. "He’d have spent the rest of his life wandering, searching for the love he’d left behind and lost."

Gently she let go of him, smoothing his hair as his head dropped to the floor. Unbuttoning his shirt, she touched a fingertip to the blood-red birthmark on his shoulder. For all of her life she would carry the identical mark. He called it the red mark of the Malloys.

"I think I’ve known from the beginning that this was his fate. Patrick would have never been happy without his Inga. He had to join her in that other world. I hope there’s a heaven. Oh, I pray they’re together."

"Come on," Jase said, wrapping his arm about her shoulder and easing her to her feet. He clutched her cold hands tightly in his. "We’ll bury him together."

She nodded as tears streamed down her face.

Outside, the dogs set up a deafening din. Jase walked to the sled for a pickax and shovel, while September began walking toward a hilly slope overlooking her father’s cabin.

As she passed the tent, an arm snaked out, jerking her roughly against the canvas. Stunned, she turned and found herself face to face with Deke Kenyon. Despite the growth of shaggy blond beard, she recognized him. When he spoke, his voice sent ice through her veins.

"I knew I’d run into you again one day, September Malloy. And I vowed that when I did, I’d make you pay for the scar you gave me."

She stared speechless at the thin white line across his cheek, barely covered by the beard.

"I knew some day I’d be holding a gun on you and I’d watch you beg. And you’d promise to do anything to spare your life." His sinister laugh made her heart stop. "Anything."

"You’ll never see me beg, Deke."

He nodded his head. "You think lover boy down there by the sled will save you?" He caught the quick look that came into her eyes. "Do you know who you’ve teamed up with?"

"No. And I don’t care."

"Well, you’d better care. He makes his living tracking men. He’s no better than a trained dog."

"He’s a better man than you, Deke Kenyon, or whatever your name is," she spat contemptuously.

He caught a handful of her hair and pulled her head back painfully. "Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, girl, or I’ll blow your head off with this gun."

He saw her eyes narrow before she winced in pain.

"I’ll give you a chance to live," he said angrily. "One chance. Take it or leave it."

Tears stung her eyes as he tugged harder on her hair. In his other hand was a menacing revolver, which he pointed at her throat.

"What chance?"

"Say you’ll go with me. Leave Jase Conroy for the wolves and go back to Skagway with me. From there we’ll go to San Francisco and live the good life."

His face was so close to hers she could feel the hot sting of his breath as he waited for her reply.

She swallowed painfully. "I wouldn’t have you if you were the only man left in Alaska. In the world."

While Jase untied the necessary tools from the sled, the dogs kept up a steady chorus of barking. Locked in his harness, Lucky strained against the restraints, frantically trying to break free. Puzzled, Jase turned to stare up the slope to determine what had the team so agitated.

*  *  *

He saw a slight movement behind the tent. It could have been a flap or tear in the canvas, fluttering in the wind. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Or it could be an intruder. Dropping the tools, he released Lucky from his harness and reached for his rifle. Keeping low to the ground, he ordered the dog by his side and moved carefully up the slope.

From his vantage point, Jase could hear everything that was said. He felt his mouth go dry when he realized who was holding September at gunpoint, and what he intended to do. When Deke offered her freedom if she would accompany him, Jase felt a tightening around his heart. But at her bold refusal, Jase felt a burst of joy he had never experienced before. He had to save her. And he had to work fast.

Hearing the dog’s growl deep in his throat, Jase put a restraining hand on his head. He hoped for the element of surprise.

Stepping away from the protection of the tent, he shouted, "Drop your gun. I arrest you in the name of the Crown."

Deke whirled. Seeing the menacing rifle in Jase’s hands, he tossed down his gun.

"So. You’re back for more," Deke said sullenly. "I thought I finished you off last time."

"You nearly did. But I wasn’t about to die and let you get away with murder." Jase walked closer, all the while keeping his eye on the vicious killer.

Lucky circled, growling and baring his teeth.

Jase’s gaze flicked over September. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, too breathless to speak.

Deke moved so quickly, neither September nor Jase had time to react. Wrapping his arm around her throat, he held September in front of him like a shield. From the back of his waist he produced a second gun. "Go ahead and shoot, Conroy. Let her blood be on your hands."

As Jase hesitated, Deke snarled, "Throw down your rifle or I’ll kill her. Now."

Furious at his lapse, Jase tossed his rifle in the snow, cursing himself. If he hadn’t allowed himself to fall in love with her, if he hadn’t cared more for her than for his own welfare, he never would have made such a foolish blunder. But his concern for her blinded him, made him careless.

Seeing September threatened, Lucky snarled and leaped through the air. In one quick motion, Deke aimed and fired, bringing the dog down with a whimper of pain.

September’s hands flew to her mouth, to stifle a scream. As she watched, the dog fell to the snow, its eyes glazed with pain.

"Well, lawman, it looks like you lose again."

September turned away from the pitiful sight of Lucky. Her eyes widened. "Lawman?"

Deke gave a sneer. "A Mountie. And I hate Mounties."

A man of the law. She hadn’t fallen in love with a bounty hunter or a hired gun. Jase was a Mountie. Even in this perilous situation, with the death of all her loved ones surrounding her, she felt her heart soar at the knowledge.

"And you’re the one who left Jase to die before?"

Deke tightened his grip, nearly cutting off her breath. "This time I’ll make sure I finish the job."

Seeing her pain, Jase made a desperate leap for Deke. Beside her ear, September heard the terrible explosion of sound. And then Jase crumpled in the snow at her feet.

"Jase. Oh God, no. Jase."

Tears sprang to her eyes, but Deke continued holding her tightly, refusing to allow her to go to his aid.

For a moment, Jase felt nothing. He was surrounded by something cool, something almost soothing. He was sinking deeper into it, unable to find his way out. He wanted to move. He fought to stand up. But something was pinning him down. With a tremendous effort, he tried to stand. Pain, hot, searing, shot through his shoulder. Was it the wolf again? He tried to think. No. Lucky had been shot. And so had he. A gunman. Holding September as hostage. He forced himself to he very still. He had to think. From a great distance, he could hear their voices.

"Now you have one chance to save that Mountie’s life."

"Anything. I’ll do anything."

The cruel laughter of the gunman sent waves of fresh pain through Jase.

"I knew I’d find your weakness, Miss High and Mighty. Don’t tell me you love him?"

September’s voice washed over Jase, cool and clean, like spring water on a summer morning.

"I’ll do anything to save his life. Just tell me how."

The cruel voice grew bolder. "That’s better. Much better. I told you I’d see you beg. You’re going to go with me, September. And you’ll stay with me as long as it pleases me. And when I’m tired of you, I’m sure I can find someone who’ll take you off my hands." He gave another quick laugh. "I’m a rich man now, thanks to the generosity of all those prospectors. Especially this last one."

September went very still. Her voice sounded strangely subdued. "What are you saying? What about this last one?"

"That old man hit it big. He had so much gold stashed in his shed, I’ll probably be a millionaire. And by the time I’ve changed his papers to my name, I’ll own the richest claim in the Yukon."

She asked calmly, "You killed him?"

"And a dozen more old fools like him."

Jase’s head began to clear. He opened his eyes to see September and Deke standing over him. Deke still held the pistol in his hand. September’s hands were clenched so tightly, her knuckles were white from the exertion. As Jase watched, her hand went slowly to the pocket of her parka. He saw sunlight glint off metal. He wanted to warn her not to try something so dangerous, but he couldn’t get the words out. Helplessly, he could only lie and watch.

"I thought you said you always win, Deke," she asked in a strangely quiet tone.

"That’s right. Didn’t I tell you that a long time ago?"

"Yes. That night on the boat, when you tried to force yourself on me. I’ve never forgotten that night, Deke. You couldn’t have me, but you helped yourself to my money, my mother’s locket, and even the only warm coat I owned. You left me with no way to get to my father. Penniless and alone in Skagway. But not helpless."

Deke was smiling, as he said, "Well, September, it looks like I just won again."

In slow motion, Jase watched as September plunged the fish knife deep into Deke’s chest.

Deke’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, closed, then tried to form a word. Horrified, he stared down at the crimson stain smearing the front of his jacket. The gun dropped from his hand. He fixed his gaze on September and made a lunge forward. She sidestepped and watched as Deke pitched into a mound of snow.

Her voice was as cold as ice. "Wrong, Deke. For once in your life you just lost."

Dazed, she stared at him for long moments, then dropped to her knees beside Jase. Whimpering, Lucky dragged himself to her side. She touched the dog tenderly, burying her face in his neck and probing the shallow wound, then turned her attention to Jase.

"I’m so glad I brought a partner along on this trip," he whispered, fighting to remain conscious.

"Why?" she asked, tenderly cradling his head.

"Didn’t you know? A Mountie always gets his man. Even if he has to use a woman to do it."